Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night

The sun/son returns.

Light in the world illumines for us the darkest parts of ourselves.

Going through the dark toward the light at the end of the tunnel is a fond fantasy.

Are we ever really healed? Completely? Or, are there only cycles of less bad and really bad?

Perhaps there is no final arrival at inner peace and world peace once and for all time. Perhaps all we can expect is the swing from agitation to relative calm.

Many Peoplia Upsi-downia.

Sigh...

Come January 20 we'll be in a new phase of wonder... as in, "I wonder if we'll get through the next four years without blowing up our beloved blue mud-ball-spinning."

However we proceed, I plan to cultivate as much inner peace as I possibly can - just in case things fall apart at the seams.

I'd rather go out dancing than screaming and pulling my hair.

May the new year bring you a BIG piece of peace.

Nifty Gadget Number 497

Shaped like an hour glass, or two cones whose points meet in the middle, this gizmo has a row of sharp metal teeth in each cone that shred zucchini or squash or whatever suitable vegetable you twist into its open ends to make “vegeghetti.”  The cutting points are more widely spaced in one cone than the other, so you can make a two varieties of gluten-free “veggie-pasta”, depending on which width you select. Simple. Easy. Fun to use.

Daughter Mosa gave it to me for my birthday. I’ve been enjoying inventing new dishes with this toy. Today, I caramelized some onions, browned some round slices of chicken sausage, sautéed lightly the Zucchini noodles, and tossed it all together with a bit of Basil and garnished it with a few bright red pomegranate seeds. Pretty! And delicious!

Some gadgets we’ve acquired over the course of forty-five years are not quite what we wish them to be, but the stories of how we acquired them are always memorable.

1988 found the four of us Maxwell-Smiths in Sydney, Australia at Paddy’s Market. Think swap meet on steroids. There among the rows and rows of booths, we stumbled upon a carny with the greatest sales pitch for “Roller-Rulers.” The idea behind this gizmo is that you can make straight and parallel lines down a sheet of paper with no sweat simply by inserting a pen or pencil point in a small hole, then rolling the ruler down the length of the page. We bought two! Such good and engaging salesmanship, we couldn’t pass up the deal. How many times have we used the amazing Roller Rulers in the intervening twenty-eight years? In round numbers? "0."

Zero is a round number. That’s about it. But we still remember the guy with great schtick and his juicy pronunciation of “Roe-lah Roo-lah.”

Then there's the serrated knife with a Pac Man like mouth at the tip with which you can spear the neat rounds of tomato you’ve just sliced so evenly with the serrated edge. It’s one of those gadgets that works so well for the demonstrator, but less effectively once out of its box and in our hands at home. Ah, but the joy of walking with the nieces and nephews, sisters and brothers-in-law through the circus maze of hockers and sellers in New York’s Roosevelt Field out on Long Island is a treasured memory of lots of laughter, great hot dogs, and sun with a hint of ocean salt in the air. The knife now resides in the box of camping utensils, ready at a moment’s notice to slice our tomatoes or hack off a hunk of frozen bread. (Not that we’d have frozen bread on a camping trip... except maybe in Antarctica.)

Holiday times bring up the memories of the wonderful people who have given us gizmos, gadgets, and thing-a-ma-bobs over the years- many of which work wonderfully well, and all of which were, at the time, much appreciated. 

Last year found Mark and me at a white elephant gift exchange party at the Painted Turtle Camp. At the end of a long day making sure the many families who came for the holiday party had a marvelous time, and after all the families had gone home, the camp hosted all of us counselors for an overnight. 

Oh, those young counselors can be wickedly mischievous about what they’re willing to swap with the person on the spot in the middle of the circle who’s just opened the solar hula dancer suitable for your dashboard. Now, there were some choice gizmos… half-gloves made to look like BVD underwear, Nerf Football with whizzing sound effect, cat toys with feathers, and a prize we wanted and won for the Grandie: a battery operated light show in the shape of a turtle. It projects stars and moons onto the ceiling in one of three colors: red, white or green. 

How did we ever learn to live without these fantastic items? 

I’m about to find out. 

I vote to hold onto the memories and chuck the gizmos that do not work.

Two years of living in Oakland have made it very clear that we moved way too much stuff.

Gizmos be gone. Books, files, and never listened to cassettes, watch out! You are next. 

Think I’ll keep the Hubby.

Crosswalks As Stages

When you're out driving, do you ever watch the crosswalk shows?

Where I live they are really quite entertaining, funny, poignant, and enlightening. I hope you may avail yourself of one soon.

They seem to be particularly chock-full of meaning during the holiday rush, as people cling to their packages and scurry across the street tempting fate and the patience of drivers who are equally eager to move on. 

