Dear Santa...

So it's Christmas Eve here in the Beehive state. I wanted to write to you and wish you good travels, filled with hot chocolate, freshly baked cookies, and no fires left burning in those chimneys you have to shuffle down. And of course I thought I'd send you a line to let you know what I want for Christmas.

This year was a difficult one Santa. I was desperately trying to find the spirit of Christmas. It was difficult with the limited funds I had accessible to me. I watched all the commercials and realized I wouldn't be able to purchase that soft body sweater for my friends, nor would my father be getting the new car that I know he would highly enjoy. No diamonds or gift certifacates for the Ma. And well, chocolate was just out of the question. So I sat gloomy, thinking where did the Christmas spirit go?

I thought back to being a kid and tried with all my might to think of a new toy I would want from you. It went between a slinky to hop down my bedroom stairs to a replacement of the Rock Star Barbie you gave me back when I was eight. But neither really seemed right.

And then I put together my cookie party and something unexpected happened. I realized it wasn't the gifts that made Christmas, but the feeling that you want to do things for the people you care about in life and being able to sit and share in a bit of celebrated conversation with them. It's not the need to boost the economy, but celebrate in all the gifts given to you through out the year that aren't purchased but merely the joys of living.  It's doing the best at what you can do, and not feeling as though you need to push things. It's about the laughter--the laughter friends have that makes them laugh so hard they cry (miss b. you know I'm talking of you).

So Santa, I just want to say thanks. Thanks this year for the gifts you gave me before the day of Christmas. Thanks for the time with my family, for the the experience of showing them the city I live in during this lighted season. Thanks for the giddy laughter over dinner as my Dad extended his fork to my Mom with a pecan on it saying, "Just try this, it's delicious, it's soft... It's impregnated with sugar." Where that line came from, I'll never know, but I cherish those moments. I cherish the images too. The photos of my family (wishing of any gift, that my sister was with us here too--though I'm sure she is giddy with the two boys in California's warm weather). Thanks for the memories of past Christmases and all the family comedy that has followed. Thanks for awaking my heart to tell the people I care for how amazing they are (because lets face it--you all ROCK), and how much I value each and everyone of them in my life. And thanks for somehow letting my parents cats and my cats know, that a cat fight in my tiny apartment would not be a good way to show the Christmas spirit. Thanks for all you do Santa. Thanks for the gift of the season.

Safe travels tonight. I'll be listening for your sleigh bells as I always do. And just so you know, no matter how old I get... I will always believe in you.

Merry Christmas to all out there, may you have sugar plum dreams...

D.dot

Want or Need... A post of thankfull-ness...

Maybe it's the realization that the parents are about to embark on a new journey (moving out the state here people, it's not the final journey...just need to be clear). Maybe it's that yet another life metamorphosis is taking shape in my mind, or possibly, it's the month of thinking of all the things a person is thankful for. Whatever it is, all that's been on the brain lately, is the challenging difference between two words: WANT versus NEED.

Living in the same apartment for the past 10 years, the reality hits when you realize all those trinkets, shoes, tables, and mugs are just "stuff." They seemed so needed at the time, but now--as I travel the road of "essential" buying--they have become hindrances. Blockades in the home, if you please the metaphor.

The interesting thing is when you realize as an individual, you have never distinguished a difference between the two words. "Want" has the tendency to evoke the definition of "Need" in our society. So, this month the cleansing process began. I have discarded four boxes of "things", donated a table, three chairs, and three shelving units to my neighboring artist, books have reached the sharing frames of my local coffee shop, and I'm throwing away all those bits of paper that I felt had such significant value though in reality just cluttered up space in the home.

As the "stuff" begins to clear, I'm faced with a more open space. Space to recognize the things that have true value in my life. So as it is the month of giving thanks, I will end with this:

I am thankful for my family, who is always so supportive and encourages me to do all the things I'm passionate about in life. I am thankful for my friends; all the laughter we have shared, the way you all let me be me (with all the quirks, nuances, and frustrations that along with it). I am thankful for my cats and how they love to snuggle and share time with me even though we don't speak the same language. I am thankful to all the stories ever told to me, all the moments that have ever shaped the life I live. I am thankful to me teachers who have encouraged me. I am thankful to the teachers that discouraged me and in the process taught me to fight for what I believe in. Finally, I am thankful, thankful, thankful for having all that I need and being able to dream and hope for all the wants of my future.

A Happy Thanksgiving week to everyone out there. I hope your home is full of the space to share with the one's you love.

Chance Encounter...

You never know who you'll meet who might change your day. The past night I had a five minute conversation with a man on the street. Somehow, he said the exact words I needed to hear. He said them with sincerity.

"I want to read your book."

...

I've been frustrated lately with my writing. Some of you know, I'm working on a book about personal family issues. The writing has been taking me through a ringer of emotional ups and downs. 

So I distanced myself form writing, from the issues, yet again. But it keeps pounding in my mind anytime I have a moment to breath.

I took some advice from the author of Eat, Pray, Love. She spoke on an NPR program and stated she talked with her creativity (muse, writing voice, or whatever you want to call it) as if it's a person. It was a challenge. Give creativity time as you would a friend. Let it know your intentions, as you do in any good relationship.

This gets a bit tricky, because as you speak out loud to creativity, people around you tend to think you're going crazy. Being viewed as crazy might be worth it though. I asked recently for help from creativity, for guidance, for support, for courage. And she provided me a stranger on the street to talk "story" with, to give me encouragement that even if some people don't want to hear what I have to say, one person does... And one person can be everything.

Bell Tolls...

Church bells rang across barren city. Not mechanical ringing of old, but pulled warning human hands upon rope, controlling metal tongues reverberating against steel. Heeding alarm, body turned and ran upon crumbling cement. Leaf of changing season fell from hand, embedded between left behind cracks--lost from hopeful thought. Dress swayed as bare feet pounded echoing sidewalks. Sidewalks speaking stories of times past--children playing, dogs barking with waging tails, sun bathing and blue skies. Everything in play now, brown with dust. Clouds covered homes left in sinister expression. All life running, all hiding.

Hands clutched, soles dark with dirt, panic took over. Panic to live. Life ingrained deep in soul. If trigger for survival wasn't there--none of this would be happening. Bells would be silent, sidewalks bare, homes only inhabitants would be the skeletal bones of a race lost by their own makings. And yet--running, breathing, hiding, waiting--a race remained, if only just.

Sound deafening--a heavy whistle cracked space crashing against ears. Hands cupped them to provide small relief. Only seconds and explosion hit, pulling body from earth. Feather thin fabric whipped face and there was ringing. Ringing jarring the bones. Ringing attempting to escape the frame. Blood trickled from ear to chin. Lips parted and mouth tasted empowering iron. Life still clung on to move.

Earth still shaking, a hole on the remnants of a hollow city left by weapon. Debris covered feet, legs, torso, arms. Body's only portion not bathed in battle: Ears.

Ears cupped by hands. Ears ringing, ears fighting, ears waiting. Waiting to listen--listen to words that would explain: WHY?

Find the Instagram photo that inspired this short bit of writing by following @abaa (click on name to see photo)