New Year's Eve

I can so often be a victim of expectations;  expectations born out of commercialized hype or romantic images from old movies.  New Year's Eve is supposed to be one of those nights during which one parties and dances and has good time in places like Times Square or the local bar and grille.  It is supposed to be a time when romance blooms and old acquaintence are not forgot, but e'er brought to mind.  It is a time to be with people.

But here I am in my living room with my two dogs and cat watching Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve.  (Jenny McCarthy is very irritating by the way).  It is now 9:20pm, and it is 2012 in New York City...the entire east coast of course.  I can almost feel the new year coming closer and closer.  Soon it will wash over the west coast.  There will be firecrackers and pots banging and even a voice (probably mine) raised in a chorus of Auld Lang Syne.  And it is as it should be I guess.

I remember several years ago a critical note from my (least favorite) boss at work that observed I tend to wait for things to some to me rather than being proactive.  It stung. Probably because there was a lot of truth in that statement.  I do tend to beleive in romance and magic and dreams coming true.  It could happen.

I could have gone out I suppose.  But I tend to become rather shy, somewhat awkward out among crowds.   I could have had a party, a few close friends.  But for some reason I didn't think anyone would come.  Boy, what a pity party this sounds like!

Life is what you make it.  Yep, I say that glibly.  And on some level I know it is true.  The New Year is always a chance to start again.  This one is no different.  No matter how many New Year's Eves have passed. along or with people, I always feel hope and optimism being reborn.  It is in our hands, this thing called life.

Soon it will be 2012.  Hard to believe we are twelve years into the 21st Century and cars still don't fly and tele-transporters still haven't been invented.  But one thing is sure: every morning is a new day, a new chance to do "it".

Happy New Year my friends.  

As always, everything's gonna be okay!

Favorite Christmas Eve Memory?

I was at a gathering of few friends tonight after Christmas Eve Candlelight services at my church.  We were enjoying good food and company when the conversation turned to Christmas Eves past and that most challenging question asking what was your favorite Christmas Eve memory.

I had to think.

There have been so many, everyone unique.

Was it the time I sat by the window in my darkened bedroom and waited to see Santa arrive?  I remember opening the window just a crack to listen for his approach.  It was a cold, crisp night in my hometown of Redford Township and even just a crack was too much.  The frosty air seeped in and made me shiver.  All the same, I waited, and waited.  I listened for a sign.  And then I heard what I thought might be sleigh bells.  They were coming from just down the street.  I was sure it was, (could it have really been?), Santa.  Suddenly I remembered that Santa knew if you sleeping and knew if you were awake.  I panicked.  If I was awake and waiting, he would know!  No gifts!  I scrambled to my bed, pulled the covers over my head and soon, miraculously, I was asleep.

That might have been the last time I remember really believing is Santa Claus.

But then maybe it was the time that I flew home to surprise my mother at Christmas.  I had been living in Southern California for over two years.  I had been back to Detroit a couple times to visit.  And my mother and brother had come out to visit me once.  And we talked on the phone weekly.  But it was a time I was already feeling the tug of family while trying to find my own life on the west coast. The need to go home became acute when my grandmother told me that my mother was very ill.  Cancer.  Terminal lung cancer.  Not much longer.

I had to go home for Christmas.

I was a poor college student working at JC Penney nights and weekends.  When the folks at Penney's heard of my plight, the department manager took up a collection of funds and arranged for me to have the time off as the Christmas rush died down...Christmas Eve.  I nearly lost it when the travel agent had trouble getting me a flight home, but finally it all fell into place.  Some friends brought cookies to the airport for me to take home.  I remember it all so clearly on this Christmas Eve...every Christmas Eve actually.

And I made it home in time.   And my mother was totally surprised.  She nearly leaped out of her chair at my grandmother's house when I walked in from the snow and wind.  "Bobby!"  she exclaimed.  "Bobby, you came home!"

It was the best Christmas present I was ever able to give her...and she me.  And the last.

Christmas Eves come and go.  The last few years have been quiet.  Church services and maybe a quick tour of Christmas lights.  Sometimes a drink or light supper with friends.  My family of childhood is all gone now.  I have a new family built of friends who are precious to me.  I know we choose our friends and are "assigned" our blood relatives.  I have been very lucky in both.

This Christmas Eve I am fortunate to remember them all.  I guess that is my favorite part of Christmas: the memories new and old.  The people who have been in my life and the people who are there now: that is one of the meanings of Christmas I cherish.  The Christ child came to teach us that and it a lesson I re-learn every Christmas Eve.

