2012 - The Year of Opportunity

As 2011 draws to a close, I can't help but reflect on all of the events of the past year, and look toward all that 2012 might bring.  As always, it's been a year of ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies, loves and losses.

While we've seen our fair share of bad news in the past 12 months, as I look around at those I love and those I admire, I realize that we are luckier than most.  We have a beautiful home, my husband has a great job, our children are healthy and happy, and I'm about to embark on the adventure of graduate school.  Our burdens, by comparison of so many others, are few.  This year, I resolve to be thankful.  Every single day.  Thankful for the blessings of my life, for the love of family and friends whether or not they are still with us, and for the opportunity to do what I love.

The last few weeks have been difficult by most any standard, as we said a premature goodbye to a beautiful friend.  The wound is still raw, and our hearts are heavy as we watch her family go through the struggle of figuring out how to live without her.  What we must remember, though, is that although her absence will always be a source of pain for us, to have had her in our lives to begin with illustrates how truly blessed we were.  Every now and again, if we're very, very lucky, we have the chance to know the beauty and grace of God through His placing someone in our path that will forever change us.  To have known a person like Dianne, to have been touched by her goodness, her generosity, her laughter and her friendship, is an unmeasurable gift.  I will never forget her, and the things that she taught me will remain with me all the days of my life.  As I move forward into the next year, it will be ever-present in my mind that I, as always, hope to be the kind of woman that she was.

Albert Einstein said, "Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow."  That's a lesson that I will take with me into the New Year.  Whatever the difficulties that you've faced during the last 12 months, let's all resolve to learn from the past, cherish every moment that we have been given, and hope for the best for not only ourselves, but for each other, in the days to come.

Love and blessings to all of you for the New Year and beyond!

Gina

We will open the book,

It's pages are blank.

We are going to put words on them ourselves.

The book is called Opportunity,

and its first chapter is New Years Day.

-Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Channeling Sally Field

On my bedroom nightstand, there's a list.  A long list.  Separated by the days of the week, it includes tops, scarves, pants, shoes, even the right bras to go with each outfit.  It's my packing list.  In 8 days, I leave for my first MFA residency at Lesley University, and the packing list is keeping me from losing my mind.

I can control the list.  I can plan for what goes into my suitcase, what outfits I might want to wear when I'm in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and what kind of an impression I might want to make, but the variables are endless.  Since this is my first residency, I'm scouring pictures of previous residencies on the web.  What do people wear?  Do I need a "writer's scarf" with every outfit?  Dress up or dress down?  Jeans or dress pants?  Skirts or sweats?  All black or all color?  How many boots can I fit into my suitcase?  Will it rain?  Snow?  Will it be cold?  Windy?  Sunny?  Icy?  So many questions...

I remember planning an outfit for the first day of school in Brandon, Florida.  We'd moved there when I was 13 from a small town in western Massachusetts, and I wanted to make a good impression.  It was seventh grade, after all, and the pressure was on.  I knew nothing about the kids, the school, or the fashions that I might encounter on my first day, and I was nervous.  It was mid-April, and I'd be starting school nearly at the end of the year.  Relationships between kids were more firm than concrete, and I knew I'd be the outsider.  I'd met no one.  I was the new girl, and I was terrified.

I finally settled on a dress that my sister had bought for me.  It was tan and had flowers embroidered on the top, and it felt grown up.  In my bedroom, standing in front of the dresser mirror, it made me feel confident, like I could fit in anywhere.  In that first classroom on a hot and humid day in April, it just made me feel like I stood out like a sore thumb.  Virtually every kid in the room was wearing jeans and concert t-shirts.  Most of them proudly wore their white Nike's with the red swoosh on the side.  They looked at me and snickered.  Who did I think I was?  What had I been thinking?  It was my first lesson in  the importance of flying under the radar, and I've not forgotten it.

I'm the new kid again.  My audience, this time, will be more mature - mainly 30-, 40-, and 50- something writers uniquely focused on craft, rather than sweaty teenagers in a junior high classroom.  But the old feelings emerge:  I want to fit in.  I want to be a seamless part of my new community.  I want to build relationships and gain respect.  Like Sally Field, I want them to like me - to really, really like me.

Teenage Wisdom and The Garbage Bag Christmas

It took me a total of about 8 hours to wrap all of the presents for my children this year.  If I were reading this and not writing it, I would think that would indicate that there had been a huge pile of presents in my basement, but if I thought that, I would be wrong.  The truth is, there are two small piles for each child.  Very small.  We're talking really, really small.  So, why on earth did it take so long to wrap them?

I guess I was hoping that my basement had some sort of magical powers, that I would come upstairs and busy myself with some task or other, and in the meantime a Christmas miracle would occur and turn those paltry piles into staggering stacks of Christmas joy.  I spent a crazy amount of time down in that basement, staring at those presents and trying to figure out how to make "less" seem like "more".  Could I wrap DVD's in shirt boxes?  How many times could the box in a box in a box trick be pulled off in a single session of Christmas morning mayhem?  I walked through the basement looking for things that I could wrap and give to the kids.  Surely there must be things in that cluttered cavern that they'd never seen before?  I searched for stocking stuffers.  Maybe Alex would like a...few cans of ravioli?  Would Emily believe that Santa had brought her...ramen noodles?  At some point, out of money, time and options, I gave up.  I realized that what there was, there was.  I was dejected, depressed, disappointed.

