JPEG of the Week

~Da Boy and 5 of 8~

~pumping the muscles~

~impressing the girls~

~They are The Dudes~

Posts of Christmas Past...

I was wrapping and taping and hiding and price-sticker-removing until the wee hours last night...if 10:30 pm can be legitimately called the wee hours.
But it felt like the wee hours.

Where did we get the phrase 'wee hours'?

Tangent.

I'm back.

So I thought I would head into the archive today and pull out one of my favorite posts from this time last year.

And then get back to some more wrapping.

So I won't be up until the wee hours tonight.

Whatever the wee hours are.....

(Originally posted December 8th, 2008)

I'm not entirely sure where he come from, really. Or when. I just know that when he was brought out of the rickety confines of the same cardboard box each year, it seemed that Christmas had truly arrived.

He was made of a cheap flocked red velvet, gawky in his design, resplendent in his crimson faux hide. His eyes were large plastic stickers with exaggerated catch-lights, fringed with lases at the corners. He sported a large rack of white antlers and a lightly furred white locket.

He was a mass-produced, cheaply rendered, shabbily stitched red reindeer.

And I loved him.

He smelled slightly musty from his sawdust innards; it seemed the very perfume of Noel. One of his antlers pulled loose and each year when we removed him from the dark Christmas carton, he had inevitably leaked a few more wisps of his organic stuffing. We would shove the antler back into place, secure it with a band aid, and place him once again in what we perceived to be a prestigious decor spot.

He often enjoyed the company of a stuffed elf. They shared similar genetic makeup in terms of cheap red velvet and sawdust stuffing. They seemed an appropriate pair, and I felt I had theological backup on this as they were reminiscent of Rudolph and Hermie the elf-wanna-be-a-dentist duo from my favorite Christmas movie.

But, as childhood marched on into teenage-hood, some of our traditions changed. The annual search for a live tree was replaced with a hypoallergenic fake one. The large colored lights were exchanged for white, sparkling ones. The faded and chipped glass ball ornaments experienced such a drop in their population that new decor was procured.

And then it was our turn to set tradition for us as my husband and I began our family and started to create a platform of memories for our children.

But memory is a funny thing. Certain things can sleep, remain quiet. The waves of the now, the current of the future, make the murky depths difficult to see. But every now and then, a little something will bob to the surface. And it can open up a flood waters from the deep.

My in-laws were going through many decorations one year, weeding out things they no longer used or had never used or no longer needed in their Christmas accessorizing. As retired school principals, they had received over the years a bounty of all things yuletide decoration from their many students. As we sifted through box after box, a bit of fabric caught my eye.

It was cherry red, a glimpse of fabric amongst a mosaic of shiny plastic candy canes and glitter-encrusted snowmen. I pushed back the tide of tinseled trivia and caught my breath: there he was. The cheap red velvet reindeer.

Well, okay. It wasn't the cheap red velvet reindeer of my childhood. But it was his mass-produced cousin, made at the same time in the same factory with the same sticker eyes and white antlers. He even had a saw-dust bleeding split in his hide, just a bit to the left of his cheap white velvet tail.

My in-laws graciously allowed me to claim my treasure.

I patched his wound with Disney Pocahontas band aids.

I rubbed his cheap red velvet on my cheek. I breathed in the musty aroma of his sawdust stuffing. And I was rewarded with a little memory bobbing to the top of my conscience.

And then another.

And then another.

Childhood Christmases. Laying under the tree. Looking at the spectacularly garish and gorgeous primary color lights. The scent of the pine needles, the scratchy reach of the branches. The hiss of the LPs of our small collection of Christmas records playing holiday music. The pure sugar hard crunch of the candy my mother bought every year and kept in the amber glass bowl. The length of the shag carpet fibers. The white bricks that made up the fireplace in the living room. The gold fringe on the curtains. The tinge taste of iron on my tongue when the tinsel I ran over my lips gave me slight paper cuts at the corners of my mouth. My own reflection in the mirror tiles on the wall adjacent to the fireplace, my visage lighted by the sparking tree behind me.

Childhood.

Packaged in a cheap red velvet reindeer.

