SpamBot Saturday Growing Our Christmas

Because no one reads back posts, I wait for the Spambots to do it for me.   Here's a throwback to my first year of blogging for your seasonal enjoyment.  That's right. Think of this as the Raskin Bass version of my blog.   Pass the eggnog. 

It started with what I thought was a rather flippant post on Facebook.  

I know liturgically, we have four weeks of Advent, but I think next year, to help myself get a handle on Christmas, I'm going to pretend it's like Lent and circle November 15, so I think...40 days to prepare and make ready. At least then, maybe I won't get to two weeks from Christmas and think, I'm still so very not not not ready. Or at the very least, I'll have longer to be ...not ready.

But it struck a nerve.  

This should be a time of blessed waiting, but very often, it is a time of frantic anxiety, with too many projects, too much work, too much needing to be done, not done, too many things to buy that cost too much.  It is easy to have the peace and joy of anticipating Christmas drowned by the tinsel and clang of "Martha Stewarting" or Saint Marthaing our preparations.   

Knowing I'm not the only one who suffers from this I haven't done enough, there's so much to do I can't start, I'm writing today to invite whoever has not really begun to look up from the sheep and look at the star to stop.  Put on some good Christmas music and put out one decoration today. Then take way one bag of stuff or things to give to charity or get rid off.  You will feel more of Christmas.

Then, tomorrow, do it again.  Bit by bit, day by day, Christmas will draw nearer, to your heart as well as the actual event.  

What will people remember of Christmas, what you gave willingly. These are the gifts that touch the heart.  So prepare, but let yourself recognize the why of this preparation, and anticipate how what you do today, will cultivate Joy to be given full flower come Christmas day.  

Spambot Saturday

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Wear Your Diamond Dearings Every day

Why? Because the worst thing that could happen is not that you lose them. The worst thing that could happen is you save them for a special occasion and then lose them.  Or that you don't wear them for fear they'll be lost and they grow dusty.  You lost out on all the days before they were lost when you could be wearing them and drawing pleasure from beauty.  You put the light under a bushel basket to protect it, and wind up living as if you did not have own those diamonds at all. 

Last night I learned how poorly I take a compliment. My daughter caught me doing what I almost always do when given praise.  I criticize it by pushing up against it my own less complimentary opinion of myself or my work, or I counter it by offering a return compliment to put whoever gave the kind words on a higher plane than me. Mock humility in practice to the point of becoming reflexive.

Shocked to have this moment of clarity illuminated by my 17 year old, I asked her, "How would you suggest I respond?"  She then role played to explain I should simply say "Thank you." and all that inner critic that I wanted to just let out in the moment, should be sent packing.  To not simply take the praise was to insult the giver, to refuse the gift, was to be rude.  She went on to explain that to deny what someone else said as being true for the sake of oddly enough, not allowing myself to think I looked bad, made the other person feel bad for trying to praise me. 

I looked in the mirror this morning and realized, this was all true. It wasn't all the truth of me, but there was a nut of it, stemming from never quite believing I was worthy of compliments let alone friends.  It also explained my near compulsive desire to launch into what my children refer to as my stand up routine whenever brought into contact with strangers. 

Suffice it to say, I got skewered.  New People! Time to make them laugh, appear confident, smile, laugh too loudly, it's show time folks! Impress. Dazzle.  Leave feeling high from the interaction, certain I've made a friend for life even if I never see them again.  Wonder why no one calls or emails five minutes later. They've seen this enough times to know it is not intimate, it is a mock sharing. It is shared, but it is rather like a blog, for public consumption.  

Then I sat there mad...like do we ever get over our own hang ups...does it really take to the age of 46 to even recognize a hang up?  and then...why now?  Friends are like diamond earrings and compliments.  They should be given/enjoyed daily or they will grow dusty and be lost when it comes time for a special occasion, diamond dearings to be shown and known and enjoyed.