Six About Christmas

If you go to the homepage of Google.com today you will find the following Google Doodle created just for the holidays:

The symbols begin to sparkle and dance to the tune of "Jingle Bells" when you click on the square below each icon of the holidays.  Of course, this will probably be gone tomorrow or the next day.  Christmas doesn't last forever...especially on the Internet.  By Monday we will be launching full-bore into wrapping up 2011 and predictions for 2012.  But before the page is turned, I found myself thinking about these symbols and how for me, they represent personal memories for me about the holidays.  After some sixty Christmases, I am allowed to ruminate and reflect.

SNOWFLAKES

So many things come to mind when I think about snowflakes.  They are unique.  No two are ever exactly the same.  How do they know this?  I don't know, but it one of those things I have learned to accept as true after many hours as a kid in who chased snowflakes in the Michigan winters and tried to compare.  Snowflakes do not last in your hand, even if you are wearing a mitten.  They are best gathered together to make snowballs and snow forts.  And as pretty as they are as they fall from the grey cast sky, they can portend mornings spent shoveling their carcasses up into great piles.  But then again, I remember many a wonderful hour spent creating snow angels on the ground.

SANTA CLAUS

Santa is still the guy at Christmas.  And for whatever reason, I still believe in Santa Claus.  He may have morphed from various legends from lands and times long ago, but the Santa I grew up with was generous, jolly and a beacon of hope.  We knew as the world turned and night came on, Santa began his journey across the sky with his eight tiny reindeer (and sometimes Rudolph with his red nose) to visit the homes of children everywhere, naughty or nice.  All could be forgiven on Christmas Eve.  I actually remember hearing the bells of his sleigh as it approached my house as, darn it, I fell asleep and never caught him coming down our chimney.

Bells

Silver Bells is one of my favorite Christmas carols.  "Its Christmas time in the city. Hear them ring, ting a ling, soon it will be Christmas Day".  There was always snow at Christmas in Michigan.  And it was true, the shoppers and people rushing through the cold winter air to the peeling of the merry Christmas bells.  The ringing of bells is the sound of joy.  Something wonderful is happening and once again, the hope of a blessed event is once again told.  

Snowmen

Well, how many times have I sung Frosty the Snowman?  How many snowmen did I build when I was a kid, and even as an adult before moving to sunny California, with the unfounded hope that maybe, just maybe, this Frosty would spring to life.  And then, eventually, they would begin to melt, tumble over and be gone for another year.  But just like some many other stories at Christmastime, there is always that pervasive hope and certain knowledge that "he'll be back again one day...."

Candles

I always wanted to burn candles in the window.  Unfortunately fear of burning the house down kept me from doing so.  My grandmother made these hand-crafted candles out of the tube packages from the girdles and bras (yes, I am not kidding here) that she kept from the ladies' garment store where she worked in Birmingham, MI.  They were varying heights and wrapped with silver or gold foil.  My grandfather wired them and used the red and yellow tree lights to make the flame.  Simple, yes, but they were wonderful.  She made them for friends, family and neighbors starting in the early fall.  And they sat in many a window and atop many fireplace mantles aglow.

Christmas
Packages

Is there anything more appealing than a cheerily wrapped package with ribbons and bows?  Under the tree, they capture the imagine and wonderment of anyone who sees them.  Shake them a bit, hold them to your ear, even sniff them, and the guessing game would go on.  The imagination would sometimes exceed the reality of what was inside, which is when I learned that living in anticipation is not always a bad thing.  It could be anything.  The possibilities are endless.

Truthfully, the wrapping for me was sometimes the gift.  It seemed somewhat decadent to rip into them, destroying the beauty, the image, the mystery.  But then again, opening presents from someone who went to all the trouble wrap it just for you (or have it wrapped, it doesn't matter), is one of the great joys of life.  Another is seeing the delight in somebody's eyes when you hand them a Christmas package and the little child inside them surfaces once again.

Christmas Pudding Memories

"It's got a lovely ritual attached to it. Everyone in the house is meant to have a hand in making the pudding, so everyone should grab the whisk and, together, give it at least one turn around the bowl while — here's the best part — making a wish. If you'd like, you could even stir a little trinket into the batter. Do this, and the person who finds it will be guaranteed good luck. "(Link to the NPR broadcast "Now, You Can Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding")

The family would gather in the fall.  It was normally right around Halloween. We'd all go, all generations, young and old, the menfolk, the womenfolk and the kids underfoot.  We'd all descend on my Great Aunt Rose's house in Southfield, outside Detroit. Southfield was still primarily farmland and rustic.  Great Aunt Rose, along with my grandmother and their six other siblings  came to the States from England in the early 1910's. They were homesick, especially so at the holidays.   They did their best to keep as many traditions alive as possible, for as long as possible.
We each in turn were called upon to chop nuts, slice fruits, mash suet, and so forth.  Then finally we all got to take a turn stirring the batter in a large ceramic crock and make a wish. And of course we were told it would only come true if we were good and ate our fair share of the final product a two or three months hence.