A treasure of memories, cushioned in the sawdust stuffing.

He adorns the top of my tree now, a beloved archival piece, a dilapidated friend from other places and other times. To the uninformed, he looks like a kitschy piece of Christmas tackiness. But in the eyes of this child, the one that still keeps a room in my heart, he looks like home.

Handy Man

Of course, there are many positive attributes about my youngest brother.

Not the least of which is his ability to make barbecued ribs that are so tender and delicious, they make you want to cry.

Happy tears.

But there is another thing about my youngest brother, the one I call Other Brother (as opposed to our shared sibling, Middle Brother) that was a cherished feature of his in the years that he lived just a couple clicks from my house in Oklahoma.

And that is his height.

And his willingness to help on virtually any project.

Because at six foot six inches, Other Brother just comes in pretty darn handy.



I miss living close to him for a number of reasons, not just that he comes in handy.


But still.


And it was great to have he and his family in for Thanksgiving.


And not just because he's handy.


But still.


Particularly because I have a Christmas tree that is rather, ah, ambitious.

So when I got a bee in my bonnet the day after Thanksgiving and decided my twelve foot tree needed to be put up immediately, it was Other Brother who wrestled the thing out of the depths of the attic and got it all put together.

Including the star.

Sure was nice of him to drive 500 miles to do that for me....

The Christmas Card

It's a point of honor with me, one standard that I hold only myself to.
I don't expect it of you.

Really.

But I do try to get my Christmas card out each year before Thanksgiving. Because if it doesn't happen by then, it's probably not going to.

But if you would like to interpret my OCD Christmas card delivery as a sign of high organization and remarkable discipline, you're welcome to.

You'd be wrong.

But I would come off looking pretty good.

Anyway.

So here's the family photo that graces this year's card:

And here's the one that Mike really wanted to send out:

Not much difference, you say? Well, let me help you out:

That would be 3 of 8--and, believe me, this photo will be used for blackmail purposes...

Da Boy...and Da Girl...

Being a photographer and all, you would think that I would have gotten some cute shots of Da Boy and Da Girl (better known as 1 of 8) when Da Boy was here for his visit last week.
Well, you would be wrong.

I thought photo shoots with colicky newborns were tough. I thought that portrait sessions with hyperactive toddlers were the height of challenge.

I was wrong.

Because, apparently, trying to get Da Boy and 1 of 8 to take a photo shoot seriously was nigh impossible.

Hence, this photo set.

Be gentle with me, Dear Readers. A mom just does what she can with the material she's allowed to shoot.

They're really cute kids, I can tell you.

It's just a little hard to tell from the photographs....

Reflecting on Our Words--The November Edition

The monthly word challenge just keeps getting more unique! My 2009 Word blog buddies and I are continuing our monthly tradition of exploring the word we selected at the beginning of the year that would provide a beacon for our 2009 goals. This month, we are each selecting an animal which embodies an element of our chosen word.

My word for '09 has been excellence and after a bit of zoological searching, I finally settled on the swan as the emblem for my word. Swans typically mate for life and have strong family bonds. The male and female swans nurture and raise their cygnets together, developing their own 'tribe', if you will. The image of a swan has graced many a coat of arms, conjuring connotations of nobility and are seen as symbols of love and fidelity because of their tendency to form life-long bonds. Many fairy tales and myths surround the species, the moral of the tales often being the adherence to beauty and grace, even in the midst of difficulty and ridicule.

Plus, swans are just pretty to look at. They just are.

Which is perhaps not the most excellent reason to choose a swan as my symbol of excellence. But I also got to take a great picture of one down of the lake during the summer.

And that sealed the deal for me...

MirusPeg writes:

One day a long time ago, I was watching a documentary about dolphins and something inside me clicked. I was well into my late 20’s and was watching the television as if I was glued to it. It felt as if I was in a mind-meld with the dolphins and it was too a point that I started to cry because on some spiritual level, I understood what these dolphins were saying. I just knew that the dolphin was my Spiritual Animal Totem, I just knew it!

