You Can't Rush Your Healing (Trevor Hall) / Akaal (Ajeet Kaur, featuring Trevor Hall)

We drove through the night Tuesday to arrive Wednesday morning... napped a few hours... then put on our aprons to kick *ss in the kitchen, preparing carmelized Carnival squash, creamed onions, Stuffin' Muffins (mini-ones this year, which will be a new tradition), Thai chili sauce/pistachio Brussels sprouts, etc. etc. etc.

Bedtime, then up again for Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, at which point Colin came downstairs, threw his arms in the air, and exclaimed:  "Today's the Day!", which became our holiday weekend mantra... 🎉

A multi-generational revolving door of Venn-diagrammed families (24 total!) enjoyed appetizers and beverages until our 3 p.m. dinnertime, followed by massive amounts of dessert, and they all drifted out again.  We belatedly remembered to re-enact a MossFam tradition... 😛

Friday brings leftovers for breakfast, CodeNames, a park/playground visit, and home movies (which are laughter- as well as tear-inducing).  A leisurely departure Saturday morning, back in Pembroke Pines by midnight-ish.

And some of us tested positive for COVID.  Ugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My belated e-mail this morning:

Gratitude Abounds! (Re: Thanksgiving EXTRAVANGA - Over the River and Through the Woods to the Carroll House!

Dear All:  

My short-and-sweet blessing/toast:  "Thank you for this food, and this day, thank you for friends who are family, and family who are friends, and the love we share."

Well, if that doesn't just sum it up perfectly in twenty-five-words-or-less, not my modus operandi at all (ha!).

First of all, boundless thanks to Mari and John for agreeing to *host* the Thanksgiving Extravaganza for multiple branches of the Driskell/Carroll/Hilton/Moss/Vo Families.  The house was beautiful and organized and welcoming... 💗

We are grateful to everyone for coming and contributing and conversing and convivializing (I thought I made up that word, but it actually exists!

Thursday was lovely on so many levels... from MVP Rob (and his Kinky Boots apron) for gently but firmly assigning kitchen duties... to Julia's mimosa stations... to Duyen joining us again... to Lee-Lee's dinner rolls (which didn't get burned!)... to Dot!... to the marriage of napkin rings... to darling Stella... to Joy's Piecaken... to Chico's turkey carving... to inspiring and thoughtful conversations... to Brad's orchids... to Debbie's chocoholic eclair dessert... to Colin's blessing (and I know I've left out many other delights, so please feel free to add them... 🤗

Each deliciosity, joke, endearment was greater than the one previous... and, although my cheekbones (and sciatic nerves - it's a long drive!) still ache, my heart is full.  We made it through the first First (to Eric!).  Thanks and love to all, always... 💖

Sue

I am grateful to my sister Mari for providing this most perfect image.  We are indeed a family of Scrabble players but, regrettably, we never did manage to make time to play!

Happy post-Thanksgiving, sweet peas.  DEAR SUGAR, The Rumpus Advice Column #90: Ninety-Four Ways of Saying Thank You, November 24, 2011

SONG:  You Can't Rush Your Healing by Trevor Hall (thanks to Sarah for sharing this song with me a few months ago... 💖) / Akaal by Ajeet Kaur (featuring Trevor Hall)

BOOK:  Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road by Neil Peart

POEM:  Forgotten Gravy by Donna Ashworth

I love imperfect, mismatched rooms, homemade decorations,

and trinkets,

that tell stories of the past.

I treasure impromptu gatherings with food rustled up from nowhere – it’s always just enough.

I see the beauty in gifts handed over

with words of oh it’s nothing;

for that simply means the giver

cannot begin to convey

how they really feel about you.

I value both the quiet moments when the lights twinkle privately, and the raucous occasions when laughter fills the room.

And I can’t get enough of burnt carrots,

forgotten gravy,

and failed attempts at dessert.

Because that’s where the love lives

— in the imperfect,

in the messy,

in the real.

Love lives in the forgotten gravy.  Look for it.

Fifteen Bean Soup by Barbara Crooker

I want to thank this pot for its art

of containment, the stove for its gentle

heat.  Thank you to the beans, all fifteen

of you, for your transformation from stony

pebbles into nuggets of deliciousness, regaining

your original forms:  large & small limas, lentils,

navy beans, pintos, yellow-eyed beans, red & white

kidneys, black beans, garbanzos, cranberry beans,

small white & pink beans, green & yellow split peas.

And thank you to the onions, for your bite and snap;

tomatoes, chili powder, garlic, lemon juice—what

you add is undetectable, but if you’re omitted,

all is lost.  A word of applause, gnarly ham hocks,

for coming apart in the bubble and boil,

for lending your parts for the good of the whole.

And thank you, thank you, stoneware bowls—

without your help, this dinner wouldn’t be possible.

Have I forgotten anyone?  The farmer who sowed

the crops, the rancher who raised the pigs, the grocery

store that carried their wares.  Finally—and yes, I hear

the orchestra music, know my time is coming to a close—

let me thank the housewife, lost in history, who figured

out this recipe, the proportions, who added in the harmony,

the way the notes combined, the blend, the music, the mastery.