There was laughter and tears, memories shared, memories created all in the heart of the love of my large extended family that filled Aunt Rose's home to 
make the pudding and then again later to eat it...together.

*****

After we all left, Aunt Rose would be the caretake of the pudding.  To "cure" the pudding with the blend of whiskey, rum and bourbon, she would form several dome-shaped puddings and store it away in the cool, dark cellar, being sure to turn it weekly, until it was time to serve it and it had aged just right.

We all knew the fine Irish whiskey or Beefeater Bourbon what preserved it as it aged to a sweet rich substance which we would not see again until we all gathered again on Twelfth Night, or, as we called it, "Little Christmas" in Janaury.   We were there to have the pudding, to celebrate family and tradition and to make our New Year's resolutions and wishes. Somewhere in the pudding were for the metal trinkets and silver coins that would ensure our fondest wishes would come true in the next twelve months.

It seemed to me that it would always be that way, a family tradition, preserved and honored from generation to generation. But as the years passed, and the older generation passed away, the next generation drifted apart. Seldom do we see or even hear from each other. We so share this the memories of the figgy puddings and the feeling of family those nights each year.

When Aunt Rose always brought out the pudding, fully engulfed in cool liquored flames. I can see her now, so many years later.  In the darkness, the blue flames rising off the dark pudding on the silver platter, we'd sing the old English folksong, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" wherein the carolers demanded to be brought some figgy pudding (see below) .  Little did I know those days would pass.  But the memory lingers on and still warms we as I dream here in California of a white Christmas.  Thank you, Aunt Rose, for giving me those memories and for helping to keep that little kid inside me alive with awe and wonder over Christmases past.

We Wish You A Merry Christmas

We wish you a merry Christmas

We wish you a merry Christmas

We wish you a merry Christmas

And a happy New Year.

Glad tidings we bring

To you and your kin;

Glad tidings for Christmas

And a happy New Year!

We want some figgy pudding

We want some figgy pudding

We want some figgy pudding

Please bring it right here!

Glad tidings we bring

To you and your kin;

Glad tidings for Christmas

And a happy New Year!

We won't go until we get some

We won't go until we get some

We won't go until we get some

So bring it out here!

Glad tidings we bring

To you and your kin;

Glad tidings for Christmas

And a happy New Year!

We wish you a Merry Christmas

We wish you a Merry Christmas

We wish you a Merry Christmas

And a happy New Year.

Glad tidings we bring

To you and your kin;

Glad tidings for Christmas

And a happy New Year!

"We Wish You a Merry Christmas" is a popular secular 16th century English carol from West Country of England. It is one of the few traditional holiday carols that makes mention of the New Year's celebration.

In the days of Olde England, groups of traveling singers would entertain for food or pay. These groups were called "waits" and were extremely popular at Christmastime. We Wish You a Merry Christmas is one of these old tunes.

We wish you a Merry Christmas History has its roots in England. However the author and the composer of the song still remains unknown to the whole world. Therefore the date of the publication of the song is not known. This song We wish you a Merry Christmas actually reflects the Christmas tradition of showering gifts on the people who wandered from house to house, singing these Christmas songs to please the wealthy people of the community.

Blue Christmas

"Into this silent night

           as we make weary way

                 we know not where,

         just when the night becomes its darkest

              and we cannot see our path

         just then

           is when the angels rush in

                       their hands full of stars.

                                                 --Ann Weems, Poet

*****

Whatever you believe about Christmas and the whole story of Jesus and even religion itself, there are times when you have to admit, something greater than oneself acts in one's life.  It is the mystery that cannot be solved fully and the question that we all must live in every day.

Tonight I attended a "Blue Christmas" celebration at the San Bernardino First Congregational Church.  Deliberately set on the night of solstice, it was designed to provide a time of stillness in the often hectic season of advent of Christmas.  During the service, a harpist played softly the music of Christmas.  The small group gathered in shelter from the winter rains that have been pouring down upon southern California for days now.  "We are here seeking respite from the expectations and demands of this season" those in attendence said in the call to worship.  "We are here with some hesitation, yet also with a longing to know holiness in the depth of our being."  


