2019/ 5780 On the first night of Chanukah, I did not give to you...

Happy Chanukah!

Today is the first day of Chanukah, which means last night was the first night... of Chanukah! That's how these Jewish holidays roll!

If it's Chanukah, it is time for gift giving-- or gift not-giving, as the case may be. In a tradition that began in 2012, I shall share a series of 8 gifts, one for each night.

Gifts for my DSIL* which I will NOT be giving him.

And because of the deep affection I have for you, dear reader, I will NOT be giving them to you, as well.

On the first night of Chanukah, I did not give to you...

Nothing. Specifically, I did not give you a JAR of nothing.

Why not? After all, it's 100% natural! Contains no known allergens! Recyclable packaging!

Well, I did not give you this Jar of Nothing for a few reasons.

First, on the major online seller site (notice how I don't mention the name of the River/ Tribe of Warrior Women) this Jar of Nothing is $17.50 with free shipping. While I appreciate the free shipping, I do feel that if you get what you pay for, then you should get nothing for nothing. Clearly, this is overpriced.

Then, I actually already did give you something on the first night. This year, my beloved and I gave in-honor-of-you donations to charity for each of our children and each of their SOs** on the first night of Chanukah. So although it was nothing directly for you (thus a gift of nothing, like the jar I didn't give you), it was something for you and all the world, to make the world a little more just and fair. Nothing AND something!

Also, I heard you already had plenty of nothing... or at least someone has plenty of nothing!

Finally, I remind you that this is Chanukah, which is a Jewish holiday. "Nothing" is more of a gift for a Zen Buddhist.

Or so a cute cartoon I once saw suggested.

Chag Sameach***, DSIL* and DR****.

*Dear Son In Law
**Significant Other(s)
*** Happy holiday!
**** Dear Reader (yes, YOU!)

Core self

My BFFSF* talked about how she is getting back to her core self. The person she was when she was forging her identity for herself in positive ways. For her, that meant forging paths to independence while still maintaining kindness to others. It meant defining boundaries. It meant making improvements in ways that she could, and creating. 

For her, much of that creating and improving was sewing.

So she is sewing again. Sewing for herself, and sewing as a side job that puts a couple dollars in her pocket, while giving her, and her customers, satisfaction.

Her sewing is even healing the planet, a bit, by combating the disposable culture, saving good clothing that can continue to be enjoyed, instead of being replaced.

She finds joy in this. 

I want to return to my core self.

I have to first of all remember who that is. 

For the last several years, I feel like I have been dragged through life by obligations and outside events.  

I've lost my joy.

Who was I, and who am I now, at my core?

When I was forging my own independent identity, and I liked myself, I cooked. I fed others. It brought me joy—and usually brought joy to others. 

I also laughed more, and spent time talking with friends and family. We told jokes and stories.

I told stories. I was never much good at telling jokes.

I went to the theatre, and out for drinks, and out to museums and zoos and exhibits-- and I also stayed home and made a nest where all were welcome. 

I sent funny cards for birthdays and other occasions, or for no occasion at all.

I created. I created stories, and I created shared experiences by directing plays and hosting meetings and having dinners and pot lucks.

Yes, shared experiences of board meetings that were fun. Snacks helped.

So. 

I will keep thinking about who my core self is, and how to express her at this point in my life.

I think food is definitely involved 😊

And friends.

*Best Forever Friend Since Forever

Dragonflies

Going through Gordon Grice's Cabinet of Curiousities: Collecting and Understanding the Wonders of the Natural World off and on with my three year old granddaughter, who is still a bit young for it. I learn that the immature dragonfly is called a "naiad."

Dragonfly naiads have no wings. They breathe through gills in their rear ends. When they need to move very fast to get away from a predator, they push a lot of water out of their rear ends at once and go jetting away. Basically, they propel themselves with fart power. (p 96)

I needed to know this today.

Things I should never again buy for the rest of my life...

What is kicking around in your house-- your LIFE-- that you should NOT EVER buy again?

I'll go first.

Pencils.

This is an actual photo of actual pencils that are actually in my house right now. It's a lot of pencils, right? Write!

I do still use pencils, so it might seem extreme, even though those are a lot of pencils, to state I should NEVER buy more pencils.

However, you should know:

I have at least three more unopened packs of pencils.

