The English writer Thomas Fuller once said, “Health is not valued till sickness comes.”  Ever since my early twenties and I had my first ocular test (where they take an image of the back inside of your eyes) I have had what is literally called “suspicious eyes.”  My eye doctor LOST it the first time she saw them.  I mean she seriously became unglued.  I have had to have them monitored ever since.  My mother had glaucoma and cataracts, as did my uncle, but they did not develop them until they were at least in their mid-sixties if I recall correctly.  I remember when I was in the first grade someone came to school and we all went in a darkened room where we were told to stand on these glow in the dark feet and read letters.  I have had to wear glasses ever since.  The weird thing is, my eye sight has always been 20/40 (which is not that bad) and now it has improved — after 40 years! — to 20/30.  But I knew when I saw the specialist after a three year hiatus something was not right.  My eyes literally felt like they were going to bulge out of my head and I had not noticed until they dilated them that they were completely dry.  Literally EVERYONE in the waiting room was at least in their 70’s and I was drawing a lot of stares.  I looked so long at this beautiful piece of art I decided to take a picture of it.  My eye pressures turned out to be high and I asked how long they’d been that way.  My doctor said there was no way of knowing.  I asked if there was any permanent damage and he said he didn’t “think so.”  I was given two sets of eye drops to take twice a day for ten days.  If the pressure didn’t get lowered he said he was going to laser essentially drainage holes in the backs of my eyes to alleviate it.  So I have had a weird sense of deja vu as I have tilted my head back to put in drops every morning and evening.  I watched Mama do that for most of my adult life.  When I went back my pressure had returned to the normal range but I will need to stay on them for the rest of my life.  Growing up I often overheard others make high handed remarks over what those who had less money should or should not do.  It is so easy to be pious and have car insurance, health insurance, and life insurance when you have money.  And yet I know first hand if one went to a movie or wanted a nicer TV they were judged.  It’s not that poor people are irresponsible; it’s about wanting to have something in life a little frivolous; something that brings them respite from the pressures of everyday survival.  I tried to save money by not going to the eye doctor and I am sorry now.  I will never know if my skipping those exams caused my pressure to rise or if it would have happened anyway.  But let me encourage you:  no matter what your financial station is in life just bite the bullet and go to the dentist to have your teeth cleaned, visit the doctor, and get your eyes examined.  Trust me when I say you are not saving money in the long run.  Heath IS wealth.

I can tell it’s getting to be that time of year.  I love to look at catalogs (and of course I recycle) but at some point going through them becomes something of a chore.  I try to get thoughtful, unusual gifts on a budget and I look a lot to catalogs for Christmas presents.  Today, though I got 20 full size catalogs all in one day!  All I could think was that the poor postman must have an aching back.  My husband even likes to look through my catalogs (the toy ones) and I have bought consistently from a few I really like for several years now.  There is a monastery catalog that benefits the monks; they make their own wine, honey and soaps plus print beautiful Christian iconography.  Then there is a catalog called Serrv that contains crafts handmade by women from all over the world.  It is a fair trade organization that protects our environment while empowering women and sending children to school.  They have recycled wall art from Haiti, bedding from India, scarves from Peru, coasters from Kenya, ornaments from Nepal, and Galilean organic olive oil that is building bridges between Arabs and Jews just to name a few.  And I always make sure to buy from Native Americans.  All of these things are handmade and I feel great supporting organizations that are helping people who are working hard to get ahead.  I also think they are nicer gifts than just buying something from the mall.  Every year I try really hard on this.  The American entrepreneur David Green, said:

“You need an attitude of service.  You’re not just serving yourself.  You help others to grow up and you grow with them.”

This year I am going to try to mostly buy gifts that will also benefit others, and I hope it will help remind me of the true spirit of Christmas as I am bogged in catalogs.

The first real totem pole I saw was in Vancouver before we took a cruise which toured the Inside Passage.  I was with my future husband and his maternal side of the family.  We got to see totem poles up close in national forests as well as in museums.  They are monumental pillars carved with figures by the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest coast in the United States and in Canada’s western province, British Columbia.  The word “totem” most likely comes from the Ojibwe meaning kinship group.  Among other things, they tell the stories of clan lineages.  I came in and got this shot as two sets of chocolate brown eyes looked at me with love.  Our little one had been giggling as my beloved was attempting to stand with her, all while she was shrieking and hanging onto him by fistfuls of his hair.  I looked at them full of love and thought, this is my clan, and this is my lineage.  The Irish born writer George Bernard Shaw said, “A happy family is but an earlier heaven.”  An earlier heaven indeed; we need to add in the wolfies and the cats but otherwise this is the story of my family totem pole.

My beloved and I were out attending an event when our sitter sent me this picture.  It just made my evening.  I knew our little one was loved and being well taken care of.  You can see the happiness on her face.  We were at a function benefiting the Boys and Girls Club.  They had some of the children there directing the way from the valet through the hotel and up to the ballroom.  In groups of three, proudly wearing their shirts, they eagerly provided answers with the sweetness of kids who were just good.  I wanted to hug them but figured I’d scare them.  Instead I just complimented them for being so polite, thanked them for their help, and watched them beam.  A wealthy white man was honored with a lifetime achievement award.  One could tell from his speech it was very dear to his heart.  All the kids I saw were black.  Just as I have written about not vilifying the poor; neither should the rich all be painted with the same brush.  I believe those kids are going to go places and achieve great things.  This is why my father taught me never to envy; rather to aspire.  James Allen, the British author of “As a Man Thinketh,” wrote, “To desire is to obtain; to aspire is to achieve.”

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.”

Today is a day I always liked as a kid but have learned to love as an adult.  I never got to trick-or-treat because living in an apartment is a little different when neighbors move more often and you do not know people as well.  Plus I grew up in the ’70’s and there were all these scares on the news about razor blades in apples.  I do have fond memories of my folks taking me to a rec center for a Halloween carnival each year, though.  You could play games to win treats and they had a haunted house.  It was fun but nothing like the rare magic of seeing everyone out strolling the neighborhood at night all dressed up and scoring free candy.  People invite you into their homes sometimes and it’s fun to see how someone else decorates or what the inside of their house looks like.  I think it’s even better than Christmas caroling.  Ironically, people aren’t suspicious of the Grim Reaper knocking at their door and, I’m not gonna lie, I love scaring the SPIT out of kids with our doormat that makes different terrifying sounds.  In so many ways I feel my life has just begun and I cherish relishing in the new joys and discoveries it has in store.  The American poet Emily Dickinson once said, “Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.”  Ecstasy tonight looked like a 46 year old woman with long, dark blue hair sipping from her newly discovered wine, “Once Upon a Vine:  The Big Bad Red Blend” while watching her handsome husband dressed as a ship’s captain escort his Little Mermaid princess around to collect treats.  Oh, if I could just bottle it.