Together we sang meditative hymns and heard readings from the prophet Isaiah (35:1-2, 5-10) and Psalm 121.  You know the Psalm, the one the begins "I will lift up my eyes to the hills.  From where does my help come?"   Together we lit candles to remember those whom we have loved and lost, to redeem us from the pain of losses of the past year in our own lives, to reflect upon outselves, our moments and times of disbelief, anger, stress, frustration, down times, joys, hugs and handshakes of family and friends and all the support we have known.  And finally we lit a candle to remember our personal faith and the gift of hope that the Christmas story offers us.  Most of all, the service was to remind us that we are not alone.


As I sat in the cold sanctuary (the heat had not been turned on) I found myself remembering Christmases, both recent and in the distant past.  I though of the people of my life who have gone on and who still live within my heart and memory.  That is the joy of this season.  They all come to visit, not unlike Scrooge's ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future.  They remind me that I am not alone and that Christmas is more than a holiday of giving and getting gifts, feasting and attending parties or decking the halls.  It is a time of remembering and appreciating all that has been and how each and every one of those people have taught me lessons well learned and brought me to where I am today.  I am blessed.


That is Blue Christmas.  We are not alone.  There is Someone or Something up there.  It is in and through all of us.  This is the season we come through the long dark night and the angels do really appear with stars in their hands to light our way.  

*****

Some of the above was gently lifted and incorporated from the service program prepared for use during the service.   Thanks to SBUCC, Rev Petra, Rev Sally and Rev Lenny for a wonderful worship service.

*****

Happy Birthday to my Grandmother,

My Shining Star Looking Down on Me

Repost of 12/21/10

Maybe Tomorrow

My last post was about waiting for the words to come.  They come.  They always come.  I said that.  I believe that.  And so I went into waiting mode.  It didn't seem like they would come.  Ever.  Ever again.  I kept thinking, "Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe tomorrow the words will come, I will feel moved."  And so another day would pass.

Then just a little while ago, tonight, now, I realized (once again) that waiting is a very passive activity.  It is living in expectation.  It is not living.  It is not living at all.  It is hoping for something that is beyond that proverbial rainbow.  Well, my friends, it is true: there is no place like home.  And home is where the heart is.  And the heart beats moment to moment keeping the body going to house the spirit that dwells within.  And that, is life.  Life does not happen tomorrow.  It happens now.  And now is all there is.

I have noticed I say to myself, "Maybe tomorrow".  "Maybe tomorrow I will do this or that.  I just don't feel like it now."  And then tomorrow comes and goes and much goes left undone.  The regrets and unfinished business gets piled up in the corner...much like the spare room whose door I keep closed.  It is a messy little secret that I keep hidden from the world. 

But now I have opened the door (again) and here we go.  Maybe tomorrow....maybe tomorrow is...today.

Waiting for the Words

Sometimes there is nothing to say.  No words come to mind.   Not a single intelligible utterance could possibly fully communicate the thoughts and emotions of the moment.  It is those times that all you can do, all you should do, is take a deep breath and be still.  In the quiet the realization will come.  The understanding slowly seeps into your very being, your base, your soul.  The world dissolves away. All that is left is you.  Your swollen heart fills your chest.  You see as you've never seen before.  The truth is crystal clear.  You awake to find the dawn has come.  The answer just is.  Awake. The words will come.  They always come.

Thank God for Colds

I am thanking God for this cold I have.  Now I know God didn't single me out personally to catch a cold.  I ignored His loving care and threw caution to the wind.  I went out in the night air without sufficient clothing.  (No, not naked, but not bundled up in a parka either)  I guess I didn't eat right, although I thought I was.  Maybe not enough fresh fruit and vegetables.  Perhaps inadequate attention to drinking liquids.  All possibilities have been considered.  And I have been doing pretty well in the exercise and activity area.

But still the cold caught me.  It really is more of a sinus thing.  With two dogs, a cockatiel, a cat, and three guest chickens in residence, the house does get a bit dusty with dander and sheddings.  And I do haul out the vacuum and dust mop and such, but evidently not often enough.  So I caught up while shut in over the past three days and am relatively confident Erma Bombeck and Phyllis Diller would approve, but Martha Stewart and Heloise would still have something to say.

