Dear Santa . . .

My little hometown newspaper, the Keith County News, has an annual tradition of printing unedited letters to Santa from the town's elementary school children. My brother, John, wrote one of the most original, hilarious, and self-aware letters ever printed. It even ran with its own special headline--if my Mom still has the text (I know she cut it out of the paper and saved it for years), she should post it in a "Comment" to this blog for all to see. If nothing else, at least I will be entertained by sugar-plum memories of Chewbacca dolls and how my brothers converted my very stylish wooden-heeled clogs (hey, it was 1980) into weapons.

So, in honor of my hometown tradition, and in lieu of a mass-mailed Christmas card, I will print here for your reading enjoyment, my children's own unedited Letters to Santa (*all spelling, capitalization, and punctuation is preserved exactly as written in the original) :

From Jack:

"Jack's Christmas"

NiNteNDo D.S.
sKate BoaRD.
Bike.
GuitaR.
I poD.
a LeGo Set.

(The list is illustrated with a big star).

From Regan:

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year I want a wii, xbox 36, N-tendo DS, cellphone, I-pod, puppy (docsin), money, and last but not least Honey-crisp appels. and I have been a very nice girl this year.

Love, Regan <3 =)

From Aubrey:

Dear Santa,
Please define "nice." Personally, I think I've been plenty nice, but people say you're very opinionated.
Anyway, if you do think I've made the "nice-list" here are the things I'd like:
1) a new cell phone plan that includes unlimited texting
2) more of my favorite DKNY perfume, Red Delicious
3) lots of pairs of new colored skinny jeans (i can never get enough)
4) gift cards (iTunes, target, Delia's, Barnes & Noble, where-ever!)
5) figure skates
I would also really appreciate it if you could send me a couple of your elves to be my personal servants.
Thanks!
-Aubrey Kate

P.S. I know your secret!! I think we both know that if I don't make the "nice list", I won't be the only one who knows it any more

(Editor's Note: Ahhh. She's learning her mother's flair for bitter humor. It's the gift that keeps on giving . . .)

Of course, poor Finn is too little to write his own list, but he was trying to earn some extra Brownie Points today by wearing a red sequin Santa hat around the house. He has also assigned himself the job of making sure the Christmas lights are always on--he becomes quite annoyed if they are not. And, he keeps trying to clean-up the fake "hay" in our Nativity Scene. (This kid is afflicted, I tell you . . .).

So, Merry Christmas to all. I'll post again after Santa comes. Until then take care (and Happy Birthday, Tony!).

Love,
Kelly and Kids

Not-so-deep philosophizing

Many of you may not know that I taught high-school Spanish for two years before ultimately going to law school. I speak Spanish fairly well and have visited Spain, Mexico, Costa Rica, and various other Spanish-speaking countries. Nonetheless, I don't feel like my vocabulary has ever really progressed beyond what I taught my students. Despite what I learned in college and abroad, I have the same proficiency in Spanish as a high school senior.

I realized this weekend that my general intellect may follow the same trajectory, and, without Jeff's positive influence, may have reached the outer limits of its capacity. In other words, I think I'm as smart as I'm going to get and, without Jeff, I'm probably going to only get stupider. I realized this when I started reading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis for the third time and thought: What's the point? Who is going to discuss it with me? The Screwtape Letters is one of my all-time favorite books and a very easy read. Every time I read it I discover new perspectives and feel like I learn something about myself and others. Therefore, I can only assume that others would find it similarly rich and meaningful. I have attempted, without success, to persuade various friends to read "The Screwtape Letters." As a result, I have not been able to simulate the animated and thought-provoking discussions Jeff and I used to have about literature and philosophy and any number of peripheral issues. And, so I have resigned myself to the singular and lonely enjoyment of this book.

