As you know, I *love* February. (I'll wait here while you skip back to last Feb in the archives...I know it would've been more helpful to post a link...)
And, while I have loved February fairly consistently, I have not always loved Valentine's Day (especially since most folks think Feb's only redeeming qualities are V-day and the Super Bowl [don't get me started]).
But, this year I feel inspired to go with it. Not only love the month for all its luscious Februariness, but love the hype. We are a fickle culture. We'll be tearing down our crepe-paper hearts in favor of shiny shamrocks before the leftover cupcakes are eaten. So I want to meditate in the love. It's my way, this year, of slowing down and being aware.
I'm fuming a little because someone I don't know (and have never met) is "calling me out" in the comment section on my friend's Wall on facebook. I responded to something my friend said, and this person is, well...calling me a liar.
I keep hearing about "the current political environment", how it's hostile, how it's rude, uncivil, etc. But can I say (without someone calling me out? just for a little bit?) that I don't think it's the political environment. I think it's the environment, period.
A week before Christmas, I had an angry tailgater follow me home. I was scared. No one was at my house, it was late enough that I wasn't sure I wanted to call my neighbor for help, so I pulled into another neighborhood. You know. I didn't want to lead this guy to my house.
And it was fifteen degrees, and it was dark, and my phone was about to die (unusually). I huddled, shivering, in some stranger's driveway waiting for some other stranger to drive away.
And it's not the first time I've been harassed by road-ragers. *I drive the speed limit.*
So, can I vent and ask: What in the world is wrong with people?! Who does that?!
Please and thank you. Yes, ma'am. After you. Can I give you a hand?
Or, "What can I do to put you in your place, which is below me, (naturally)"?
I tell you...RECLUSE. That's my future. Lots of dogs.
My grandfather passed away last December on the fourteenth. Christmas, I think, was his favorite time of year. He'd upwrap presents and give them the obligatory look-over, and then get back to what he really loved--watching the rest of us and setting the scene in his big, beautiful home.
So, here's to my grandpa: the complicated, sylish, bigger-than-life rascal. We miss you.
Actually, it was just the last day of school before Christmas Break. The day of our annual Christmas Party. When, traditionally, I wear these:
We were supposed to arrive, overly excited, chomping at the bit for ridiculosity. A few of us would take a test (hopefully not two tests! Oh, procrastination!). Then we would change into our snow clothes, go to the field and zoom down the hills on our lime green brand new saucer sled... I'm guessing everyone bought the same color as me because, honestly, why would you choose any other color?
Then we would grow numb with cold and exhaustion and trudge back up to the school. We would change our clothes and toss them around to dry and it would look like someone's hall closet exploded. We would sip hot chocolate and apple cider and eat junk until noon when we would watch the younger grades' Christmas play... They've worked so hard and now it's been canceled twice!
After this, the pizza would arrive and, again, we would eat junk. By this time we will all be feeling giddy/nauseous from high fructose corn syrup poisoning. A few of us would compete in wrapping-paper-tube-fencing. Gifts, cards and love would be exchanged. I would haul my frozen-solid Christmas turkey home and thaw it in the passenger side floorboard of my car, as is my custom, since there is no room in my freezer for it.