I have at least three more cups full of (okay, a mixture of pens and) pencils.

I have pencils in my car.

I have pencils in my purse.*

I have pencils in my computer bag.

I have pencils in drawers in the kitchen, in the living room, and in the bathroom (don't ask).

I have pencils in boxes in the basement.

I have a plethora of pencils. I have plenty** of pencils.

It is difficult for me to imagine using up all the pencils that I currently I have.

So I will not buy any more pencils.

I will, however, continue to pick up the perfectly good pencils that are left on the floors of the halls of the schools where I teach.

Waste not, want not.

*I always have at least six pencils in my purse. Unless I need a pencil. Then I have zero pencils in my purse. I do not understand this. It is always the same: zero OR more than six, with the determining factor being: do I need a pencil?


**I would like to point out that this plentiful plethora of pencils is only counting the standard pencils. Color pencils are a completely different category, and the jury is still out on whether I should allow myself to purchase more.

Gratitude

It is a difficult time for me now, on many levels.

Still, there is much to be grateful for. There are two robins' nests on my house right now. One on the front porch light (which we now are careful *not* to turn on) and one on the light for the big garage door (that "motion sensor light" has stopped working for years now. Need to fix that, post-robin season).

The first hatchlings are chirping next  to my door. The parent robins are irritated (every year) at our comings and goings out the door, yet they still return (every year) to build another nest.

It was warm enough, after work, for us to have a glass of wine on the deck before the DH headed off to a board meeting, before I headed off to meet my mom. It was warm enough, yet not too warm- the wasps stayed away, though we identified their nests.

A few days ago, I had to replace all four tires on the Bubbemobile, but I saw a deer browsing in my backyard.

At my mom's house, I saw a Baltimore oriole, so brilliant.

My lawn is vibrant with violets, dazzling with dandelions.

There are clouds, yet the sun leaks through, like promises of heaven.

There are these moments of beauty. I am grateful

"You have new notifications"

My cousin died the other day. I know because it was posted on Facebook.

It used to be that you would learn of the death of a friend or a family member from another friend or family member- a phone call was most common. Sometimes you might hear the news in person, if the deceased were especially close to you, so that the one delivering the message would be there, to offer you comfort.

Now, I learned of my cousin’s death in a post that was sandwiched between a cartoon pun and a sponsored ad for online learning.

Page down for pictures of a Friend’s latest restaurant meal and some ads to subscribe to the New York Times.

Such are the Times we live in.

Clutter could be the death of me

Stop hating on Marie Kondo, y'all. Because whatever works. Kondo could save my life. Because I'm drowning over here, I can't breathe.

My closets are crowded. My garage is bad.

My basement looks like an audition for Hoarders.

Sometimes, I go for days without thinking about it. Then, I will go into the basement, and come up spiraling down into depression.

There are objective treasures and undoubted trash stacked upon one another.

A few years ago, I was directing a show. We needed a covered dish as a prop. I said, I'll look in my basement. I brought a covered dish the next day. A day or two later, we needed a rubber chicken.  I said, I'll look in my basement. The next day, I brought the rubber chicken. We needed a wooden sword. I said, I'll look in my basement...

One of the stage managers said, I think I'd like to see this basement!

I said, No. No, you wouldn't.

No one is allowed in my basement. You have to be related to me, or I will have to kill you so that you can never reveal my shame. All of my children have significant others, so you can't marry into my family, and I've no room to bury your body. So, no, you can't go there.

It's hard to get rid of the STUFF in my basement.  There is straight up trash. There are items of value. These are mixed together so thoroughly that it's hard to pull them apart.

There are books, SO MANY BOOKS (I know, this where a bunch of haters hate on Marie, and I don't hold with the number limit on books, so I almost get it in this instance), some of which are directly connected to my heart, so they have to stay. There is furniture that is either still usable or still in use, storing decades of photos, and newspaper clippings. Some of it is furniture that I should be able to SELL, right?

There are old clothes, old costumes, old play programs, cassette tapes, vinyl records, VHS tapes, ancient boots, and knick-knacks.

There are Mothering Magazines and Mother Earth Magazines. There are TIME magazines no longer timely.

I'm DROWNING. Seriously.

I do have a plan (there's always a plan).  I'm about to embark on a new attempt to clear out my basement, and thus my life.

Pray for me.