It's a little bit ironic: several years ago for Christmas, I got Jeff what I thought was a very clever gift. I bought several well-known and widely read "masterpieces" and a gift certificate to a "matching" restaurant to each. For example, I got him "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu and a gift certificate to Cheng Hwa (a Chinese restaurant); "The Communist Manifesto" by Karl Marx and a gift certificate to Cubanitas (a Cuban restaurant); "Introduction to Christianity" by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (now known as Pope Benedict XVI) and a gift certificate to The Gasthaus (a German Restaurant); and "Utopia" by Sir Thomas More and a gift certificate to the George Watts Tea Room (because More was English and the English like tea. OK, I know that one was kind of a stretch, but I couldn't find an "English" restaurant in Milwaukee). So, anyway, I got Jeff all these books with the idea that we would read them together and once we had both finished a book, we would go to the restaurant and have dinner while we discussed it. Great idea, huh? Except that he dutifully read every book and I only read "The Art of War." That's right--we only made it as far as the Chinese restaurant.

So, while I am sitting here lamenting my lack of a conversation partner, I trust I am only experiencing balance in the universe--what some people call "karma." Just as Jeff had no one to talk to about the books he read, and no one to discuss his insights or to challenge his thoughts and perceptions--now, neither do I. And maybe I'm too hopeful (or maybe to stubborn), but I don't sense my loneliness in this regard as punishment or retribution. This sense of abandonment (which may be too strong a word, but my vocabulary is already starting to suffer . . .) may be, in fact, the "sign" I've been waiting for all along.

You may recall that shortly after Jeff's death, I wished for a "sign"or the smallest intimation that we would be OK without him. Since then, there has been only nothingness. But, I've come to believe that these moments of "nothingness" provide the best opportunity for Jeff to be present. It is difficult and discouraging to believe in the eternity of a soul when every trace of that soul has vanished. But wouldn't his lingering "presence" or the constant sense of him be a much more painful reminder of the time and distance between us and would it not pose an even greater impediment to the "moving on" that inevitably must occur? When a mother wants her child to walk, she must take away her hand. If Jeff wants me to know that I will be OK without him, he must withdraw so that I can attribute nothing to his intercessions or support and will be left to truly walk alone. In other words, the best way for him to let me know that I'll be OK without him-- is to allow me to be OK without him.

And so it is. I am grateful for the lesson and only hope that my life's education is not stalled. For over 14 years, my nightly banter with Jeff contributed so much to the formation of my conscience and values and priorities, that only time will tell if they will grow in their depth and breadth without his influence. In the meantime, I still have all of you to talk to :-)

Sweet Dreams!
Kelly

Whirlwind!

Sheesh! Has it already been a week since my last post? I think this is the longest I've ever gone between posts-so I apologize (although, on second thought, I haven't exactly heard anyone complaining . . .).

We've all been extremely busy this week with work and school and life in general. I helped one of my partners with a trial that spanned three days this week. We got an excellent result (that is, we "won" if there is such a thing as "winning" in divorce court), but it was very labor intensive and usurped most of my evenings and all of my work week. Other highlights of the week included Christmas Concerts at both the middle school and elementary school; my first office Christmas Party at my new firm; a birthday party for Aubrey; a sleep over for Regan; Regan's first big win of the basketball season (she even made two baskets and one free-throw--Way to go, Regan!). It's been as busy as can be and the weekend is only half-over . . .

In other news, Finn is really getting into Christmas. His first order of business when he wakes up--after eating--is turning on the lights on the Christmas tree. He has also discovered snowmen and points them out whenever he sees one. He can almost say "snowman"--his attempts are very cute and quite intelligible. Finn's other big news this week is that he now brushes his own teeth and likes "practicing" on the Big Boy Potty. He mostly just sits on it with his clothes on, but he sits on it naked before his bath and makes sound effects even though nothing's happening yet. He's very proud of himself.

As for Regan, her big news is not just limited to her success on the basketball court. She was specially invited by our neighbors to help them pick-up their new PUPPY. The neighbors' children are grown, so they have said that they would like our kids to help acclimate the puppy to children. My kids are absolutely beside themselves with excitement. They have been begging for a dog incessantly ever since Jeff died. They have even gone over my head to the Big Man, himself--no, not God, and, no--not Jeff: They have taken their case to Santa. But, now that the neighbors have a new puppy, "Santa" can wait at least one more year . . . (whew!).

In the meantime, I want to thank you for reaching out to us with all the Christmas cards you are sending and the deliveries of treats, etc. I wish I had the time and energy to reciprocate, but I think I'll take a raincheck on sending Christmas cards this year and post something to the blog, instead. I know--it is lazy and impersonal and a wholly inadequate response to the outpouring of love and good tidings you send to all of us, so I hope you will be forgiving and keep us on your mailing lists.