But as I walked the dogs for the first time in a couple days, it occurred to me that this cold was God's natural way of telling me to slow down, loosen up and breathe right.  It is very hard for me not to force the world to revolve around me.  And it is just as hard for me to feel sorry for myself when the world goes on without me actively involved.  But the truth is, the world does go on whether I am up and at 'em or languishing in bed.  While I am not the center of the universe, I am the center of my world and without me, well, where would I be?  And without God, well, thank goodness that is not possible since we are never without God!

So here I go, resuming some normal activities this week.  But I have a renewed consciousness.  I am aware I am not invincible.  I need to take care of myself.  It is God's will.  If I don't, then who will take care of the rest of the world?  Oh, ya....He will.

Them What Have

Sometimes it seems some folks just get it all.  They get the big pay for little work, the big home for little down, the accolades for doing very little.  I don't know, but I suspect it might be because they have a well played horn.  Me, I don't have one.  I seldom blow my own horn.  It just isn't something I do.  Sure, I like recognition...who doesn't?  But I am content most of the time to be a background person and work behind the scenes.  That's just me.

Now I will take some public recognition sometimes in situations where everyone is getting something.  Just don't single me out.  I get awkward.  I want to hide.  Yet if you don't say thank you, well, I just kind of figure you are rude or don't know better.

Appreciation can become an addictive substance.  This is true, especially if the appreciation is for something you may or may not have done, but really wasn't all that much.  And it is especially bad if at any time while doing the appreciated deed you complained or resented it.  Oh heavenly father, I have been at times guilty of that!  It makes the thank you a bit embarrassing to receive.  Next time, I tell myself, just do it.  And if you complained or felt resentment, then you truly weren't giving of yourself.  It was ego or guilt or some such insincere nonsense.

I do appreciate so many things in my life.  And I especially appreciate the people in my life.  They have a lot to bear sometimes in listening to my thoughts and musings, to say the least.  But I appreciate them for being there. 

Gratitude is a funny thing.  The more you live into it, the more you have to be grateful for.  Thanksgiving is everyday if you are playing it right.  Without giving thanks, appreciation is nil.  I may not have the big pay or the big house, but I do sleep at night...usually.  But here I am making a commitment: the next time I have trouble sleeping, I will start counting my blessings.  Surely then, as in the words of the old Bing Crosby song, I will fall asleep.

The Nights of Falls

It is the nights, when they descend upon you, envelope you; those are the times when the memories swirl around you and you realize, once again, that time has rushed on by.  The quiet is truly deafening.  You can hear you mind think.  You can feel every beat of your heart.  You go to the window, push back the blind. The full moon drifting through the clear autumn night sky. 

Remembering times when laughter and music filled your home you can almost accept the tears and loneliness of the  ticking mantle clock.  Being alone, afterall, is not a bad thing.  Being with the wrong person is not a good thing.  Life is a series of choices made moment to moment  You make them in haste or after long and prayerful thought.  Both ways have their consequences.  Both bring their own special brands of joy or pain.  That is the nature of the beast. 

You may want to go to bed to pull the covers up tight and wait for sleep.  Yet sometimes the memories keep washing over you.  You mind will not stop.  You toss, you turn.  And then sometimes you fall asleep without knowing.  Then you awake only to realize that it is you and you alone who choose how to feel.  Knowing this, you choose to continue on.  The dawn always comes and you will choose again...and again...and again.

It all goes on, this life thing.  The more you live it, the more you realize: it is all in how you respond to it.  It is all in how you embrace it or resist it.  It is all, you discover at last, up to you.

A Quiet Evening Alone with Everyone I Know or Have Ever Known

Nothing like a quiet evening home alone.  Turn off the TV.  Fend off the chill from a slow moving cold front.  Listen to the light rain outside.  Watch the dogs curled up together, slowly breathing, occasionally twitching.  The cat purrs in my lap.  The birds settled down for the night.  Time to catch up on some reading.  Letters, newspapers, bills.  A book I have been trying to get back to.  With the doors and windows closed tight, even the  cars driving by on the rain-slicked streets are muted reminders of how life continues to just pass by.

In the quiet I can hear myself think; something I have not stopped to do in some time.  When I pause and reflect, memories flood in like a rush of water filling the reservoirs  of my mind.  Childhood memories, my parents smiling while holding me in their arms.  My grandparents trudging through the snow to get to our front door on Christmas morning.  The day I left Michigan for California.  The births and the deaths, anniversaries and separations.  A long career.  A short romance.  All dance through my head in the silence of the evening as I wait for the ice cream to melt slightly just the way I like it; my treat before going to bed.