QUOTE:  "It was November - the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.” ~ L. M. Montgomery

Thankful (The Juicebox Jukebox)

A bazillion years ago, when my then-boyfriend-now-husband and I were at West Georgia College, he went on a road trip to Florida with his two roommates and one of the roommates' girlfriend Jana (pronounced Yanna; she was Scandanivian, of course).  On the way home, the guys were tired, it was 3 a.m., there were very few cars on the highway, and they decided to let Jana drive.  A short while later, they felt a series of jolting bumps, and woke up to find that she had driven them off the road, narrowly missing a culvert, which could have meant damage to the car, not to mention injuries to its occupants.  When questioned as to what happened, Jana replied:  "I lost my concentration".  What?!?... 👀

Whenever I use the above excuse/justification, not often but sometimes, I conjure the backstory, which I am doing right now, envisioning Jana's beautiful face, her eyes wide and unapologetic.  Hey, it happens.  And that's how I feel about the last eleven days; all is fine here and there are no undercurrents nor real reasons I haven't posted.  I just lost my concentration... 😥

Back in focus now, mainly because Thanksgiving is tomorrow and, despite the crazy pandemic times we are in, we do have much to be thankful for.  For the last several years, I have participated in the 30-Day Gratitude Challenge but, since I'm not on Facebook (nor Instagram) anymore, it's fallen by the proverbial wayside, at least on social media, although not in my head and heart.  Counting my blessings remains a coping mechanism, and not just for the month of November... 💞

We normally have a houseful of people for the always-my-favorite-since-there-is-no-actual-*agenda* holiday, and we'll be missing our usual cast of characters immensely... but this year it's just the MossFam6.  Our family has brainstormed an all-vegan, finger-food brunch:  vegan cheese ball rolled in nuts and parsley with crackers; sliders with Gardein stuffed turk'y on mini-rolls with cranberry mayo (vegan); stuffin' muffins; phyllo cups with vegan sausage, pears, and walnuts; spinach/cheeZe/"egg" bites; roast potatoes; green bean casserole and, for dessert: avocado chocolate mousse, apple palm pies, pumpkin pie bites, homemade vegan cookies mailed across county lines from Melanie and Nick... plus champagne with cider... served outdoor picnic-style in our grassy area downstairs.  

In the meantime, I have issued the following challenge, discussed in last Friday's New York Times Daily Briefing, to my family and friends and hoping some of you might chime in below with your own.  Happy Thanksgiving, already looking forward to when we can have a face-to-face again, and here's my six-word gratitude contribution: 

"Around the table in spirit.  Cheers!"

"At a Thanksgiving dinner more than a decade ago, a magazine editor named Larry Smith made a suggestion to his relatives seated at the table: They should each tell a story about themselves — in only six words. It was a twist on a challenge that somebody apparently once issued to Ernest Hemingway.

For Thanksgiving, I want to invite the readers of this newsletter to do a version of the exercise. In this year of pandemic, politics and so much else, tell us what makes you grateful, in just six words.

“The constraint of the six-word form helps us get to the essence of what matters most,” Smith says, “and I can’t think of a time when expressing gratitude has been more important.” 

P.S.  I love Love LOVE the poem below, written by one of my favorite poets and people.  When I was still working, I kept my car radio on WLRN, the local NPR station, where I received my news as well as my culture (book and music reviews).  On the way home one afternoon, an interview with Ross Gay aired (about his just-published volume of essays, The Book of Delights) and I could not wait to get home and order it.  Imagine my pleasure when he was on a panel at the 2019 Miami Book Fair, and my validation that he was just as delightful in person.  I brought my book from home, which he autographed for me:  "To Susan - In Joy Together!".  I will never forget his open face, and his warm demeanor.  

" and you, again you, for hanging tight, dear friend.

I know I can be long-winded sometimes.

I want so badly to rub the sponge of gratitude

over every last thing"... 💓

NR:  The Girl with the Louding Voice by Abi Dare'

SONG:  Thankful by The Juicebox Jukebox

BOOK:  Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay

POEM:  Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay

Friends, will you bear with me today,

for I have awakened

from a dream in which a robin

made with its shabby wings a kind of veil

behind which it shimmied and stomped something from the south

of Spain, its breast aflare,

looking me dead in the eye

from the branch that grew into my window,

coochie-cooing my chin,

the bird shuffling its little talons left, then right,

while the leaves bristled

against the plaster wall, two of them drifting

onto my blanket while the bird

opened and closed its wings like a matador

giving up on murder,

jutting its beak, turning a circle,

and flashing, again,

the ruddy bombast of its breast 

by which I knew upon waking

it was telling me

in no uncertain terms

to bellow forth the tubas and sousaphones,

the whole rusty brass band of gratitude

not quite dormant in my belly—

it said so in a human voice,

“Bellow forth”—

and who among us could ignore such odd

and precise counsel?

Hear ye! hear ye! I am here

to holler that I have hauled tons—by which I don’t mean lots,

I mean tons — of cowshit

and stood ankle deep in swales of maggots

swirling the spent beer grains

the brewery man was good enough to dump off

holding his nose, for they smell very bad,

but make the compost writhe giddy and lick its lips,

twirling dung with my pitchfork

again and again

with hundreds and hundreds of other people,

we dreamt an orchard this way,

furrowing our brows,

and hauling our wheelbarrows,

and sweating through our shirts,

and two years later there was a party

at which trees were sunk into the well-fed earth,

one of which, a liberty apple, after being watered in

was tamped by a baby barefoot

with a bow hanging in her hair

biting her lip in her joyous work

and friends this is the realest place I know,

it makes me squirm like a worm I am so grateful,

you could ride your bike there

or roller skate or catch the bus

there is a fence and a gate twisted by hand,

there is a fig tree taller than you in Indiana,

it will make you gasp.

