And lo, there were lights...

 

Rissa was at a sleepover, we had the house to ourselves for the evening, so when we left Shopper's, arms laden with chips and popcorn, we were intent on getting home as quickly as possible.  (Insert eyebrows waggling in deliberate sexual innuendo here.)  It was cold and drizzly as we raced back towards our house.  But then, we hit George Street, and I looked south towards the Town Hall.  There were holiday lights and garlands and fir trees all twinkly and sparkly, it was a defibrillator to my holiday joy.

I'm like a freaking magpie. Christmas decorations instantly delight me - the twinklier the better.  Why is it that something as simple as coloured lights can make a gal so happy?  I won't beg for jewelery, but show me sparkly lights and I almost lose my mind with giddiness.

"Can we go see?  Can we go see?" I jumped up and down - a 5 year old had possessed my body.

"If you like," said David in his Father Knows Best voice.

I scampered down to the main street to get closer to the twinkle and the holiday swag.  There were families making their way east towards the park.

"Maybe they're lighting up the park!!  Can we go?  Can we go??"

We stood together, David had his arm around me to keep me warm.  I didn't bring along my Cold Avenger mask - I was breathing through my scarf.  We were stomping our feet - David didn't even have gloves - we weren't supposed to be out of the house for long - we'd just gone out for 'before the sex' snacks.  A half hour later, amidst a crowd of eager young families and bumped-into friends, David and I stood - counting down to illumination.   As hundreds of us yelled, "Three, Two, One!!!" the park was ablaze with colour and sparkle - our small provincial town was a freaking fairyland. 

We walked home, hand in hand, still grinning.  Holiday music was piped in on the main street.  People were laughing, kids were saying "Did you see?  Did you see?"  We basked in those small town moments.  A few steps from our door, the drizzle, which had mercifully abated while we were waiting in the park, began again.   Even that made us smile, so disgustingly contended were we.   All of this unexpected joy, because we'd wanted chips and popcorn.

The bandshell with attending minature village.

Small town park - or could it be  DISNEYLAND?!?

You'd have to be soulless not to like this shit!

Paying it forward...

Everybody wants something, right?  And you don't get something for nothing.  That's the rumor.  Watch out folks, my inner Pollyanna is courteously clawing her way to the surface!   The sun is shining and I'm filled with the frickin' milk of human kindness.  I have a proposition:  what if instead of all the take, take, taking - we just did a bit more of the paying it forward?

Doesn't come easily to some.  You're in your own world, you're stressed, your credit line is through the roof, the kids need to be taken to dance, or hockey, or piano...  You're busy, you don't have time.  But how about this?  Just for today -  do something without wanting anything in return.  Today, it's not going to be about you.

So leave the quarter (or loonie) in your No Frills cart, drop a handful of lucky pennies in a public place, if you've got a granola bar (or leftovers from your pricey lunch) give them to someone who's hungry.  Say "Yes" instead of your automatic "No."  Spread the word about a cause that needs momentum.  Throw accolades at the unsuspecting.  Compliment that gal at the bank who has awesome hair.  Smile at a stranger - say a "Good morning!"

Yes, it's corny, but you know what else?  I can guarantee that every little act that you do - every little act not for you - every act of kindness without that selfish core - makes you happier.  That's what's so great about it.  The less selfish you are, the more you think of others, the happier you become.   You end up getting something for yourself, just by being... nice. 

So how about just for today, share the happy.  Tomorrow you can go back to being an asshole.

I'm not Scarlett O'Hara

My weekend is full of Santa Claus Parades and Peter Pan rehearsals  - so we're into reruns...

***

I'm not Scarlett O'Hara, which means a regular guy will not ever be able to sweep up into his arms.  I was reminded of this the other night when David hugged me.  I jumped up and wrapped my legs around his waist and he really did his best not to drop me or give in to the impending hernia.  He didn't grimace or anything!!  I sighed and let myself down so that we didn't hurt ourselves.