So when  a friend called to talk about the reunion, she didn't realize she'd touched on a newly exposed vulnerability.  We both felt like the coming event seemed a little flat. That I had only a few friends coming to the college for this 25th year anniversary was the fruit of not having spent time with them since, not being present then or now, save when it fit my schedule.

Being present always means the same thing, being there for the other, and I'd spent much of college not being present at my own school. To those to whom I was close, they remain, but two are deceased.  Since then, while I form friends quickly --like creating lots of shallow roots, many of those friendships were built on shallow soil.  Others have died from a lack of tending.  Still others are there still hoping to be breathed on at some point, and then I asked. 

You'd think by now, I'd know to ask and ask often and shoot, spend the whole day asking because God never tires.  Friends. Despite ten children and a wonderful husband, great parents and in-laws, sister and brothers, sister and brother in laws, despite everything and everyone I knew, I felt lonely.  Friends God. I want friends.

My heart asked before my head understood what I was asking but I did ask. 

And God always answers.  He knows how I work too, which is good, because He can pour through that junk that I use to keep things shallow or at least, incidental. He also knows I have little patience so the phone rang almost immediately.

I wanted desperately to be the one to be there for the other for everyone else...yes that sounds very selfish and yes...it is.  Yes it was.   One of the ones I had been there for, even when it was hard, even though it might have been born of my own selfishness, was the first to call in response to my prayer.   And she set me straight.   Getting off the phone with her, I felt both exhausted and exhilarated.  


Then I called three women I like, who I would like to have as closer friends.  I have to start being the friend to the people I hope to name as such and that means, time. I sat afterwards marveling at how stupid it is that I spend so much time not recognizing the gifts put in front of me, pushing them aside like compliments.  Refusing to fully take on the gifts and the givers.  Keeping the earrings in a box.  And I'm carrying around a gong in my head, so that when the stand up lady shows up, I can bang her off the stage.  The one not putting on the show is much more interesting and it's time she stopped pretending, she didn't want to be seen. 

Oh.  And I put on my diamond earrings. 

SpamBot Saturday

If you missed it the first time around, it's new to you.   On Saturdays, I inflict a re-run on you good people, culled from the 2000+ stories I've either posted or cross referenced here.  I've decided to try and post daily, including the Sunday, Tuesday and Friday humor, with Spambot Saturday, Tuesday's verse, and Thursday, as always, SST.

Here's a vinetage piece from March 17, 2011

Cheetos Never Prosper

Yesterday, I had to take 7 of my children out into the world for a mandatory meeting at my oldest daughter's high school.  The front foyer had vending machines.  One of my older ones suddenly remembered he had homework he hadn't finished and could he go back out to the car to get his books.  I agreed, hoping it would keep him occupied while I attended to the matters at hand.   He came back with his books and then asked if he could finish his studies in the area with said machines.  It was like an open stair basement area with tables. 

Given that my other children were sitting in a circle playing with a wind up chicken and giggling madly or taking turns running up and down the front steps to the entrance, I agreed this would be an infinitely quieter place for him to work but a little red flag went up in my brain.  Five minutes later, when I'd calmed the sillies and settled the baby, I checked on my studious one.  He was standing in front of the vending machines.  I couldn't quite see what he was doing but I had a pretty good guess.  "Don't buy anything." I told him.  I didn't want a mutiny of children demanding their own snacks and they'd already had a snack after school before we started this errand.

"I'm not. I'm just looking."  He answered and went back to his books.

Now normally, I know that just looking probably means he already put in his money and the item on E-14 got stuck and he is now trying to shake said machine into dropping its junkie goodness into the hatch for his enjoyment, but I was distracted.  My almost nine year old daughter had taken the SLEEPING baby out of her car seat and now was sitting next to several shiny sports trophies tastefully displayed out in the open.  She had one hand holding the baby and the other hand hovering around the beautiful satin red mast like area of a gymnastics trophy.  "Don't touch those!" I barked.  She jumped and my heart did a somersault as the gilded gymnast teetered for a few seconds but then nailed her landing and remained stationary.  I put my hand out like my daughter's.  "You weren't going to touch the trophy.  You were just going to rest your hand an inch from the trophy to pick up its trophy vibes?"  I asked while taking the baby from her to put back in the car seat.