There is the harried mom with twins in a stroller, the shade of which is piled high with bags. Two close-in-age school kids are right behind her punching one another and caterwalling for mom's attention. She slows down enough to grab the older boy by his upper arm, lifting him off his feet, which increases his volume, but makes the little brother smile... and run to catch up.

Then, there is the too cool for school young adolescent boppin' across with the crotch of his pants down around his knees. He can't carry much because one hand has to hold on at all cost to his waistband which is down below his buttocks in back. He can't afford to run either, for fear of being de-pantsed all together. When he starts across with his wide stance walk, which I believe is another method of keeping the pants from falling to his ankles, there are only four-seconds left on the don't walk sign, you can hear the collective sigh of all the front row drivers/spectators, knowing they'll be a captive audience as he makes his way across.

A young woman who may as well have a neon arrow above her blinking, "Shy/Self-Conscious, Shy/Self-Conscious," with every step. She futzes with her hair. She looks over her shoulder. It looks as though that uneven pavement is sure to catch her stiletto heel. The tension is gripping. Aaah, she makes it to the curb with seconds to spare. Yay! Something about her crossing stirs my twenty-something self to the point that I feel all rubbery and gangly in my knees as I sit at the light watching. I am she. She is me forty years ago.

Saturday it was pouring rain through dense fog. Everyone who had a car was lucky, and mostly we drove with empathy for our fellow walk-about humans who had to manage not only their own person, children, and packages, but also the downpour and waves splashing out from cars rushing through intersections. 

I was lucky that I trusted my gut and exited a suddenly slowed to a stop freeway. I later learned that a tree had toppled and landed on a car and that both directions of traffic on 13 Warren Freeway were stopped for more than two hours.  Whewh! Mercifully, no one was hurt.

One of the most heart wrenching of the crosswalk shows involves an elderly gent who seems hard of hearing in addition to carrying a red-tipped cane. It's painful to watch him navigate the busy intersection of 35th and MacArthur Boulevard. Even though the electronic light chirps and talks and guides folks when to begin to cross, he seems not to hear the cues, or he disregards them. This causes the audience to root for him silently, if they stop at all, rude members to honk, or to say a prayer we never get to this point.

The news is that nearly all of us will get to some version of the "old show." Timing is the only mystery, but decrepitude is inevitable.  Whatever stage we're in or on, may we have the grace and resource to stay out of harm's way on a rainy day.

Safe travels.

'Dance to the Music' Pays a Call

There came a knock

We opened the door

A dog ran in 

Skidding on the floor

We can’t keep him

The neighbors said

We’ve six of our own, 

But he’s been fed!

Well, OK fine

We’ll take it from here

Post his picture 

On line, poor dear!

Oh, what a sight 

This shaved beige mutt

Red Christmas sweater 

Down to his butt

Green tinsel tree 

On back with bells

Four fluffy feet 

And how he smells

Curly pig tail

Like a hairless rat’s

Ears trimmed, sculpted 

Like reindeer hats

With sweet fur face

And chocolate eyes

He makes no sound

That’s a surprise

We try all night

To find his peeps

No luck yet

In the kitchen he sleeps

Early next morning 

Find the kitchen’s all wet

Calls to the shelters

Calls to the vet

We find he has

A microchip

Where’d he come from?

Doc bites his lip

“The ID number

Refers to his kennel

Left a message

When they call then we’ll

Know who bought him

I think he’s Chow

‘bout nine or ten

I wonder how

He got to you”

“I wish I knew”

The kennel’s in

Santa Rosa

He must’ve come

From somewhere closer

Two days go by

It’s Saturday

Kennel calls back

It’s a sadder day

The owner weeps

Both joy and sorrow

“Danny’s my love

He’ll be home tomorrow!”

Eight years ago

‘Danny’ at the top of his game

A blue ribbon winner

‘Dance to the Music’ his name

Mother’s name ‘Dancer’

He’s on magazines

A hit with the kids

Adored by the teens

Bout six years ago

Was given to a priest

Third time he lost him

Treated like a beast

This time’s the last time

He’s comin’ home for good

Says she can’t come

But her helper would

Cheray shows up

With Danny’s cousin

Lulu and Danny

Kiss at reunion

She’s full and fluffy

We see how he’d be

Had he not been shaved

Or wearin’ a Christmas tree

'Dance to the Music'

Has a fairy tale end

Our seven year old

Grandie got to spend

Time with a Keeshond

(That’s what he is)

Owner called to say

Thank you for his

Home away from home

She’s glad he’s back

We miss four leggeds

But not the lack

Of walking feeding

Cleaning up poop

Dan reminded us

Of that loop

Round and round and

Round it goes

We won't get a dog

Till Hell has snows!

 Thursday evening, Dance to the Music arrives at our house with neighbor Mike.

Embarrassed by his haircut AND his tacky Christmas sweater, perhaps given him by the Berkeley Arch Dioces, below is what he is supposed to look like.