It might make you want to stay alive even, thank you;

and thank you

for not taking my pal when the engine

of his mind dragged him

to swig fistfuls of Xanax and a bottle or two of booze,

and thank you for taking my father

a few years after his own father went down thank you

mercy, mercy, thank you

for not smoking meth with your mother

oh thank you thank you

for leaving and for coming back,

and thank you for what inside my friends’

love bursts like a throng of roadside goldenrod

gleaming into the world,

likely hauling a shovel with her

like one named Aralee ought,

with hands big as a horse’s,

and who, like one named Aralee ought,

will laugh time to time til the juice

runs from her nose; oh

thank you

for the way a small thing’s wail makes

the milk or what once was milk

in us gather into horses

huckle-buckling across a field;

and thank you, friends, when last spring

the hyacinth bells rang

and the crocuses flaunted

their upturned skirts, and a quiet roved

the beehive which when I entered

were snugged two or three dead

fist-sized clutches of bees between the frames,

almost clinging to one another,

this one’s tiny head pushed

into another’s tiny wing,

one’s forelegs resting on another’s face,

the translucent paper of their wings fluttering

beneath my breath and when

a few dropped to the frames beneath:

honey; and after falling down to cry,

everything’s glacial shine.

And thank you, too. And thanks

for the corduroy couch I have put you on.

Put your feet up. Here’s a light blanket,

a pillow, dear one,

for I can feel this is going to be long.

I can’t stop

my gratitude, which includes, dear reader,

you, for staying here with me,

for moving your lips just so as I speak.

Here is a cup of tea. I have spooned honey into it.

And thank you the tiny bee’s shadow

perusing these words as I write them.

And the way my love talks quietly

when in the hive,

so quietly, in fact, you cannot hear her

but only notice barely her lips moving

in conversation. Thank you what does not scare her

in me, but makes her reach my way. Thank you the love

she is which hurts sometimes. And the time

she misremembered elephants

in one of my poems which, oh, here

they come, garlanded with morning glory and wisteria

blooms, trombones all the way down to the river.

Thank you the quiet

in which the river bends around the elephant’s

solemn trunk, polishing stones, floating

on its gentle back

the flock of geese flying overhead.

And to the quick and gentle flocking

of men to the old lady falling down

on the corner of Fairmount and 18th, holding patiently

with the softest parts of their hands

her cane and purple hat,

gathering for her the contents of her purse

and touching her shoulder and elbow;

thank you the cockeyed court

on which in a half-court 3 vs. 3 we oldheads

made of some runny-nosed kids

a shambles, and the 61-year-old

after flipping a reverse lay-up off a back door cut

from my no-look pass to seal the game

ripped off his shirt and threw punches at the gods

and hollered at the kids to admire the pacemaker’s scar

grinning across his chest; thank you

the glad accordion’s wheeze

in the chest; thank you the bagpipes.

Thank you to the woman barefoot in a gaudy dress

for stopping her car in the middle of the road

and the tractor trailer behind her, and the van behind it,

whisking a turtle off the road.

Thank you god of gaudy.

Thank you paisley panties.

Thank you the organ up my dress.

Thank you the sheer dress you wore kneeling in my dream

at the creek’s edge and the light

swimming through it. The koi kissing

halos into the glassy air.

The room in my mind with the blinds drawn

where we nearly injure each other

crawling into the shawl of the other’s body.

Thank you for saying it plain:

fuck each other dumb.

And you, again, you, for the true kindness

it has been for you to remain awake

with me like this, nodding time to time

and making that noise which I take to mean

yes, or, I understand, or, please go on

but not too long, or, why are you spitting

so much, or, easy Tiger

hands to yourself. I am excitable.

I am sorry. I am grateful.

I just want us to be friends now, forever.

Take this bowl of blackberries from the garden.

The sun has made them warm.

I picked them just for you. I promise

I will try to stay on my side of the couch.

And thank you the baggie of dreadlocks I found in a drawer

while washing and folding the clothes of our murdered friend;

the photo in which his arm slung

around the sign to “the trail of silences”; thank you

the way before he died he held

his hands open to us; for coming back

in a waft of incense or in the shape of a boy

in another city looking

from between his mother’s legs,

or disappearing into the stacks after brushing by;

for moseying back in dreams where,

seeing us lost and scared

he put his hand on our shoulders

and pointed us to the temple across town;

and thank you to the man all night long

hosing a mist on his early-bloomed

peach tree so that the hard frost

not waste the crop, the ice

in his beard and the ghosts

lifting from him when the warming sun

told him sleep now; thank you

the ancestor who loved you

before she knew you

by smuggling seeds into her braid for the long

journey, who loved you

before he knew you by putting

a walnut tree in the ground, who loved you

before she knew you by not slaughtering

the land; thank you

who did not bulldoze the ancient grove

of dates and olives,

who sailed his keys into the ocean

and walked softly home; who did not fire, who did not

plunge the head into the toilet, who said stop,

don’t do that; who lifted some broken

someone up; who volunteered

the way a plant birthed of the reseeding plant

is called a volunteer, like the plum tree

that marched beside the raised bed

in my garden, like the arugula that marched

itself between the blueberries,

nary a bayonet, nary an army, nary a nation,

which usage of the word volunteer

familiar to gardeners the wide world

made my pal shout “Oh!” and dance

and plunge his knuckles

into the lush soil before gobbling two strawberries

and digging a song from his guitar

made of wood from a tree someone planted, thank you;

thank you zinnia, and gooseberry, rudbeckia

and pawpaw, Ashmead’s kernel, cockscomb

and scarlet runner, feverfew and lemonbalm;

thank you knitbone and sweetgrass and sunchoke

and false indigo whose petals stammered apart

by bumblebees good lord please give me a minute...