After three Christmases as a full-time college student, we'd had some somewhat slim Christmases in the present department, but this year, just one week after graduation, although we'd finally made it happen, Dave and I had limped over the finish line, dragging one leg behind us.  Getting through college as an adult and a parent required many sacrifices, financial and otherwise, from both us and our children.  We'd forgone fancy dinners out, vacations, and other luxuries.  We'd scraped and struggled and pinched pennies until they cried for mercy.  We'd gotten there, but it was a long, hard road.

I pulled my son, 16 years old, aside.  I told him that there were three really cool presents down in the basement for him, but little else.  I apologized with tears in my eyes, told him that I was sorry that we couldn't do more this year, and hoped that he would understand.  He just smiled and said, "Really?  THREE really cool presents?  Mom!  That's awesome!  Now I can't wait to see what they are!"  At first I thought he was confused, and I felt compelled to restate my point.  I explained, again, that yes, there were a few things down there that I knew he would love, but that they were nothing "big".  No video game systems, no keys to a car, no plane tickets to exotic locales.  And then he proved to me, not that I should have been surprised, that he is one of the most beautiful gifts that I've ever received.  He said, "Mom, it's okay.  Really.  You know what?  It's okay for us [he and his little sister] to not get everything we want for Christmas.  You guys try to spoil us all the time, but sometimes we have to learn that we can't have it all.  I'm excited about the cool presents that you picked out for me.  It doesn't matter if there aren't a lot of presents.  Sometimes we need a little perspective, and that's okay."  God, I love that kid.  That's my Christmas present.  For all of the rotten things that people have to say about how self-centered and entitled today's teenagers are, one would have to assume that those people have never met Alex.  I wanted to give him everything, and the reality was that he required very little.  What I wanted, what I've always dreamed of giving them, was a Garbage Bag Christmas.

I was eleven years old, and no longer believed in Santa, but I loved Christmas all the same.  My father might tell a different story, but as far as I was concerned, we lived a great life, not a wealthy one, but we had everything that we needed, and most of what we wanted.  Like most parents, I suspect that mine kept us insulated from the financial struggles that they endured during our childhood, but I never knew it.  There were always more than enough gifts under the tree, and Christmas was a time of family, food and tradition.  The year that I was eleven, however, was the most extravagant Christmas of my life.  The Garbage Bag Christmas.

My mother had just closed her first sale as a real estate broker, having purchased a Century 21 franchise and opened her own office in Lenox, Massachusetts.  The check was a big one, and a major windfall right before the Christmas holiday.  What we didn't know was that Mom had a big plan in mind.  When we stumbled down the bedroom stairs, just past dawn on Christmas morning, we couldn't believe what we saw.  My sister and I stood there, dumbfounded, staring at giant black Hefty bags, filled to the brim with brightly colored packages.  There were boxes in every shape and size, ribbons, bows, and all the trimmings.  I don't know how many gifts were in there, but there were more than my eleven-year-old eyes had ever seen.  Mom had gone crazy buying presents, and it was a unwrapping frenzy like no other.  Mom and Dad sat in their chairs with their coffee while the four of us tore into package after package, squealing and giggling with delight as tissue paper ghosts flew through the air and discarded bits of wrapping paper littered the floor.  But the biggest smiles were on the faces of my parents that day.  They were overjoyed.  The Garbage Bag Christmas would go down in the family history books.

What I realized last night, was that although I remember the seemingly never-ending pile of presents, I don't remember a single thing that I got that year, or really any other.  I remember all of those Christmases; I remember being excited and opening my presents and loving them.  However, not a single memory exists of a Christmas when there were not a lot of gifts to be opened, although I've no doubt that there were some of those.  Perhaps I noticed at the time, but as the years have gone by, those memories, if they existed at all, have faded into the rest of my life's tapestry.  The memories have become interwoven with all the others, but only the most important ones still live in the forefront of my mind.  I remember being happy, and seeing the smiles that lit up my parents faces.  I remember opening the living room door to see what had been left by the fireplace.  I remember being allowed to have a small glass of wine with Christmas dinner, in the Italian tradition.  I remember lasagne and garlic bread and a prayer around the dinner table.  I remember Christmases spent with my huge Italian family, and barely understanding the myriad of conversations happening all around me at one time.

Maybe someday, The Garbage Bag Christmas will happen in my living room, too.  But until then, I will revel in those little moments of being a parent that mean so much.  Watching the faces of my children light up as they unwrap one of those truly special gifts that came from my heart, and knowing that they will remember the smile on my face all the days of their life.