The beautiful, graceful, sleek dolphin carries many messages for the two legged! A key to understanding because the dolphin meaning is connected with themes of duality. It has to do with the dolphin being both fish and mammal. It is both of the water, and an air breather. Ergo, dolphin symbolism talks to us about "being in two worlds at once." Indeed, the dolphin is a great conveyor of the concept of yin and yang.

It is playful, and is a reminder that time to play is a crucial element in walking in BALANCE. It moves through the water quickly and with great grace, ever moving with the flow. Dolphins tell us to move with the ebb and flow of life, and not to search for brick walls to smash into. To spend our energy fighting the current gets us nowhere. Being constantly at war with others, with our surroundings and with circumstances we cannot change, destroys the spirit, eats away at hope, and consumes the joy of life.

The power of the Dolphin is community in BALANCE.

AVT Coach has this to share:

I have chosen the ELEPHANT as an animal depicting ABUNDANCE. Of course, it does have abundant size but it also lives abundantly. Here is what I found out:

Elephants cry. They express grief at the loss of another elephant. They exhibit behaviors that depict sadness, bowing their heads, lowering their ears, and pausing at the place where another elephant has died.

Elephants play. They express joy at seeing other elephants. They dance around, spin and twirl, and trumpet joyful sounds.

Elephants are helpful. They take care of each other and especially the babies in the group.

Elephants give back. Without intention of doing so, their feet make large depressions in the ground where water can collect and be a provision for other animals.

Elephants are social. They live in large family groups and communicate over long distances with each other.

In my quest for an Abundant life, I think these characteristics are certainly a start. Have empathy for others, find joy in play, care for others, give back to the greater community, and create a positive family environment.

FlyGirl adds this animal to her collection of thoughts:

I'm sure my choice of dogs to express the meaning of joy doesn't surprise those who know me. Both Scout and Maggie have a way of warming my soul, making me laugh, and filling me with heartfelt joy.

They are ALWAYS happy to see me. They do the silliest things that make me laugh out loud, yet they are attuned to the personalities and emotions that flavor our home....

Studies have shown that owning a pet can add years to your life. In fact, just petting a dog has been shown to lower blood pressure. And residents of nursing homes have shown a boost in mood and social interaction when a dog has been brought in for a visit.

My two dogs definitely bring joy to my home, to my life, to my family.

And MommyVictory finds the ant an inspiration for discipline:

The ant has received a bad rap throughout history as a pest, a nuisance, an annoyance. While in Puerto Rico, I would often be surprised to find ants in my sugar, but no one else would be surprised. In Texas we are known for a more ferocious type, the fire ant - certainly not a little creature to be reckoned with.

While thinking about this critter, I began to realize the one thing no one has ever called an ant is lazy. When you see ants, what are they doing? Moving, carrying, building, preparing for whatever may come. If you destroy their home, the very next day they have set up shop just on the other side of the sidewalk. Which brings me to my story...

In a field one summer's day, Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing gleefully. Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest.

Grasshopper tried to dissuade Ant from his work by inviting him along in his day of reverie, but Ant could not be swayed. He was preparing for the long winter. Ant tried to convince Grasshopper of the foolishness of his ways telling him he too should lay up stores.

Grasshopper was not worried about winter as he had plenty of food for now and continued to while  away the hours and days leading up to the first snow at which time he found himself dying of hunger. Meanwhile, Ant and his family could be seen surviving from what was stored away during the good weather.

At that point Grasshopper knew IT IS BEST TO PREPARE FOR THE DAYS OF NECESSITY.

There are times when I would rather play than have the DISCIPLINE to stay at home and clean house or go to the grocery store and shop for the family. Sometimes I give in and later have to pay the consequences. Other times I pull myself together to get done what needs to be.

Over the course of this year, my focus on DISCIPLINE  has led me to see the error of many of my ways - most of which I have tried hard to change.  Of course being human and having a the luxury of being able to go out if need be, I have not perfected this way of life. It is still something I strive to improve.

So what about it, Octamom Readers?  Is there a word that has inspired you this year?  And is there an animal that exemplifies your word?  Share, share!  And don't forget, 2010 is just around the corner.  What will be your guiding word for the new year?