and moonglow and catkin and crookneck

and painted tongue and seedpod and johnny jump-up;

thank you what in us rackets glad

what gladrackets us;

and thank you, too, this knuckleheaded heart, this pelican heart,

this gap-toothed heart flinging open its gaudy maw

to the sky, oh clumsy, oh bumblefucked,

oh giddy, oh dumbstruck,

oh rickshaw, oh goat twisting

its head at me from my peach tree’s highest branch,

balanced impossibly gobbling the last fruit,

its tongue working like an engine,

a lone sweet drop tumbling by some miracle

into my mouth like the smell of someone I’ve loved;

heart like an elephant screaming

at the bones of its dead;

heart like the lady on the bus

dressed head to toe in gold, the sun

shivering her shiny boots, singing

Erykah Badu to herself

leaning her head against the window;

and thank you the way my father one time came back in a dream

by plucking the two cables beneath my chin

like a bass fiddle’s strings

and played me until I woke singing,

no kidding, singing, smiling,

thank you, thank you,

stumbling into the garden where

the Juneberry’s flowers had burst open

like the bells of French horns, the lily

my mother and I planted oozed into the air,

the bazillion ants labored in their earthen workshops

below, the collard greens waved in the wind

like the sails of ships, and the wasps

swam in the mint bloom’s viscous swill;

and you, again you, for hanging tight, dear friend.

I know I can be long-winded sometimes.

I want so badly to rub the sponge of gratitude

over every last thing, including you, which, yes, awkward,

the suds in your ear and armpit, the little sparkling gems

slipping into your eye. Soon it will be over,

which is precisely what the child in my dream said,

holding my hand, pointing at the roiling sea and the sky

hurtling our way like so many buffalo,

who said it’s much worse than we think,

and sooner; to whom I said

no duh child in my dreams, what do you think

this singing and shuddering is,

what this screaming and reaching and dancing

and crying is, other than loving

what every second goes away?

Goodbye, I mean to say.

And thank you. Every day.

QUOTE:  "Make the invisible dark force beautiful. Create a song out of your moans.  Brag about your wounds. Dance reverently on the graves of your enemies.  Sneak a gift to your bad self. Dissolve the ties that bind you to hollow intelligence.  Train yourself in the art of unpredictability. Play forever in time's blessing. Lift up your heart unto the wild sun. Distribute your favors to the little ones who can never pay you back. Fall out of love with fear. Make beautiful messes in the midst of ugly messes." ~ Rob Brezsny

A Little Bit of Everything (Dawes)

In my opinion, Kamala Harris kicked *ss in the best possible way in Wednesday night's Vice Presidential Debate!  She was prepared, articulate, firm but respectful.  I also loved her smirks and critical eyebrows (which were basically her substitute for giving Pence the finger, or yelling B*llshit!).  As a woman, I am so tired of the whole interrupting, lecturing, mansplaining thing.  It's so rude and minimizing.  "I am speaking".  She handled it/him very well.  Who uses the word existential in a political arena?  Kamala!  She brought me joy and compassion, as well as information, plus her voice is mellifluous... 😊  Best thing Biden did was bring her on the ticket.  Can't wait to have her as our next VP... 💗

I am trying to stay positive-speaking and -thinking, but... this (ha ha ha ha ha!) 

I've also been concentrating on three important aspects during this pandemic which keep me moving forward:  recognizing growth opportunities... controlling what I can... gratitude.  In addition to reading like a motherf*cker, my new (again) walking routine, and music, I have resurrected the habit of talking to special friends during the week, which goes a long-way toward radical self-care.  Two hours *each* with Linda, Michele, Melanie, and Laurie left me hoarse, with cauliflower ear, and so very refilled, rejuvenated, and refreshed (also a lovely in-person porch visit with Nance, and two dear Zoom sessions on Tuesday, both morning and evening).  As Dar sings, in Arrival:

My friends give me purple flowers and orange tea

On goosedown spilling quilts and turquoise chairs

We greet each other in a wild profusion of words

And wave farewell amidst the wonderment of air

And in the laughing times we know that we are lucky

And in the quiet times we know that we are blessed

And we will not be alone

Hey, I haven't offered up a Feel Good Friday post in a while.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ A ‘Great Gatsby’ Quote Takes On New Resonance:  But the passage shared over the past few days by educators, writers and veterans of past presidential administrations came from an unlikely source: F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel about greed and aspiration published nearly a century ago.

“They were careless people.  They smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”

~ Don't Drink & Debate Smirnoff commercial

~ A fly that landed on Pence’s head for more than two minutes became a star on social media.  "A brief history of presidential politics and flies" from Morning Joe (thanks to Nance for the heads-up!).

~ Thanks to Michele for the heads-up on Last Tango in Halifax, which I am excited to begin watching (on Netflix).

~ Melanie sent me this recipe, which I am looking forward to trying.  Yum!

NR:  In the Dream House: A Memoir by Carmen Maria Machado

SONG:  A Little Bit of Everything by Dawes

BOOK:  The Problem with Everything: My Journey Through the New Culture Wars by Meghan Daum

POEM:  Everything Is Waiting For You by David Whyte

(after Derek Mahon)

Your great mistake is to act the drama

as if you were alone.  As if life

were a progressive and cunning crime

with no witness to the tiny hidden

transgressions.  To feel abandoned is to deny

the intimacy of your surroundings.  Surely,

even you, at times, have felt the grand array;

the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding

out your solo voice.  You must note

the way the soap dish enables you,

or the window latch grants you freedom.

Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.

The stairs are your mentor of things

to come, the doors have always been there

to frighten you and invite you,

and the tiny speaker in the phone

is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into

the conversation.  The kettle is singing

even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots

have left their arrogant aloofness and

seen the good in you at last.  All the birds

and creatures of the world are unutterably

themselves.  Everything is waiting for you.

