Friday, December 24, 2010
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a laptop was on, they even unplugged the mouse.
Their wish lists was posted in the blogosphere
Knowing that Santa would read it with care.
The rugrats were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of iPods danced in their heads.
With mom in her flannel and dad in his shorts
While the house filled with snoring reports.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
Dad sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Someone was tangled over the Christmas display
A fat man in red with eight reindeer and a sleigh!
The fat man moved fast for someone his size
Untangled himself and disappeared with surprise
Santa had arrived, landing on the roof
Bringing incontrovertible proof.
He was chubby and plump, with a big round belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
So dad took the cookies & milk and hid them away
Obesity is pandemic and wasn’t okay.
He had all sorts of presents and left them with glee
iPhones, iPads, and Blu-Ray DVDs
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, out the window he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew like a heat seeking missile
But I heard his exclaim, ‘ ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!”
Monday, December 13, 2010
I found this old photo and I looked at the child I used to be and I remembered. I have a hole in my heart, an intangible something missing inside me. As a child, I knew it instinctively. I looked at the world through big, dark, melancholy eyes.
I listened to the world around me, a perfect child; I spoke only when spoken too, seen but not heard. But my mind roiled in poignant observations. The silent accusatory look to the nurse who promised me the shot wouldn’t hurt. The sheer indignation when my nanny slipped me a lump of coal when I was a child, because I didn’t deserve a lump of coal. I was a good girl! But I held my tongue, nanny always knew me better than anyone else, ever. Perhaps she saw into my quiet silences and saw the potential mischief in my eyes.
Then I grew older, left my nanny and my childhood behind. The painful battle with puberty that seemed to turn that missing piece into a large gaping black hole of deep, inconsolable grief left me weak with doubt. Then adulthood, when I learned that perhaps I could fill the hole with fair weather friends, loose morals, cheap liquor and fast cars. I threw bits and pieces of hearts and lives that I touched and left. Mad moments of sheer abandon, poor judgment and bad mistakes.
Now, I find that I have silently, subconsciously, filled the hole with a hardened cement of sour grief and ashes of regrets.
If I could, I would break the cement and drain the grief, to find room for the love I have missed.