I have grown used to living alone, with my "kids", with my memories, with my still firm belief I will succeed.  It is not so bad being here, alone.  In fact, I am not sure I would seek to change that.  Not to say I am not open to whatever new relationship experiences may come my way.  But for now I am content.  This evening, sitting here with everyone I know or have ever known, with me in spirit, warming my heart; how could I ever be lonely?  This feeling will be preserved for future reference.  This is a place I can return to.   Here is where I will retreat to commune with all the saints and the souls who have contributed to who and what I am tonight.

Too Late....?

Sometimes I wonder if it is too late.  Actually, I have often wondered that over the course of my so-called life.  Is it too late to do the things I thought I always wanted to do.  Funny, I can remember thinking that when I was in high school, in college, starting my "career", buying a house, retiring....  Over and over, I wondered if it was too late.  And now, as I look back, I can see it was never too late.  It was always now.  

So then I wonder why I busy myself being busy with things that seem so important that what I thought I wanted to be doing, could wait.  Why is that?  Why do I constantly put my own hopes and desires on the shelf?  Oh, that sounds so like whining, and I apologize.  But really, why are we our own worst enemies?  

The problem as I see it is that affirmation is a powerful narcotic.  I seem to crave it, need it.  It feels so good to be appreciated, to be recognized.  It can seduce you.  Whenever I read  stories of famous writers or artists, it seems they all say that they couldn't do anything else.  That something within them drove them to write or paint or build a bridge.  They report that they couldn't do anything else.  Couldn't do anything else.  

That is when I question my dreams.  That is why a often wonder if it is too late.

Fortunately I am an eternal optimist.  And I know it is never, ever too late.

What Were You Thinking?

People ask and I have to say I have been thinking.  That could be good.  That could be bad.  Only time will tell.  I can only hope that the thoughts lead somewhere, anywhere.  It is such a waste of time to think, think, think and not have it manifest into something more than just a passing fancy.

So what, you may wonder, have I been thinking about?  That is something is best thought about and not revealed prematurely.  Sorry, but I have noticed lately a half-baked idea rarely results in a souffle you can be proud of. 

Think about it.  How many times have you revealed your plans only to find you did so way too soon and then had to explain why they didn't come to fruition.  That said, if you don't set goals and share dreams, how can you ever find the support and encouragement you need to achieve them?

So I continue to think about this and about that.  Some would say its neither here nor there when it is really somewhere in between.  Observe your thoughts as they flow through your mind, but don't own them.  They are thoughts.  Take them for what they are worth.  You can choose which thoughts reflect your innermost being.  Let the others drift on.  This is what I am thinking about right now and reminding myself that it takes discipline; it takes being mindful; and most of all, it takes deep thought.

Fate and the Best Laid Plans

Sometimes the best laid plans do, as they say, go awry.  Today I planned to attend the Art for Heaven's Sake Festival in Redlands.  I have done so every year for the past several years.  It is something I look forward to.  I usually attend church at the Redlands United Church of Christ on whose ground the festival takes place.  It is a mid-sized fair with probably a hundred more or less artists exhibiting all types of art.  It is a show I really enjoy.

But not this year.  This year I had a bad attack of vertigo and wound up spending the day in and out of bed.  Not the day I planned.  Which makes me wonder if maybe it is instances like this that make it difficult for me to make actual plans.  It always seems that something goes awry.  I hate to think I am a "portender" of doom, but it does seem that my best laid plans seldom go according to, uh, plan.

Okay, call it fate.  It was my fate to miss the show and church and spend the day reeling from an undeserved hangover.  Who knows?  Fate knows!  Fate steps in and takes control.  Man merely acts it out and suffers the fate set forth for him.  Say what?  Fate controls what happens?  Why make plans then?  Huh?  Fate laughs at man's plans.  Say what?

Okay, this is very existential know.  Do we have any say in what happens to us?  Do we dare make plans?  Are we indeed "tempting fate?"  And why would fate be tempted....especially if fate already knows what it intends to set upon us?

So there you have it.  Fate is in the driver's seat.  Is this the way God wants it?  I am rather confused.  Make plans yet fate has other ideas?  This is a concept I have a hard time wrapping my mind around.  Yet, it seems, like the mystery of all that is holy, like the face and nature of God, I can accept it, and I know I need to continue to make plans.  Yes, I might get sick.  Yes, I could get hit by a bus on my way to the art fair.  That may be my fate.  But God knows, I must fly in its face and live my life, God willing, and sometimes fulfill my plan....and always know that sometimes, God has a better one.