QUOTE:  "To be called ruthless a man must be Joe McCarthy, a woman just has to put you on hold." ~ Marlo Thomas

The Heartache Can Wait (Brandi Carlile)

I really don't know how I've managed to go three weeks without a blog post - chalk it up to a combination of busy... and sad... and the Christmas season. I miss recording my thoughts - I have vowed to do better in 2010... :-)

Some of you will receive a printed copy of the following enclosed in our holiday cards, which have only just been mailed out from my sister's home in Cumming, Georgia - it's been a whirlwind but most amazing trip already, and I hope to write more about it in the next day or so...

In the meantime, early on this Christmas Eve morning, please accept my sincere wishes for a holiday that is warm, blessed and loving - I am grateful for everything that has come my way, the good and the bad, from which I have learned and grown... and for the support and patience of friends and family as I continue to stumble through this first year without my mother...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Constance Elaine Izzo Driskell Maresco – September 9, 1930-July 19, 2009

"The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine." ~ Mignon McLaughlin

How does one put a life-changing summer into words? - everyone receiving this knows that mom had been ill for the last few years... with kidney disease and pulmonary fibrosis, both progressive and irreversible illnesses. Most of you also know that my initially-intended two-week visit to Flowery Branch in mid-May segued into my becoming primary caregiver for Mom until her passing mid-July – some of you realize the import of those two months, as we circled the wagons as well as widened the circle. A select handful involved considered it an honor and a blessing to help mom on her journey and to aid in her transition – she handled everything with her usual grace, style and humor... preparing not only her financial and legal affairs, but readying us for her expected yet hard-hitting absence...

Upon the advice of friends, we set up a CaringBridge website in late-May, when we brought in home hospice – it was not only cathartic for Mari and I to track the details of mom's days, medically and emotionally, but it proved to be a multi-dimensional way for her loved ones to stay informed as well as to respond. You can visit the link below and click on Journal to view what Mari and I wrote along the way... and click on Guestbook to share others' musings (which we read aloud to mom every day) – it actually brings me peace and comfort to re-visit periodically... and it takes me right back to CSI: Miami and Happy Hour and nebulizers, oh my (weak smile... :-)

www.caringbridge.org/visit/conniemaresco

"I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no "brief candle" for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations." ~ George Bernard Shaw

Mom herself could have written the above quote... because she most certainly did live her life that way – she made every single minute count. She was generous, kind, bright, funny, vivacious, spiritual... and she left an immeasurable legacy to her children (me, Mari and Brad), her grandchildren (Sarah, Robby, Eric and Julia) and everyone in her path, whether relatives by blood or marriage, life-long friends or brief acquaintances. She embraced her final months with dignity, courage and faith - her light continues to burn and set an example for the rest of us...

This holiday is most certainly bittersweet, as we head out in just a few hours on our annual family trip to South Carolina and Georgia – there will be so many triggers of grief, but there will be equal sparks of memory. We will uphold previous traditions and make new ones - Mom's spirit will give us the strength and the serenity to navigate this first major holiday without her. WWCD (What Would Connie Do) has become our new mantra (good one, Mari!) - words to live by... literally...

The Moss Family (Sue, Chico, Sarah, Rob and Eric)

SONG: The Heartache Can Wait by Brandi Carlile

BOOK: Getting in the Christmas Spirit: A Gift of Inspiration for the Holiday Season by Tian Dayton

POEM: An Old Man Performs Alchemy on His Doorstep at Christmastime by Anna George

Cream of Tartar, commonly used to lift meringue and angel food cake, is actually made from crystallized fine wine.

After they stopped singing for him,
the carolers became transparent in the dark,
and he stepped into their emptiness to say
he lost his wife last week, please
sing again. Their voices filled with gold.
Last week, his fedora nodded hello to me
on the sidewalk, and the fragile breath
of kindness that passed between us
made something sweet of a morning
that had frightened me for no earthly reason.
Surely, you know this by another name:
the mysteries we intake, exhale, could be
sitting on our shelves, left on the bus seat
beside us. Don't wash your hands.
You fingered them at the supermarket,
gave them to the cashier; intoxicated tonight,
she'll sing in the streets. Think of the old man.
Who knew he kept the secret of levitation,
transference, and lightness filling a winter night?
— an effortless, crystalline powder
That could almost seem transfigured from loss.

QUOTE: “As each day comes to us refreshed and anew, so does my gratitude renew itself daily.” ~ Adabella Radici

Thanksgiving Song (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

It is 12:40 a.m. Thanksgiving Day as I begin to type this - I spent much of Wednesday straightening and then cleaning the house in anticipation of the holiday. After I publish this post, I intend to lay out my linens, serving dishes and pantry items so as to get a jump on the day organizationally - then... I'll soak in the jacuzzi before I crawl between the sheets, with plans to wake at 8 a.m. to put the turkey in the oven. Then... back to bed... or not? - usually not... as this is my favorite holiday and I want to make the most of it.

A few minutes ago, I read last year's Thanksgiving posts, as I devoted almost a full week to this special time of gratitude, family and love - ah, that we should feel/behave this way year-round, eh? I love the no-agenda, non-commercial-ness of the day, as it's not really one Hallmark has tagged and therefore sullied - it's all about connection and gathering and thankfulness, widening our circles as well as circling our wagons.

I cook pretty much the same menu each year - our friends Kathy and Buck *always* bring the sweet potato casserole (as that's one of the few things I don't eat... so therefore don't cook) and a raspberry cheesecake. This time around, Sarah and her boyfriend Ryan are making green bean casserole and a chocolate chip banana nut bread - when I read the menu to my boys last night, they insisted that was nowhere near enough chocolate... so I made a dark chocolate caramel walnut pie (2, actually) tonight from a recipe I saw in Good Housekeeping magazine while I was waiting for my friend in the doctor's office - can't wait to finally take a bite and see if it's worth the calories!