Well, given that this week was a blur, I don't know what else to write about so I won't ramble on. I can't promise you'll be so lucky next time. Until then . . .

Kelly

It Takes A Village

As much as it pains me to quote Hilary Clinton, I think she may have been onto something when she said, “it takes a village to raise a child.” I’m learning that it takes a village to do a couple of other things too; namely, set up a Christmas tree. Now, I’ve always considered myself very capable and resourceful and I like to believe that a woman can do anything a man can do. Let’s just say after this weekend-- I’m kind of over all that.

Once in a while I dream up an innocuous-sounding little scheme (see, for example, the October blog about my Sunday morning ritual . . .). It seems easy enough. No big deal. I thought getting a Christmas tree would be such an event. I thought wrong.

The good news is that I didn’t suffer alone—I had coerced other unsuspecting do-gooders into my web of disaster, and they endured their own not-so-vicarious humiliation and defeat. So, I will dedicate this blog to my weekend folly: getting a Christmas tree.

I suspected I had some limitations in carrying out my plan: limited experience, limited interest, and severely limited physical strength (you will recall that my physique has been favorably compared to that of Olive Oil or an orphan from Mogadishu). Knowing that I would need reinforcements for the job, I called in my most trusted tree-getter, Tony. Tony can do anything. Really. He once traveled all the way from one shore of Ireland to the other to visit a friend without knowing so much as the friend’s last name or address—and was able to find him. This is just one example of Tony’s mojo. Getting a tree should be like taking candy from a baby. (Editor’s note: Taking candy from a baby is a lot harder than it looks. Finn and his Kit Kat do not part easily . . .).

Tony very generously agreed to help me even though he had a very small window of opportunity between major trips. (He had arrived from New York only moments before helping me and would be leaving for Madison only moments after). So, bear in mind this was no small inconvenience on his part. We went to Home Depot to collect the tree and after making him model ten or twelve of them for my discriminating eye—“Tony, turn the flat side out,” “shake the snow off of this one,” etc.—I finally selected a Scotch Pine. In the check-out line, the Home Depot staff offered to saw off part of the stump and place the tree in some netting. I accepted their offer. This was my first mis-step. Tony wisely asked me “how big is your tree stand” and, pointing to the tree trunk said “will it fit that trunk.” I eyeballed it and confidently said, “Oh yeahhh. Our stand is big. It will totally fit.” It was upon this confident declaration that we did not have the Home Depot lady saw off an ominous knot on the side of the trunk.

We wrestled the tree on to the top of my minivan and headed home. Once there, it occurred to me that I should actually find the tree stand. So, again, citing my inexperience, disinterest, and any other excuse I could think of – I sent Aubrey into the attic (hey, she’s smaller and shorter than me and can fit up there better than I can). She dutifully retrieved not only the tree stand, but also a half-dozen boxes and Rubbermaid tubs full of Christmas decorations. This was shaping up to be good. So, I set up the tree stand, Tony popped in the tree and the trunk was just a sliver too big to fit into it. Ugh! Tony started trying to twist the tree into it like a pencil sharpener, but that stupid big ugly knot was not having any of it.

Tony suggested I get a saw. I went to the basement and inspected every one of a dozen drawers full of electrical tape, sand paper, and nails before finally finding a dainty little princess saw that would probably only cut through marshmallows and rainbows. I brought it to Tony anyway. We both tried to use the saw until I remembered that we had some plastic knives from Noodles and Company that were a lot more menacing. I also then remembered that we had a “real” saw in the shed. So, I bravely went out into the ankle deep snow and 20-degree chill (anyone who knows me, knows that is VERY brave of me) and unsuccessfully tried to jab every key on three different key rings into the Masterlock on the flimsy metal doors. Frustrated, I retreated to the house and did what I usually do when I can’t figure something out—ask Aubrey. “Aubrey, where is the key to the shed.” She, of course, knew exactly which key it was even though I outwardly doubted her (“I’ve already tried that one”) and, of course she was right. But, the lock was frozen, so I again came into the house and had to report to Tony (who had been holding the tree up the entire time) that I couldn’t access the lifesaving “good saw” because of my character flaws and tender little digits (my fingers were freezing!). He valiantly recommended that he would give it a try.