Have a wonderful, joyful and blessed Christmas.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Guilt-Mas

Almost every day now I open the mailbox, and find Christmas cards inside.  I know, it's the season, isn't it?  December 23, and I'm reading cards and Christmas letters from far-flung friends and family.  They've taken the time to send something out to me; sometimes just a card with a signature, and other times a personal note - some long, some short.  It's about this time each year that I realize that it's too late.  I've missed my chance for holiday greetings.

This year I have plenty of excuses, to be sure.  Final papers, graduation, guests in town, getting ready for Christmas at my house, running the Holiday Shop at my daughter's elementary school, and grieving the loss of a friend all count as good ones, I suppose.  But I have a great excuse every year.  I didn't get a chance to buy the cards; the stamps to mail them weren't in the budget; I ran out of time; etc, etc, etc.  I'm a Christmas card failure and I know it.

My father, 79 years old and living in Florida, sent me a Christmas card that arrived yesterday.  He's on a tight budget, living on social security and little else, but he takes the time and makes the investment each year to send a Hallmark card that he's picked out just for me.  No generic boxed cards for Dad.  Oh, no.  He's nothing if not meticulous when it comes to choosing just the right card, a new skill he acquired after my mother became ill and was no longer able to do it.  He'll spend an hour or more at the Hallmark store, picking out cards for each of us children and making sure that they contain just the right message.  I admire that about him; in fact, I used to do that myself.  The truth is, I haven't seen the inside of a Hallmark store in about 7 years.  I'm not sure there are even any of them in my area.  Life has been a blur, and the leisurely meanderings through the thousands of cards in the card store have become a thing of the past.

I'll talk to him on Christmas Eve by Skype, while he's at my sister's house having dinner.  There will be love and blown kisses, Merry Christmas wishes abounding...and then...the inevitable.  From somewhere in the background, while someone else is talking, he'll say it.  "I didn't know about _______(fill in the blank with any miscellaneous missing piece of information).  Gina must have written that in the Christmas card I never got."  It's his pet peeve.  I get it.  Really.  He has every right to be a little miffed at me.  It's just one card, after all.  One of these years I'll be prepared.  One of these years I'll remember, in time for it to arrive before Christmas Eve.  One of these years, I'll hear the excitement in his voice when he tells me that he got the card that I sent.  One of these years, things will go as planned, the tree will be ready early, the gifts will be wrapped before Christmas Eve, the boxes of gifts will be shipped on a day that doesn't require "air delivery", and I'll resume all the Christmas baking that I miss.  One of these years.

Filling Up the Days

For weeks I'd looked forward to these lazy days, filled with nothing but precious time with my children and catching up on the dozens of hours of neglected TV sitting idle for months on my DVR.  My life during the last few years had been so busy that for some reason I believed that once graduation came and went, I'd have no idea how to fill the countless hours previously occupied by classes and homework.  It was a great plan.  I couldn't wait to enjoy these few leisurely weeks before my first graduate school residency.

Except that I'd forgotten a few things.  Like Christmas, and laundry, and cooking, and errands, and cleaning, and organizing my life in preparation for residency.  When Dave turned up sick on Tuesday, barely breathing through the congestion that had suddenly filled his head and chest, and Emily developed a fever of 102 degrees by 2:00 p.m. on the same day, my visions of curling up by the fire with a mug of steaming coffee and a great book began to fade.  I suddenly remembered all of the hard work that had filled up the days of the last two and a half years: Dave's days.  While working full-time and becoming my biggest cheerleader, he'd also taken on the role of chief cook and bottle washer (among many other things) here at home.  Although I did what I could, he made it easy.  He cooked, he cleaned, he did the laundry and ran kids from one practice or meeting to another.  He took care of paying bills and washing dishes.  Taking out the trash and shoveling the driveway.  In short, he did it all, even dog tired after long days at work.  He is my hero.

As I sit here, the snow is falling outside at such a rate that I wonder if we might be waist deep in the white stuff by morning, and I'm glad.  There's laundry to do, freelance jobs to apply for, sick loved ones to take care of, presents to be wrapped.  My days will be full, and I will be grateful, because for these last couple of years I've lived in a beautiful bubble created by a man that is everything to me.  A man that has always been, and will always be in my corner - the loudest of my cheering section, the most devoted to my dreams, the most loving of them all.  My days will be full, but I hope that at last Dave will get at least a little bit of the break that he deserves.  He's earned it.

Welcome to my blog!

Here I sit at my desk, looking out over a snowy cul-de-sac, and wondering where this year has gone!  On Sunday, 19 years after planning to take a "short break" from college, I walked across the stage to shake hands with the President of Metropolitan State College of Denver, and receive my Bachelor's degree in English and Creative Writing with highest honors!  In just a few days, it will be Christmas, then New Years, then I'm off to Cambridge, Massachusetts for my first graduate school residency at Lesley University.  So much is going on, and there are many things about which to write.  Thanks for reading, be sure to subscribe to my blog, and I promise to keep you entertained into 2012 and beyond!

Gina