As always, so much to be grateful for: my mom, whose health seems to be declining more slowly as she realizes her limitations and therefore asks for more help and doesn't try to do everything herself; my sister and brother, wonderful people in their own right, but absolute godsends in cities of close proximity to Mom, to visit, take her to doctor's appointments, etc.; a husband who loves and supports me, especially in my dark days; my three children who are bright, funny, compassionate; friends, near and far, who lift me up and make me feel valued; my sweet Rockstermuffin who, as soon as I lace up my New Balances, follows me all around the house until I take him walking after *my* walk; music, books and good conversation that keep me inspired, learning and growing; my renewed dedication to a healthier lifestyle; my ongoing spiritual journey to be the best me I can be; a change in national leadership such that I feel represented, rather than disenfranchised, for the first time in eight years; ikigai, a Japanese word that means "that which makes one's life worth living" (i.e., a sense of purpose) - so much more... but I have tables to set, a dishwasher to unload and wine to chill... :-)

Happy Thanksgiving to all - may grace surround and enfold you... on this day, and always...

P.S. SMM...

SONG: Thanksgiving Song by Mary Chapin Carpenter

BOOK: The Book Of Thanksgiving: Stories, Poems, and Recipes for Sharing One of America's Greatest Holidays by Jessica Faust

POEM: This Amazing Day by e. e. cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing

day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth

day of life and love and wings:and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any-lifted from the no

of all nothing-human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

QUOTE: "Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest man it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow." ~ Edward Sandford Martin

You Are the Everything (R.E.M.)

It's been a very strange last five days, all of which left me with there-but-for-the-grace-of-god syndrome - despite my recent job loss, I feel pretty lucky right about now...

The father of one of my daughter's best friends lost his two-year battle with cancer last week... and the wake/service was Thursday night - I could not begin to imagine their grief... and their attempt to return to normalcy. I sobbed through it all, my daughter and I holding hands as our hearts broke with each mention of his name, each glance at the family, each memory unfolding from friends' stories - the sweet spot: he lived to see his "little girl" get married a month ago, and we are all convinced he allowed himself to let go soon afterwards...

An acquaintance from church was hit by a car Friday night... and I ended up being the one the paramedics called as they were transporting her to the hospital - I phoned our minister and another friend, who met her there, and they stayed with her overnight until she was released the next morning. I visited the next day, bringing a vat of homemade chicken soup (among other food items)... and doing a bit of cleaning and organizing (more on this in my next post) in her apartment Sunday so she could navigate through the rooms/hallways with her crutches - I also took her to the doctor yesterday, who recommended surgery (which will happen Friday) on her fractured tibia. Long-story-short (too late!, as Nance would say) is that I'm exhausted from caregiving...

On the brighter side, I walked 4 days last week, skipped Friday through Monday (due to the above-mentioned circumstances), and was back out today - I'm addicted again (just hit a vein, baby!). My trek was made even more delightful by the cooler temps (by South Florida standards) - add to that the ssstttrrreeetttccchhhing I've been doing... plus walking the dog (Rocky Raccoon) afterwards... and I'm feeling very proud of my "feed the soul" regimen...

I've also received compliments on my body changes, making me extra-careful not to fall into my typical self-sabotage MO ("oh, people are telling me I look great, therefore I can stop") - rather, I'm just setting incremental goals, knowing that mid-March will be a year since I rededicated to taking better care of myself (with many blips/traps/stumbles along the way... :-)

P.S. Two more SMM posts over the weekend can be found here... and here...

SONG: You Are the Everything by R.E.M.

BOOK: Thanks!: How Practicing Gratitude Can Make You Happier by Robert Emmons

POEM: Sometimes by David Budbill

Sometimes when day after day we have cloudless blue skies,

warm temperatures, colorful trees and brilliant sun, when

it seems like all this will go on forever,

when I harvest vegetables from the garden all day,

then drink tea and doze in the late afternoon sun,

and in the evening one night make pickled beets

and green tomato chutney, the next red tomato chutney,

and the day after that pick the fruits of my arbor

and make grape jam,

when we walk in the woods every evening over fallen leaves,

through yellow light, when nights are cool, and days warm,

when I am so happy I am afraid I might explode or disappear

or somehow be taken away from all this,

at those times when I feel so happy, so good, so alive, so in love

with the world, with my own sensuous, beautiful life, suddenly

I think about all the suffering and pain in the world, the agony

and dying. I think about all those people being tortured, right

now,

in my name. But I still feel happy and good, alive and in love with

the world and with my lucky, guilty, sensuous, beautiful life

because,

I know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be

taken from me, and therefore I've got to say, right now,

what I feel and know and see, I've got to say, right now,

how beautiful and sweet this world can be.

QUOTE: "The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." ~ Allan K. Chalmers

Alice's Restaurant (Arlo Guthrie)

The Lumpy Sue Acoustic Musicfest is a free concert in North Miami's Greynolds Park the day after Thanksgiving. It provides a relaxed and mellow alternative to the frenzy of Christmas commercialism. However, if money is burning a hole in your pocket, you can buy raffle tickets to support Habitat for Humanity. Prizes are generally gift certificates from local merchants (restaurants, music stores, baskets, coffee houses, even vacations, that sort of thing).

