Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Mere Hours

Mere hours before both of her parents came down with the flu:

Saturday, December 09, 2006

The Best

If you want true Christmas charm, you should check out this album. John Denver and his Muppet friends do an outstanding job of conjuring Christmas cheer and wonder. I jest not. This album takes a charming spin on the classics and adds in some original work, too. Touching, really. Really. And you can buy it on iTunes! How post-modern.

This was my absolute favorite record when I was a kid. I remember rolling with laughter at Miss Piggy and her antics in "The Twelve Days of Christmas" and a little gem called "Christmas is Coming." There's this part where she continues to sing after everyone else is done and they have to stop her, I believe it's Scooter who says, "Piggy, we're done." Piggy responds in her classic pig pride, "Oh. I knew that."

The surprising thing about this album is how touching and sentimental some of the songs are. There's a song about a Christmas tree named Alfie. It was my first experience with the personification of a tree that brought tears to my eyes. It still does, by the way, they're just not as pronounced.

Maybe it's just because John Denver is from a different age, but when he sings his Christmas carols I actually think he might believe in Christmas--as in the birth of Christ. These lyrics could be criticized as overly sentimental, I'm sure, but I love them.

The garment of life, be it tattered and torn,
the cloak of the soldier is withered and worn.
But what child is this that was poverty-born, the peace of Christmas Day.

The branch that bears the bright holly, the dove that rests in yonder tree.
The light that shines for all to see, the peace of Christmas Day.

The hope that has slumbered for 2000 years,
the promise that silenced 1000 fears.
A faith that can hobble an ocean of tears, the peace of Christmas Day.

But perhaps my favorite is a little tune sung by the most famous green frog. I just mentioned this to my precious husband, that level-headed, logical man, who replied, "Yeah. I don't like that song." I love how poignant the lyrics are and the fact that I imagine little Kermie when I hear them.

I don't know if you believe in Christmas,
or if you have presents underneath the Christmas tree.
But if you believe in love, that will be more than enough
for you to come and celebrate with me.

For I have held the precious gift that love brings
even though I've never seen a Christmas star.
But I know there is a light, I have felt it burn inside,
and I can see it shining from afar.

I especially like to imagine Kermit holding "the precious gift that love brings."

It may be that these tunes will forever be favorites because of the memory connected with them. The memories of looking at the large album dust cover. Those things put CD liners to shame. Those things are bigger than your head. The detail, the color, it was awesome to gaze at those Muppets over and over while I listened to those songs. Because, People, we didn't have videos back then. You put the record on the record player and sat and listened.

This is the most verbose I've been in weeks and it's all because of those Muppets.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

Don't Make Me Touch the Rag

There are certain (many) things that make my life depressing and horrible these days:
  • the kitchen rag
  • coffee grounds
  • dirty towels
  • wet towels
  • clean towels (too much fabric softener)
  • the smell of my house
  • damp smells
  • dry smells
  • nice smells (perfume and such)
  • cooking smells
  • dirty diapers
  • clean diapers (they have a very chemical-ly smell)
  • direct sunlight
  • coldness
  • dirty sink
  • talk of food
  • warm wetness (if that makes sense)
  • front yard
  • back yard

You can imagine what this makes life like for those who share my space. I'm irratable and unpredictable and annoyed at myself. The hardest part is my physical inability to overcome this onset of depression. And when I use that word I mean it to describe a slowness that has overtaken my life and a lack of structure. I cannot grocery shop and mean it. I mean, I can for others, but I cannot presume to know on Sunday at 10:30 am what I will want to eat on Sunday at 10:45 am. This makes for a most difficult preservation of life.

Things I have eaten lately because it was what sounded good at the time:
  • Arby's Beef and Cheddar (try twice in one day!)
  • Subway ham and cheese with white bread (white! I never order white!)
  • Cheese crisp
  • Chorizo burrito
  • (Mind you this is all in the last thirty-six hours!)
  • bacon
  • blueberry pancakes (in fact that sounds good. like RIGHT NOW!)

I told a friend recently that I would be willing to trade the first trimester for seventy-two hours of labor. That sounds extreme right? Well, imagine spending eight to twelve weeks disgusted in your skin. Imagine being disgusted by the smell of your fingertips. Imagine yourself living in the sixth circle of digestive and olfactory hell. This sucks so bad I want to numb myself with cocktails every night until February when, magically, this will all most likely be over (please, God?) because I will have transitioned out of the first trimester.