The List

I recently read about an exercise for "inspiration." It's fun, could be a game if you're the game type (I'm not necessarily when it comes to exercises, aka "assignments to improve yourself"). You make a list of 100 things you love. It's supposed to be something that's good for the psyche, good for your mental happiness, I guess. I found it in a book about right and left brain "work outs," and though I'm very comfortable with all the exercises for the left brain, I had to force feed myself the right brain ideas. But this one I could do. And the book was right, I admit--it was fun. So, I offer it as a "suggestion," as my grandmother would say (she would not mean it as a choice but as an imperative) for the ending of a year and beginning of a new chapter. Here is my list so far:

The List

1.          Coffee

2.          Babies’ feet

3.          Black eyed peas

4.          Ponds cold cream

5.          Powder

6.          Perfume

7.          Rain

8.          Puddles

9.          Crunchy leaves

10.        Acorns

11.        Tchaikovsky

12.        Sequins

13.        Leather

14.        Ballet shoes

15.        Blue ribbon

16.        Grosgrain ribbon

17.        Headbands

18.        Pearls

19.        Ruffles

20.        Lace

21.        Small waists

22.       Small wrists

23.       Meg Ryan

24.       Bookshops

25.       Librarians

26.       Roasted marshmallows

27.       Old friends

28.       Praying

29.       Bookmarks

30.       Popcorn

31.       Dogwood trees

32.       Easter

33.       Incense

34.       Magnolia blossoms

35.       Sidewalks

36.       Our Lady

37.       Rosaries

38.       Surprise parties

39.       The Nutcracker

40.       Fireplaces

41.       Dark wood

42.       Heavy blankets

43.       Argyle

44.       Ireland

45.       Pencil skirts

46.       Fake eyelashes

47.       Sugar

48.       “Punkin”

49.       Big Red chewing tobacco

50.       Nightgowns

51.       Fireflies

52.       Dandelions

53.       Indian paint brushes

54.       Names of nail polish

55.       Lipstick

56.       Gummy bears

57.       Books

58.       Football

59.       Chips and queso

60.       A good run

61.       A library carol

62.       The seam in ballet tights

63.       Giraffes

64.       Smell and stick of rosin

65.       Cheese grits

66.       Buttons

67.       Crayons

68.       Poinsettias

69.       Lists

70.       Mousse (the hair product)

71.       Bobby pins

72.       Pink spongy rollers

73.       Saying “good morning”

74.       Velvet

75.       Holding hands

76.       Peppermints

77.       Tiaras

78.       Lagniappe

I Didn't Know

In this Christmas season, there is much to be grateful for. And sad about. And worried and hopeful and disillusioned and contemplative. One of our friends lost his job a few days ago. A friend of Steve's knows the man in IL who was killed (along with his three children) by his wife last week, one day after school. I busy myself filling up the space under the tree, making sure I'm lighting the right candle on the Advent wreath and hosting a Bunco party with give-aways and spiked punch.

My favorite song this season is "Mary, Did you Know?" I heart "Santa Baby" (especially when my mom sings it), and all the renditions of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" make me smile (what a lovely time when a woman asked for a comb!). But, the reminder of what all this fuss is about is captured painfully in this song and video:

Mary, Did you Know?

And I didn't know. I didn't know He was her son, her baby, until I had Ellie. I had celebrated her life and honored her role in the story of the Universe, but I had not known that He was Ellie to her, He was a part of her. Did He look like His mommy? Did He have the same nose as His grandfather or the same mannerisms as His uncle? Did Mary look at Him and see her family, like we all do when we look at our children? Did He laugh like her? Were His hands her hands? I did not realize she looked at Him and loved Him and guarded and protected and encouraged and knew Him like we know our children. "When you kissed your little baby, you kissed the face of God." Don't we all, though? Don't we all hold our children and our confidence that no one loves like we do? That no one is capable of loving their children as much and as "good" as we love ours? How can they?

And that no matter how lost and distracted we get, that Precious Baby loves us more. I did not know in this great love, I did not know it existed or could be held inside one fallible and finite heart. May we stay in the presence of our Savior during this time of heightened commercialism and remember His poverty and humility. May we celebrate the loves of our lives rather than the things. May we kiss our children more and know the peace He brings.

Shoulders Back

"Katie. Remember. You are a student of the Judith McCarty School of Dancing." That is the last thing Leigh said to me before I walked down the aisle on my wedding day. And she knew those few words, spoken firmly in happiness, would convey all I needed to feel. Remember who you are. Remember what that beautiful, lovely, classy lady we called "Miss Judy" taught us in those years of ballet classes. And radiate that essence--that confidence and grace and beauty--as you walk to your future. And above all, for heaven's sake--keep your shoulders back and don't fall.

I was a ballet student for a time, but Miss Judy taught us to always be a student of class and dignity and loveliness and grace. I hold my shoulders back because I cannot imagine, even today, Miss Judy seeing me slumped over. My sisters and I gained invaluable lessons--yes, about ballet and posture and shuffle steps and forward rolls--but the lessons imparted to us came from dedicated, loyal ladies. They taught us how to celebrate and love and listen and never, never stop trying.

"You are a student of the Judith McCarty School of Dancing." It comes to me at the strangest, though most appropriate moments, when I later realize I most needed it. It's almost like a prayer; it is certainly a passionate reminder. This week I have heard it more often than usual. I heard it in the airport, when I was sure Ellie, Steve and I would never make it out of O'Hare in one piece. Ellie's blanket had kissed the floors of countless airport bathrooms and become friends with rental cars, Grandma's carpet and Embassy Suites free breakfast buffet. I let her clutch to it like she was going to meet its soul. Because it kept her from crying. That's the only reason. A doctor's appointment did not go as expected Wednesday, and somewhere, in the place of me that remembers the music and the smell of rosin and the way Miss Judy's feet sounded on the wooden floors, I found composure and strength. I was disappointed, confused and insulted, but I could honestly hear Leigh's confident voice. And I pushed those shoulders down and back. I held my manners and my tummy in, and I didn't cry until I relaxed on the steering wheel.

When life hands you lemons, we learned to pirouette through them. When we weren't given certain gifts--those of beauty or talent or spirit or natural confidence--we learned to put on a little lipstick, wear more glitter and tap to dizzying speeds (but never give the front row, as Miss Judy would say, more than they paid for :)). We learned, in other words, to find serenity in circumstance and potential in pain. And never at the cost of class. We were taught, above all else sacred and dear, to be a lady.

"Grace under pressure--definition of 'guts.'" E. Hemingway