The LSAM had its origin in 1992 when a small group of locals decided that the Miami area was in need of a family-oriented acoustic folk music festival. Recalling that Greynolds Park in North Miami Beach in the 1960's was a haven for folk music groupies, the locals decided that that would be their venue. The date for the event would be a tradition… Friday, the day after thanksgiving, in honor of Alice's Restaurant. This founding group remains today as the executive committee of LSAM, and the planning committee has expanded over the years.

All the talent appears gratis in respect for our second addition... Habitat for Humanity. There is a raffle and prizes are supplied by restaurants and many other local merchants with 100% of the proceeds going to Habitat. In our 12-year relationship with Habitat we have helped over 500 families obtain affordable housing.

The festival has developed into everything the founders hoped for: great music performed by respected artists, a family gathering, in a beautiful environment, creating a traditional event to attract a substantial audience-about 2000 of the mellowest people you want to meet and spend a day with.

This will be my tenth year attending this amazing gathering - I always buy raffle tickets... sometimes winning something and, since 2001 when I started my house concerts and continuing to the present with our UU concert series, I've donated many pairs of tickets as well. It's all delightful, spending time with friends, snacking on food/drinking mimosas and listening to wonderful music on an always-perfect weather day - the piece de resistance for me is the very last act at sundown, when Romo, a local musician, performs the full-length version of Alice's Restaurant... and we all sing the chorus, with four-part harmony and feeling, of course!

Here's a YouTube video, with clips from the movie and Arlo performing "Alice" in the same Church 40 years later.

SONG: Alice's Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie

BOOK: Attitudes of Gratitude: How to Give and Receive Joy Every Day of Your Life by M. J. Ryan

POEM: A Gardener's Thanksgiving by Reverend Max Coots

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people:

For children who are our second planting, and though they grow like weeds and the wind too soon blows them away, may they forgive us our cultivation and fondly remember where their roots are....

For generous friends with hearts as big as hubbards and smiles as bright as their blossoms;

For feisty friends as tart as apples;

For continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers, keep reminding us that we've had them;

For crotchety friends, as sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;

For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and as elegant as a row of corn, and the other, plain as potatoes and as good for you;

For funny friends, who are as silly as Brussels Sprouts and as amusing as Jerusalem Artichokes, and serious friends, as complex as cauliflowers and as intricate as onions;

For friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as dill, as endless as zucchini, and who, like parsnips, can be counted on to see you through the winter;

For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time, and young friends coming on as fast as radishes;

For loving friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold us, despite our blights, wilts and witherings;

And finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past that have been harvested, and who fed us in their times that we might have life thereafter;

For all these we give thanks.

QUOTE: "Thanksgiving is the holiday of peace, the celebration of work and the simple life... a true folk-festival that speaks the poetry of the turn of the seasons, the beauty of seedtime and harvest, the ripe product of the year - and the deep, deep connection of all these things with God." ~ Ray Stannard Baker

Thanksgiving Eve (Bob Franke)

On the fourth Thursday in November, Thanksgiving Day, Americans express gratitude for their good fortune. The American Thanksgiving tradition originated with the Pilgrims. As early as 1621, the Puritan colonists of Plymouth, Massachusetts set aside a day of thanks for a bountiful harvest. On October 3, 1789, President George Washington proclaimed the 26th of that November the first national Thanksgiving Day under the Constitution.

On October 3, 1863, in the wake of victory at Gettysburg, President Abraham Lincoln decided to issue a Thanksgiving Proclamation declaring the last Thursday in November national Thanksgiving Day. In 1941 Congress made it official.

On Thanksgiving Day in 1876, The American Intercollegiate Football Association held its first championship game. The sport resembled something of a cross between rugby and modern-day football, but the tradition of playing football on Thanksgiving Day developed with the evolution of the sport itself.

The first Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was in 1924. In the 1920's many of Macy's department store employees were first-generation immigrants. Proud of their new American heritage, they wanted to celebrate the holiday with the type of festival they loved in Europe. The employees marched from 145 Street down to 34th Street dressed as clowns, sheiks, knights and cowboys. There were floats, professional bands and 25 live animals borrowed from the Central Park Zoo. With an audience of over a quarter of a million people, the parade was a success.

Large helium balloons first appeared in 1927 with Felix the Cat. It became tradition to release the balloons after the parade. The balloons would float for days and the lucky finder could claim a reward at Macy's. In 1933, a student pilot stalled her engine over Jamaica Bay trying to snag a cat balloon, and two tugboats in the East River tore apart a dachshund balloon. After a few more close calls, the practice of releasing the balloons came to an end.

SONG: Thanksgiving Eve by Bob Franke

BOOK: The Thanksgiving Ceremony: New Traditions for America's Family Feast by Edward Bleier

POEM: Thanksgiving by Lynn Ungar

I have been trying to read
the script cut in these hills—
a language carved in the shimmer of stubble
and the solid lines of soil, spoken
in the thud of apples falling
and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare.

The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak
as they gather in the fallen grain,
the blackbirds sing it
over their shoulders in parting,
and gold leaf illuminates the manuscript
where it is written in the trees.

Transcribed onto my human tongue
I believe it might sound like a lullaby,
or the simplest grace at table.
Across the gathering stillness
simply this: "For all that we have received,
dear God, make us truly grateful."

QUOTE: "We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." ~ Thornton Wilder

An Attitude of Gratitude (Jimmy Buffett)

Thanksgiving is almost upon us (zippity!) - it is my favorite holiday, for the sheer non-commerciality/no-agenda-ness of it. As much as I love Christmas, the retail industry has pushed it up so far as to completely overwhelm the month of November and all its lovely attributes and offerings - let's enjoy the present, the here-and-now, before we rush right through to the next holiday, month or celebration.