It was time to go to the meeting.  I summoned everyone, but my son lagged behind.  I thought it was that he needed to gather his things, but he was walking with his books positioned in an awkward way.  Half way to the classroom, I spied one of my daughters playing with the custodian's three foot wide push broom. Startled, I barked, "Stop playing with that broom." "I'm not playing, I'm sweeping." she explained and continued to play. "Put that back away." I ordered.  "I'm helping the janitor." she explained.  "Did he ask you to help?"  "No."  "Then put it back where you found it."  When we got to the room for the briefing from the coach, I seated everyone in the back.  It was then that I saw it.

On the desk next to my son was a large bag of Cheetos.  "Did you buy that?" I asked.
"No Mom, I traded for it at school."

Now I make this kid's lunch.  I know I fixed him a fruit cup, chicken sandwich and a cheese stick.  No child on planet Earth would trade a large bag of chips for a fruit cup, chicken sandwich or a cheese stick.

For that matter, no child would trade a bag of junk food for a fruit cup, chicken sandwich AND a cheese stick even if being filmed for a healthy eating type commercial.  "Come on Buddy, you bought that.  You went out to the car, got your money and bought that downstairs."

"I didn't.  I don't even like Cheetos really."  His eyes betrayed his own cheesy crunchy lust but he was still stuck in kid logic which is, if I deny it and Mom doesn't prove it, it's still technically reality even if it isn't actually true.  So I fixed my eyes on his.   "So you traded your lunch for a bag of chips you don't like?"

He looked at the floor and hoped I would find it just as compelling.   "I'll share it with the toddlers.  It will keep them calm."  he bargained.  They immediately swarmed to his position.

"Last chance."  I flared and he gave me the tiniest of nods before immediately opening the bag and sharing it with all of his siblings.  "How did you know?" he asked.

"I just do." I explained, leaving him to wonder what else I know that he doesn't think I know.

I've got to think God has a lot of laughs like this when we fall off track and try to explain our reasoning to exonerate ourselves from our own choices.  Me: "I'm sure it's okay even though... I'll just have my hand hovering over this apple, but I'm not going to really taste it.....I was just helping....myself....I don't even like apples!"

God: "You do know I'm All Knowing. Right?"

Saturday Spambot Returns and Weekly News Round Up

Today, I'm feeling it. The house got smaller.   We are now a family of ten, tomorrow it will be nine. Each time it shrinks as one leaves for college, it gets harder.   I have a piece on it over at Aleteia.  I wrote her an email, I just feel her absence everywhere and I will feel her older sister's as well.   There is a load of work to do, and what am I doing?  Sitting, feeling it and finding it hard to move.  

However, I know sitting is not good for the brain, body or soul, so I'm posting this link to an excellent podcast here for you; Fr. Riccardo's talk on Prayer. I'm going to put it on and go take on putting the house in order for next week when school is about to start.

For those curious, I'm returning to writing on both books, The Book of Penelope and the 365 Doctors a Day, and will start to give weekly updates to keep myself on track.   I've also been asked to be a guest co-host on Mark Shea's Radio Show, Connecting the Dots.  So download the Breadbox media app for your smart phone so you can listen in, and I promise, I'll post links, tweets, Facebook feeds and linkedin notes when it happens.  Very excited.   That's all for Saturday's news.   

Oh, and finally, Spambot Saturday returns! That's right, I take a blog piece which received a Spambot comment this past week and relink to it on Saturday so you can enjoy leftover blog.  Enjoy!  Here's this week's Spambot Saturday Throwback.