I can remember going to vote with Mama and Daddy in the early ’70’s and they had these horrid avocado green sliding curtains to protect your privacy when you went to cast your ballot.  I was so proud I got to go and a bit scared as I stood in the tiny booth with my mother.  My parents, who loved each other deeply, used to joke they had to go to the poles to cancel each other out.  Mama grew up in a long line of Southern Democrats and Daddy was a hardshell Republican.  They showed me that people can disagree but still respect each other AND have civil dialogues about ideological differences.  It goes without saying they always voted.  As with everything else in my life, they influenced me greatly.  I can promise you, no matter what you may think, you will never be able to determine my political affiliation.  That is because I am not married at all costs to one particular side of the aisle.  I vote my conscience and I can never be sorry for that.  We are all entitled to have a voice.  And if we do not exercise our right it will be exercised for us by someone else.  I love this quote by the American former president of the University of Notre Dame, Reverend Theodore Hesburgh, who said, “Voting is a civic sacrament.”

My little one recently saw an old picture of me and said how much she liked my hair.  It was the 1980’s and I had my beloved spiral perm.  She asked if I could get one again and I explained I could not color my hair and perm it, too.  (I choose to have less gray.)  So now I have to settle for curling my hair with a curling iron and then watching it go out in the rain.  Or heat.  Or wind.  Meanwhile, my baby went from peach fuzz, to straight hair for a split second, to her fabulous spiral curls that crown her head now.  The more horrible the weather, the better her hair gets.  It doesn’t frizz and becomes more ethereal as she nears the beach.  There is almost not a person whom she has encountered who does not remark upon her beautiful hair.  The Australian singer-songwriter Delta Goodrem said, “I always had long hair.  When you lose it, you realise just how important it is to your identity.”  I would have to agree.  My junior year in high school I made the drill team and I was so happy until I realized they actually required girls to cut their hair into a short bob.  I never had short hair and I was miserable until it finally grew out after my senior year.  If women want to wear short hair that’s great; but I will be one of those ladies who keep my hair longer despite getting older; it’s hair to stay.

What we do in our leisure time is a reflection of who we are.  I think our hobbies say a lot about us.  When I saw this poster at a French school I begged to have it.  There is so much subtlety going on in the details I just love it.  He lives in my office now safely nestled with other wolves of all varying kinds while he continues to read up on Little Red Riding Hood.  (So we have discovered his hobby.)  I adore a man in cufflinks (my husband can rock them like no one) and he is even drinking my favorite libation!  You know what?  Upon closer inspection I realize they may not be whiskey stones but perhaps just ice cubes.  Huh.  Funny how we see what we want to, isn’t it?  I find people’s hobbies fascinating.  I would say I read for pleasure and collect as a hobby.  I love Edward S. Curtis photographs, anything with a wolf on it, and fossils, particularly ammonites.  The American actor George Takei said:

“My grandmother lived to 104 years old, and part of her success was she woke up every morning to a brand new day.  She said every morning is a new gift.  Her favorite hobby was collecting birthdays.”

Out of all the hobbies I have heard of I thought this was the loveliest:  living life to the fullest and collecting birthdays.

Ah, kittens.  I had forgotten how mischievous they can be.  Our little boy Blue is finding the confines of his nursery (our bathroom) not to his liking and wants to get out and stomp with the big dogs (or wolfies, in our case).  I know he would be fine but I would rather be safe than sorry.  He could get stuck or hide and frankly Mama’s just too tired for that.  So I can sleep soundly knowing he is safe in the bathroom while he is still so tiny.  Apparently he had a party last night.  I woke up to an entire roll of unravelled toilet paper, strewn about all over the place, with him looking up at me like an angel.  The American essayist Agnes Repplier once wrote:

“A kitten is chiefly remarkable for rushing about like mad at nothing whatever, and generally stopping before it gets there.”

And he most certainly is running madly about, wanting to explore and discover.  When I was in junior high I always wished I had a house so that it could get toilet papered.  I thought the rolls billowing in the wind looped magically around the trees had a certain grace to it.  I have gotten to experience a lot since having a house, but I never thought our first toilet papering would be an inside job.

Today is a tough day about which to write.  I realize for many this is a day of celebration for the Day of the Dead.  And I think it is wonderful to remember those who have passed on before us.  It is lovely to have a special day to bring their memory to life tangibly by having their favorite food or by doing something that honors them and keeps them alive for the next generation.  But I confess I just feel an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss.  I think of my parents every day and talk about them daily as well.  I love that in our church the departed are always prayed for and remembered; I find great comfort in that.  This was the last professional picture we had made (for a church directory) before my daddy passed.  When I took this picture today it actually pained me to see that on Daddy’s side it seemed more faint.  It is as if my memories of him are tangibly fading as well.  He passed when I was just 28 years old.  Only people in a family of three can understand the incredible bond which exists between them.  Three is a magic number.  As I strive to stay positive, something which my father strongly believed one should always do, I shall attempt to think of things they did that made me laugh.  Every time we would go to Petsmart Daddy would always ask if he could take home a couple of their free dog biscuits.  After the cashier replied “sure” he would say, “Thank you!  My wife loves these!” and the poor teenager’s eyes would get as wide as saucers.  Pretty soon they knew his schtick.  One time before church Mama caught Daddy with a bunch of doughnut holes and tried to get him not to eat them because she was worried about his diet.  I’ll never forget they wound up oozing out of his huge red fingers as her tiny white ones tried to make him let them go.  They were together 44 years and they showed me what lasting love looks like.  How I miss them.  If I could have one wish it would be to bring them back for just one day so they could see their granddaughter and meet my husband.  I hope and pray fervently they somehow know and can see us.  And I hope beyond measure that I make them proud.  The English Anglican priest William Inge once wrote:

“Love remembered and consecrated by grief belongs, more clearly than the happy intercourse of friends, to the eternal world; it has proved itself stronger than death.”