"The Scarlett O'Hara, being-carried up-the-staircase-thing, just ain't gonna happen with me."

"It's not you, it's me."

"Pardon?"

"I don't have the upper body strength.  I need to do more pushups."

"Yeah, that... and I don't weigh 120 lbs and haven't since I was 12."

"If you weighed 120 lbs, you'd look like a cadaver."

"Yes.  But I'd be a cadaver that you could then sweep into your arms and carry up the stairs."

"Not unless I do a lot more pushups."

I might have pouted.

In an uncharacteristic Caveman moment of problem-solving, David responded.  "I could drag you up by the hair."

"Tempting..."

Delete, delete, delete

I should just un-subscribe.  That'd be the sane thing to do.  From Old Navy and Ikea.  From the Gap and Sears.  From Style at Home and Banana Republic.

UNSUBSCRIBE HEATHER!!!  

I don't have money to buy any crap from any of the retailers who send me their online flyers.  I have financial blinders on.  We require nothing new in our house.  Apart from a new roof, but I don't get flyers for that.

Except right now?  We're leading up to Christmas and I do still have some shopping to do - and what if there was something perfect for that niece/nephew/mother-in-law/parent/child/spouse/friend???  What then?  Then I would have missed it and could have SAVED money on the gift - so really I can't unsubscribe until after Christmas.  So for now... just one quick peek (you know, just to see what potential gifts I might be missing out on)  and then delete, delete, delete...

Alfred, Macy janitor: "Yeah, there's a lot of bad 'isms' floatin' around this world, but one of the worst is commercialism. Make a buck, make a buck. Even in Brooklyn it's the same - don't care what Christmas stands for, just make a buck, make a buck." 

Getting my cats high...

So... I put down catnip last night.  This is the conversation I overhead.

Minuit:  (immediately pawing, huffing and rolling in afore-mentioned catnip) This shit is great!  OH MY GOD!  This is the best shit I've ever had!

Lola:  I wanna try, let me try, let me... (sniff, sniff, roll)  oh WOW!!!

Steve:  I don't feel anything.  (sniffing)  Nope.  Nothing.

Minuit:  Dude, this must have come from BC 'cause I'm seeing colours I have never seen in my... your face is soooooooo fluffy.  (rolling on her back, doing a cat yodel)

Lola:  Is that Tom Jones?!?  You guys!  You guys!!  In the corner... there...! (roll, roll...)

Steve:  Nothing.  I'm feeling nothing.

Lola:  "What's new pussycat... meow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow..." (hysterical cat tittering ensues)

Steve:  What?  What is it?

Lola:  Maybe next time, dude.

Minuit:  I need some of those chicken kitty treats, maybe with some Häagen-Dazs.

Steve:  I feel so disconnected...

Lola:  Wave your paws in the air, like you just don't care!!

Steve: (rolling on his back, from side to side)

Minuit:  Dude!  Dude - are you feeling it?

Steve:  No.  But when I do this, Heather will rub my tummy and that always makes me feel good.  I'm taking it where I can get it. Oh yeah!  Right there!  Right in the cat pit, now under the chin.... yeah....

I'm pretty sure the webcam got a contact high from the cat.

Why can't I just keep my mouth shut?

I catch myself doing it.  Yesterday was Pink Shirt Day at school in support of anti-bullying.  Rissa loathes pink - she was wearing a coral coloured shirt.

"I thought you were wearing pink today... for the anti-bullying thing."

"This is pink."

pause, 2, 3, 4...

"That's not pink."

"Yes it is."

"Rissa I hate to say, but it's not."

"It is."

This is where I pressed my lips together so tight  that they were now between my teeth and I could taste blood.  Don't say anything....  Don't say anything...  Just turn around and leave...  I managed to make it out of the room without shouting to Rissa, the world and the universe,  "THAT SHIRT IS NOT PINK!!!" 

It doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter that she wasn't wearing true pink.  She'd go to school and say "This is the closest thing to pink that I have."  Of course she'd be lying, because I just checked in her closet,  and she totally has a fancy pink tanktop and a pink 1950s style shrug - both bought by me because they were cute and would look amazing on her, because despite my never wanting to dress my female child in pink, it turned out that she looked freaking amazing in pink and when she was an infant and had next to no hair, people kept mistaking her for a dude, so we dressed her in pink for a while there; but since about the age of 3, Rissa hasn't liked pink, so she's never worn either of the pink items in her closet.

She's 12.  She should be able to wear whatever she wants to - I mean I'm not going to let her out of the house at the age of 12 (or 19) dressed like Slave Leia, but if she wants to wear a coral shirt for Pink Shirt Day - I should just shut the fuck up and let her.  EXCEPT I CAN'T.  Because when she said the shirt was pink I could clearly see that it WASN'T. 

I chatted with David about it over lunch.


me:  I'm now writing about how hard it is to keep my mouth shut with Rissa.

David:  hah!

me:  I'm trying to be better, but that shirt totally was NOT pink this morning.

David:  no - it was not.   Though...it does seem to be a natural inclination to open your mouth in certain circumstances...

me:  HAH!  It's like telling me that a cat's an elephant.  It's almost impossible for me to say that a cat is an elephant when it clearly isn't... THAT CAT IS NOT AN ELEPHANT!!  That's like saying that a table is a chair...  or the sun is the...  Oh, good God - I'm the Shrew.*  FUCK.

David:  hah

me:  Rissa's mother is the fucking Shrew. BLARGH!

David:  choose your battles... that's all I can say. 

Wow.  That was a revelation!  I am the Shrew.  So I can either a) continue to be the Shrew and eventually drive my daughter away with endless nitpicking and the need to be right or b) I can keep my mouth shut and let her figure out her own shit and wait for her to ask my opinion.  (epiphanic sound of angels' chorus)  I've got to give up the 'being right.'  It's not gonna kill me to bite my tongue if she wants to define colour by a different spectrum than mine.  It might give me angina, because my body reacts to even the smallest of stressors in the most fucked up way possible, but it won't kill me.  And scotch can totally help the angina.

*Katherina Minola from William Shakespeare's  The Taming of the Shrew.  In my opinion his best comedy, but really NOT popular with the politically correct who can't seem to take it in historical context.

Faux Christians

I hate the faux Christians.  Love, love, LOVE the real ones - I know a bunch and they are the kindest, most supportive and liberal-minded folks out there.  The faux ones?  They're the ones who hide behind the Bible and pretend to be all godly, but are actually prejudiced, racist and pretty much ignorant of, not just how to be a good Christian, but how to be a good person. They're the ones who make organized religion sketchy.  They're the ones whose behaviour convinces me to talk about spirituality instead of religion.  The faux Christians are the ones who abandon their child when that child comes out or chooses the 'wrong' spouse, or lives a different lifestyle.

Those professed 'good Christians' love to lob around Biblical quotations, like "Love the sinner, hate the sin," or any variation thereof, as if Jesus himself was speaking through them.  So here's the thing.  Jesus never said that. Now, I haven't actually read the entire Bible, but I have spent WAY too much time this morning doing internet searches on that particular quotation.  And you know something?  It's not from scripture.  And it's not from Gandhi as is rumoured.   It's from St. Augustine of Hippo, who wrote 400 years after Jesus.  And you know what?  It's still a crappy quotation.

So for those who want to spout meaningful quotations that are actually attributed to Jesus in the actual Bible...  You know what a better quotation would be?  "Love one another."  How about if,  instead of following some archaic notion of what sin is and what sin isn't, how about we choose love?

So here's me, the next best thing to an atheist, starting a campaign. The  Let's put the Christ back in Christian campaign.   Because these faux Christians?  They're giving the real ones a bad name.