THE GIFT OF FAMILY

It's a big one this year, you know. Seventy. And it's Thanksgiving so we can make the time.

And so they did. My Connecticut son, my Pennsylvania son and his wife, their three sons and one daughter. My sons in their forties. Children ranging from nine to nineteen. And me, turning seventy. And my spouse not yet seventy.

We all spent a joyful Thanksgiving dinner with all the step children acquainting and Reacquainting themselves to one another, and all the cousins and step cousins running amok and generally enjoying the day. It was the treat of a lifetime -- all of us together -- laughing, remembering past events, telling of new happenings, learning who did what and when. What a gift!

Back at "Mom's" house we tended to congregate around the dining room table; the generations gathered to read, compute, play board games, crosswords, Sudoku, or just chat. There was no one taking off for work, or the mall, or to pal around with friends, or whatever young people do these days. They could have, actually, gone out for a walk or found solitude in another room of the house. But they chose to gather together. What a gift!

The sibling banter was brutally honest, accepted as such and responded to in kind. It was wonderful to hear this give and take among them. There was acceptance for who/what each one was and love for one another all the way round inter and intra generational. What a gift!

Midday on Saturday we all came to table together for the celebratory and farewell meal. Cards and gifts were received. And then the question: "Grandmom, have you accomplished all that you wanted to accomplish?" Great long pause while I mulled that one over, but the reply was obviously -- NO! We can never be done. There is always more to learn and accomplish. I'm not done yet. Maybe they will ask the question again at my eightieth gathering and hopefully the answer will still be the same.

The joy of family -- What a GIFT!

THANKSGIVING PREP

Three more days of preparation for Thanksgiving guests, food, generous and gracious hospitality, and I am in a state of UNreadiness. There is no way I am going to make this happen. And I am NOT doing any of it this evening. I am going to just sit here, do my blog, get a note off to my sister, then go to bed and read.

I love holidays. I love family. I hate the cleaning up and getting ready part. So I guess they will have to love me as I am. In all of my clutter. Dust under the couch. Maybe a cob web or two. They will have a clean bathroom, fresh sheets, warm blankets, hot coffee, and a lot of love.

Planning ahead has never been a priority for me. I am big into being and doing in the now. This is a really good place to be most of the time. If you think about it, NOW is the only time you can be in touch with God. That is probably the best part about now that I know of. If I have it in me to manage to just be in the moment, it is wonderful. I am successful a lot of the time. But there are times when I might have enjoyed the moment a lot more if I had planned ahead a little better.

The now times of planning and preparation can be Godly times too.....

IT IS WHAT IT IS

Acceptance. Accept it because there is nothing I can do about it. Accept it because -- it is what it is. Well, yes, maybe. Accepting what is because we REALLY can't do anything about it is one thing; but what if we can? Do something, that is. How to decide.

There is a cancer that is going to kill the husband of my friend and co-worker. Accept. There is nothing to be done. Prayer, yes. But for healing? I don't think so. This is in the liver and probably the pancreas. Death. I can accept this "what is." I can pray for the family. I can pray with the family. I can pray for courage and strength and quality of what life there is left. It is not in me to pray for a "miracle." I have a hard time with miracles. But I digress.

Iraq. Now there is something I cannot accept. On many fronts. It is what it is, but I don't accept it. AND there is nothing that I know of that I can do about it. Prayer to end it, maybe. Prayer for courage and strength and hope. And peace. Yes, prayers for peace. And that isn't in the miracle department. It is in the possible department. Well, I know, all things are possible with God. It's just that somethings are more possible than others.

So that's the big stuff. What about the little stuff. Accepting one's self. Accepting who I am and what I can do and what I can't do. Trying to figure out the "is" of "what is." What do I accept and what do I change -- and how do I decide. I can accept white hair -- it is what it is. I could color it or just let it be as who I am. I am right handed. I could probably change that, it used to be done all the time, but I am naturally right handed. Accept. I am a natural clutterbug. Clutter has a way of gathering around me. My "stuff" is always in disarray. It is what it is but I can't accept it. This is one thing I have the ability to change -- and frequently try, it just doesn't seem to last. I keep trying.

I keep trying on a lot of fronts and frequently wonder if it is good enough. Then I wonder how much good enough is. Today I am going to give myself a B+ bordering on A- for just thinking about all this stuff. I'll keep praying. And I'll keep trying.

STUCK

I'm stuck. Stuck in a mire of inertia. Don't know how I got here. Don't know how to get out. I think I have been getting here for a while. Maybe a long while. For years I have been trying to do things the "right" way -- the way I think they should be done -- the way other people have decided that they should be done. I think it is finally time to just do things in a way that comes naturally.

Early on I trained myself to write in the upright loopy script that was the distinctive style of my mother. I learned it well. Then a few years ago I began to write "Morning Pages" in the style of Julia Cameron as suggested in her book "The Artist's Way." SO, for a few years I have been feeling guilty because I cannot just roll out of bed in the morning and write off three pages of stream of consciousness. I can do three pages but it is after reading the morning paper with my cereal and while having coffee. Here I am doing morning pages in a way that isn't sanctioned and in a loopy upright script that is not uniquely my own. I think this might be indicative of the way I have lived/am living my life.

Time to be me. And I don't really know how to go about that. Some weeks ago there may have been some unconscious bubbling up when my hands began to cramp as I wrote my pages and I decided to attempt the script that I learned in second grade. Surprise, no more cramps. AND at about that same time I decided that the three pages of stream of consciousness was getting boring, even to me. Time to write the stories of my childhood.

Why, then, am I feeling these pangs of stuckedness? Maybe I am in a place of between. A place to wait. A place to observe. A place to renew. A place of grace to comfort me and let me know that whatever is, is okay.