A few minutes later he emerged with the saw and struggled with the safety cover on the blade only long enough to ponder whether he might not saw a finger off trying to pry off the safety cover. (Oh, the irony!) He then sawed and sawed and sawed (this part goes on for quite a while because the “good saw” was only a marginal upgrade over the flimsy girly saw we used earlier). I “helped” by holding the tree down with my foot and complaining incessantly about (a) the cold, (b) the low-performance saw, and (c) the stupid tree (which was clearly to blame for all of my problems). Tony, as patient and good-natured as ever, finally relieved the tree of the offending knot and we triumphantly headed into the house to show that tree who was boss. As Tony tried to fit it into the tree stand, I was maneuvering around the tree to access a better vantage point by which I could guide him, because he was blinded by the girth of the tree and by the swell of happiness he was feeling at being able to help me. As I was coming around the side of the tree I ran HARD into the corner of our window sill (which protrudes about six inches from the wall) and fell to my knees in pain all while prognosticating the horrible bruise I would have later in very unladylike vocabulary. (Editor’s note: it was worse than a bruise. The window sill took a chunk of skin out of my hip that was a red, bloody mess when I finally looked at it. The lump in its wake is now turning all purply and green. Sexy!).

To add insult to injury—the tree still refused to sit in the stand. The tree was, even yet, too wide and knotted (though ever so slightly) that it would not go into the stand despite Tony’s twisting and sawing. At this point, I conceded defeat and released Tony from his sentence. He headed off to Madison and we parked the tree in the front yard until I could find another unsuspecting victim to help me. I didn’t have to wait long. Another friend, Dale, always chivalrous and kind, stumbled upon my dilemma when he was picking up Regan for a basketball game. He offered to come back and “zip that knot right off of there—no problem.” And so he did. He sawed the bottom off, hauled it in the house, set it up in the tree stand, and even spun it around to reveal its “good” side.

At the end of the day, I reflected on all the times throughout the process that I would have given up. I wondered how women who don’t have help ever do something like that themselves. And although it is an unromantic sentiment, I missed having Jeff here to do it as he always did and so I wouldn’t have to. There are so many things now that I have to do myself and, worse yet, that I can’t do myself. It can be a sad and defeating realization. Yes, cancer took my husband. It took my tree-getter, my tree-sawer, my lock-picker, and my attic-crawler. It, of course, took much much more than that. But, it gave me a lot too. It has given me friends who will do what I cannot and if that’s all I get for Christmas, it’s enough.

Generic Update

As usual, I have no update worth reporting, so I'll merely fill space with some holiday notes: The kids and I officially begin our holiday season this coming weekend, marked by the annual Kinderconzert at Tosa West high school. The Kinderconzert is a fundraising event for the Tosa West orchestra. The kids get to visit Santa, experiment with real violins and other instruments, make crafts, eat snacks, and watch the orchestra perform a short concert featuring all the fun, traditional Christmas songs. We've gone every year since moving to Wauwatosa over eleven years ago. After the Kinderconzert, we buy, set up, and decorate our Christmas tree. It will be a lot of fun and the kids are looking forward to it.

This is also the time of year I begin watching the library of Christmas movies we've acquired over the past 15 years. I jumped in with both feet this past weekend and tortured myself by watching "Love, Actually" while I wrapped some of the kids' Christmas presents. "Love, Actually" is an intelligent and charming (but R-rated) movie that weaves together various interrelated story lines--each illustrating a different kind of love: the love between spouses, the love between friends, the love between a parent and child, etc. If you give any credibility to my endorsement, then I recommend you only watch it with someone you love--or with someone you want to make fall in love with you by the end of the movie. It has that effect . . .

Jeff's favorite Christmas movie (and perhaps also his favorite movie of all-time) was It's a Wonderful Life. I look forward to watching it for its obvious analogies . . .

Well, it's very late and I'm tired, but I wanted to post something--anything. So, I'm sorry this is short and indiscriminate. I'll try to come up with something really noteworthy for next time! Until then . . .

Goodnight,
Kelly