Sunday Selah

Jesus replied, "It is not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs."

"Yes, Lord," she said, "but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table."

Then Jesus answered, "Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted."

Matthew 15:26-28

Thanksgiving leftovers.
There are quite a bit of them around here.

Because somewhere in my caffeine-addled mind, I developed an equation that stated the sixteen individuals I was hosting for Thanksgiving dinner would require two pounds of turkey a piece.

Which turned out to be a bit of an over-multiplication.

To say the least.

Turkey burgers. Turkey chili. Turkey nuggets. Turkey loaf. That's the week's upcoming menu.

It may all lead to the Great Turkey Rebellion of '09 deep into next week.

Leftovers.

There are leftovers in God's economy. When Jesus feeds the 5000 and the 4000 with a few fish and loaves, there are twelve baskets and seven baskets of leftovers, respectively. When the Canaanite woman comes to Jesus in Matthew 15 for healing for her daughter, she tells Him that even the dogs eat the crumbs, the leftovers from the master's table. She understands that, even though Jesus has come as the consolation of Israel, even the crumbs of His ministry yield great power. She receives healing for her daughter and encouragement from Jesus as He commends her for the great faith she has shown.

And what of manna, the bread of angels that God fed to the Israelites as they made their way to the Promise Land? They were only to gather enough for the day each morning, except for the day before the Sabbath. On that day, they were to gather enough leftovers to eat on the Sabbath. Any other day, those leftovers would have spoiled by the morning. But for the Sabbath, those leftovers fed them, twice the miracle.

There were leftovers from that original Thanksgiving in autumn of 1621. The Mayflower, that small cargo ship that carried Separatists and Strangers to a new world, made its way back to England and most likely was dismantled for its lumber around 1624, its timbers supposedly used as the crossbeams in a barn. The leftovers of the original Plymouth Colony site, with its small thatched cottages and the Common House that served as shelter during that first desperate winter, lie buried beneath the village which was built over the site in the 17th and 18th centuries.

John Howland was a leftover of his society. At the age of twenty-seven he was nothing more than an indentured servant, brought aboard the Mayflower in the summer of 1620 by his master, John Carver. He made the voyage not as a Separatist seeking freedom of worship and not as a Stranger intent on new opportunities, but simply as a man with leftover dreams and debt. Howland was thrown overboard during a violent storm in the crossing, miraculously grasping a rope trailing from the ship's stern, being hauled back aboard by means of a large fish hook. He served the struggling band of colonists through the devastating winter of 1620-1621, helping build shelters and burying the dead. When John Carver and his wife passed away within the first couple of years of the landing, they left no children. Howland was left their inheritance and he began buying up land. In 1626, he was appointed by Governor William Bradford to search for new sites on the Kennebec River and was named assistant governor in 1628. But he was not recognized as a freedman and admitted to the Plymouth Colony as such until 1633, thirteen years after the original landing.

John Howland and his wife Elizabeth had ten children, all of whom survived to adulthood. They built a farm a few miles from the original Plymouth site. When John passed away in 1673 at the age of eighty, he was the oldest surviving male member of the original Mayflower manifest.

From this man who had been a leftover in his original homeland come the miracles of God's economy. Direct descendants from the Howland family line include actor Humphrey Bogart and composer Phillips Brooks, who wrote the beloved O Little Town of Bethlehem. Poets Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow hail from Howland's heritage. The acting family of the Baldwin brothers Alec, Daniel, Stephen and Billie, Dr. Benjamin Spock and vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin count Howland as pater familias. Barbara Pierce, who would become First Lady Barbara Bush comes from one of the Howland children's family lines and her husband George Bush comes from another, meaning that their son, George W. Bush is also a direct descendant, along with Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

John Howland's final resting place boasts this stone bearing this inscription: "a godly man and an ardent professor in the ways of Christ."

Thanksgiving leftovers.

As you eat your turkey sandwiches and your turkey nuggets and your turkey omelets this week, think on John Howland. Consider the leftover pieces of your life, your leftover time, your leftover dreams.

And know that in the economy of God, leftovers can yield double the miracle.

Selah.