I always make the turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes (one year I made wild rice instead and, to hear my family tell it, you would have thought I'd ordered them to take off their clothes at the dinner table and worship Satan!), green bean casserole (yes, with mushroom soup/onion rings), creamed onions (my mom's recipe), corn, squash casserole, baby carrots with dill, crescent rolls, a pumpkin pie, an apple pie, chocolate cake... and of course massive amounts of wine, red and white. Our friends Buck and Kathy are coming for dinner - they've been assigned the sweet potato casserole, a dish my husband loves but, since I don't, I never make it...

I adore bringing out the Thanksgiving tablecloth in shades of rust, forest green and brown, and the cloth napkins (with assorted napkin holders) that blend with the color scheme - my silk fall leaves in an earthenware pitcher, along with cinnamon candles in the fruit candle rings, will make a lovely holiday table. One of the best parts of this celebration to me is that before we actually lift our forks, we hold hands and, going around the table, everyone is encouraged to share what they are thankful for - as much as my family professes to be embarrassed by this tradition, they always come up with something wonderful to say, and it is a heartwarming and teary moment.

So... I got all of my laundry done today, will do my food shopping tomorrow and clean house on Wednesday - Thursday is reserved for cooking, eating and bonding (did I say I love Thanksgiving?... :-)

SONG: An Attitude of Gratitude by Jimmy Buffett

BOOK: Thanks & Giving: All Year Long by Marlo Thomas, Christopher Cerf

POEM: Grace by Rafael Jesus Gonzalez

Thanks & blessings be

to the Sun & the Earth

for this bread & this wine,

this fruit, this meat, this salt,

this food;

thanks be & blessing to them

who prepare it, who serve it;

thanks & blessings to them

who share it

(& also the absent & the dead).

Thanks & Blessing to them who bring it

(may they not want),

to them who plant & tend it,

harvest & gather it

(may they not want);

thanks & blessing to them who work

& blessing to them who cannot;

may they not want - for their hunger

sours the wine & robs

the taste from the salt.

Thanks be for the sustenance & strength

for our dance & work of justice, of peace.

QUOTE: "Grace isn't a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It's a way to live." ~ Jackie Windspear

I Believe You (Todd Snider)

Here is a link to The Learning Curve of Gratitude, Mary Chapin Carpenter's This I Believe essay for NPR's Weekend Edition, Sunday June 24, 2007 - I've also copied and pasted it below...
"I believe in what I learned at the grocery store.

Eight weeks ago, I was released from the hospital after suffering a pulmonary embolism. I had just finished a tour and a week after returning home, severe chest pain and terrible breathlessness landed me in the ER. A scan revealed blood clots in my lungs.

Everyone told me how lucky I was. A pulmonary embolism can take your life in an instant. I was familiar enough with the medical term, but not familiar with the pain, the fear and the depression that followed.

Everything I had been looking forward to came to a screeching halt. I had to cancel my upcoming tour. I had to let my musicians and crew members go. The record company, the booking agency: I felt that I had let everyone down.

But there was nothing to do but get out of the hospital, go home and get well.

I tried hard to see my unexpected time off as a gift, but I would open a novel and couldn't concentrate. I would turn on the radio, then shut if off. Familiar clouds gathered above my head, and I couldn't make them go away with a pill or a movie or a walk. This unexpected time was becoming a curse, filling me with anxiety, fear and self-loathing — all of the ingredients of the darkness that is depression.

Sometimes, it's the smile of a stranger that helps. Sometimes it's a phone call from a long absent friend, checking on you. I found my lifeline at the grocery store.

One morning, the young man who rang up my groceries and asked me if I wanted paper or plastic also told me to enjoy the rest of my day. I looked at him and I knew he meant it. It stopped me in my tracks. I went out and I sat in my car and cried.

What I want more than ever is to appreciate that I have this day, and tomorrow and hopefully days beyond that. I am experiencing the learning curve of gratitude.

I don't want to say "have a nice day" like a robot. I don't want to get mad at the elderly driver in front of me. I don't want to go crazy when my Internet access is messed up. I don't want to be jealous of someone else's success. You could say that this litany of sins indicates that I don't want to be human. The learning curve of gratitude, however, is showing me exactly how human I am.

I don't know if my doctors will ever be able to give me the precise reason why I had a life-threatening illness. I do know that the young man in the grocery store reminded me that every day is all there is, and that is my belief.

Tonight I will cook dinner, tell my husband how much I love him, curl up with the dogs, watch the sun go down over the mountains and climb into bed. I will think about how uncomplicated it all is. I will wonder at how it took me my entire life to appreciate just one day."

SONG: I Believe You by Todd Snider

BOOK: This I Believe: The Personal Philosophies of Remarkable Men and Women edited by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman

POEM: Sunsets by Alan Brownjohn

Suddenly caught by how it seems
Possible and quite credible that,
In this last windless minute at

Sunset, that downspread of fields I watch
(Gazing past, from the vantage hill,
Just visible cows to the town) will

Have darkened a little – even though
You can’t measure this and it may be
Your eyes don’t tell it truthfully –

I sense a comparison with
Some points in the progress of love:
Times when each element has to move

At just the stage when you would want
It at rest – when, dispassionate-
ly, you would want to define and state

To yourself just where you stand. It may
Be a simple error to believe
That love runs on like that, you can deceive

Yourself quite easily. But
So often love seems to be set
On rushing you past anywhere you get

A chance to arrest it, and talk.
And in this, as with nightfall, you sense
That you cannot make much pretence

Of defying any darkness.
It leaves you no other choice.
It happens in front of your eyes.

QUOTE: "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense." ~ Buddha