7 Quick Takes, vol. 111

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I owe everyone an apology for yesterday’s rant. I showed myself to be really self-centered. This ten-day incredible revolving ick has taught me the wisdom of my mother’s standard procedure when we were kids; perhaps you’ve heard of it?: Special Glasses. We tend to be communal, which means when the ick starts around, it really goes around. Time to institute Special Glasses. Only…Mom, I need all those annoying restaurant cups you’ve been trying to get rid of all these years.

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Because I was sick to my stomach all day yesterday, I sat on the couch and read, and thus I finished a book called Messages. I have an unhealthy fascination with 9/11, I’m afraid. So much human drama compressed into one day. This book is about messages and spiritual connections between those who died on 9/11 and their living loved ones. Compelling, often beautiful, but part of me squirms with discomfort. Being a good Catholic girl, I grew up with a healthy skepticism of all things occult. But on the other hand, our whole belief system is based on a connection between the earthly human, and the supernatural divine. I guess what made me uncomfortable in this book was people’s sense that their loved ones remain with them; not a single “farewell,” but an ongoing relationship of coins appearing, lights flickering, etc. I suppose it’s not unreasonable that God would work that way. I just always thought if there was such a thing as ghosts, they would only hang around until they managed to make peace with death and moved on.

Hello: too much analysis.

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Another, ultimately far more compelling, read: The Lost, by Daniel Mendelssohn. At first, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to get through the book, even though I really wanted to know what happened to his great uncle and family, who vanished into the Holocaust. But I gritted my teeth and got through the undisciplined prose (by which I mean twelve-line sentences consisting of nothing but descriptive clauses, causing me to have to stop and reread several times, searching for the two phrases that actually mattered), and eventually the story ground into gear. And it was really well worth reading. We all know there were concentration camps, where people were “gassed,” we know that people hid, but it all seems very general and distant. It’s been sanitized, much like we now evoke 9/11 without ever seeing the images that made it so graphic—in the name of not disturbing people, they stopped showing the planes flying into the buildings on TV. What this book did for me was bring to life some of the horror of the Holocaust. Why is that a good thing? Because I think we need to be in touch with the worst that humanity is capable of. When we depersonalize it, when we sanitize it, it allows us to live as if it’s someone else’s problem, and that’s a good way to have history repeat.

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Put your hand in the air if you still have your Christmas tree up. J We have begun dismantling our decorations, but slowly. I really love this tree this year—my favorite by far that we’ve had in twelve  Christtmases. (Cost more, too. All the more reason to enjoy it as long as we can.)

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Okay, a pictorial take: some of my favorite Christmas ornaments. I am very picky about Christmas ornaments. I have a few dating back to childhood, and many more that are meaningful to me as an adult. Here are some of my favorites:

 

An aspen leaf, dipped in gold, memento of our trip to Colorado Springs–a trip on which I fell absolutely head over heels in love with the mountains.

 

 

 

 

The first “angel playing the flute” in my collection, purchased when I was in college and at a family reunion on Cape Cod.

 

 

 

One of three “Victorian” crafy ornaments, all decorated with this simple elegance, purchased at a fair here in town.

The rest of my pictures are  really blurry, so I’ll spare you.

 

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Nicholas was super-cute today. He’s been a “terrible two” pill lately, so this was really nice, to feel like I could just enjoy his cuteness and not feel like every other minute was a battle.

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And finally, what was supposed to be yesterday’s Motherhood moment.

Sometimes, I think God gives us children to keep us humble.

 Alex, a week before Christmas: (dramatic sigh) “Mommy, my classmates are only excited about presents.”

Me: “Uh…okay. And what are you excited about?”

Alex: “I’m excited about presents, too, but I’m excited about Jesus’s birthday. About all of it.”

Well, nee-ner nee-ner, little Mr. Holier-Than-Thou. Except…um…well, he was channeling me. That’s exactly the kind of thing I said throughout elementary school (and high school, probably). Idiotic, self-righteous stuff. Especially considering how sour, sulky and otherwise un-righteous he acted at church on the last two Sundays of Advent.

Moments like this, every muscle in my body tenses up in an expression commonly known as a “wince.” Ew. No wonder I wasn’t popular.