Nine

I know I don't corner the market on mixed feelings about Christmas. People the world over lost their loved ones near the holidays. I mean, millions of people die every day. You would hope that you'd get a break from death around Christmas, but that doesn't happen.

Nine years ago on Christmas Eve, my father died. And if you look back on my blog, you'll have read the story. You might have even heard me tell it. So I don't need to rehash it here. My two older kids were 5 and 1 years old at the time. They don't remember a Christmas time that there wasn't a sad Mommy in the mix. This was 9 years ago. Isn't time supposed to heal all wounds?

For me, it manifests in me dragging my feet in getting ready for Christmas. Those traditions that we are so careful to cobble together for our families, to make our own stories for the kids to reminisce about when they're adults, I push off to the last possible second. I avoid the smell of a real tree as much as possible, because sometimes the scent brings back the grief strong and present instead of suppressed and in the background. I get that scent and it hits me hard in the chest.

Three years ago, my uncle took his departure front he stage. Just days before he died, I told him that I was finally feeling like I could do Christmas again. That maybe the grief had become a quieter note in the song of the season. Only to have my uncle bring grief right back to the foreground.

Thanks.

So it was with dark humor we coped with my last uncle in the family of the originals entering the hospital at Thanksgiving. No, Uncle John didn't ruin Christmas this year. However, all of us got nervous about it. His daughter Sham thought that maybe her dad went into the hospital to maintain his Star Rewards status at Pali Momi. He almost made it through 2011 without a single hospitalization.

Next year is the tenth anniversary. I'll be in Hawaii for that Christmastime. Not sure how I'll deal with that. I've got no insights today. No great revelations. Just that I'm glad that it is almost over.

Marisa

A couple of years ago, I made a promise to write a letter to all the people who are important to me, who have impacted my life in some way. They were supposed to be a kind of thank-you letter and a kind of testimonial too. How meeting them has changed me life in whatever way it did. But when it came to the actual practice of writing these letters, I was frozen. Maybe the people who are important to my life felt slighted waiting for their letters that never came in the mail. I mean, when you set out a task like that, it really is daunting. I was a fool to ever set that out as a goal. I am an idiot. It is an impossible task and subject to some serious procrastination.

But today I'm going to write one of these letters.

Today is Marisa's birthday.

She and I met years ago when our first kids were both still in diapers. Now that they're teen agers, that is sure to embarrass the heck out of them, and for that I am glad. Her older child is a girl, my eldest a boy. But back then, they were great buddies. Marisa was new to the island as was I. We both had given up our careers to stay home with our babies and were adjusting to being stay-home moms. Marisa had the added challenge of having a husband who travelled for work. We both were desperate for adult interaction. We became fast friends, but not terribly close back then. My first impression of her was that she was funny, very pretty, and super social.

As the kids got older, they went to different preschools. You'd be surprised how that little change can make a difference. The kids also moved into the phase where they preferred to be with kids of their same gender. Suddenly boys and girls were not playing together like they used to. We started running in different circles, but were always glad to see each other whenever we did meet up. Living on an island, that happens a lot.

A couple of years ago, I got in my mind that I wanted to really be a grown up. Start hosting and going to dinner parties. After reading about a supper club in some magazine, I decided that was what I was going to do. I made a couple of rules for myself on these supper parties. They had to be with people who loved food & were willing to try new things. My two best friends were instantly eliminated because of violations of that basic premise, adventurous eating.  By these rules, I shouldn't have allowed my own husband in the club, but he got a pass because of me. He's still iffy on certain types of veggies and seafood, but he's come a long way. There was brief talk of me bringing somebody else to be my date because my husband could be such a dud.

I admit, I struggled to find the 3 other couples to be in my group. Some people were worried about the time commitment. At least that was what they told me. Maybe it was the fear of meeting new couples who only had me in common. Who knows. But I really struggled to find people to meet the criteria.

On a whim, I went with my daughter to watch the local musical theater company do a production of Beauty and the Beast. Sitting by herself was Marisa, right in front of me and my daughter. We chatted and I asked her if she and her husband might be interested in being in my supper club. She said yes immediately. Yay! Coincidentally, I asked the wife of the guy who played the Beast to be in it and she agreed as well. Who knew that half of my recruiting problems would be solved at Beauty and the Beast?

It was one of the luckiest things that has ever happened to me.

For one, Marisa can make a drink. She says that her mom would have her mix drinks for the family dinner parties when she was a kid. Imagine bartending from the age of 9. (That *might* be an exaggeration.) Marisa has a very heavy hand. Or maybe I have a very light tolerance. But for the first few supper clubs, I could barely make it through the appetizers without being completely blotto. She is easily one of the most interesting people I know. She's studied World Religions and has a totally different philosophy about spirituality than most people I know -- but she still manages to be respectful and nonjudgmental about other people's views. Something that I know other people simply don't know how to emulate. Nor often do they know how to recognize it when they see it. She volunteers and works tirelessly in service as a Rotarian and as a Girl Scout. She has this GORGEOUS voice which she used as part of a band with her husband (they have a cd). Went karaoke with her friends & her once and was blown away. She is a stunningly graceful belly dancer. A belly dancer after 2 kids and you couldn't ever tell! Saw her in a bikini this summer and if she weren't my friend, I'd have thrown jealous daggers at her all day.

A couple of years after I started the supper club, the unthinkable happened to our family. My husband lost his job. Beyond that, he didn't seem to be motivated to look for a new one for a while. I knew that he needed to figure that out. I needed to figure that out too. Unless you go through something like that, you don't know what it is like. It was devastating, and ego crushing. I knew the right thing to do was to go back to nursing, a career that always felt like shoes that didn't fit. Sure I could walk in them, but it would hurt. Nursing was soul crushing to me because it doesn't speak to my passions. And who gives a crap about passion when there are babies to feed and a house to pay for.

The other thing is that nobody knows how to help you out. Nobody knows what to do for you when this happens, because it is so uncomfortable. In this society, we don't talk about money. We say empty promises like, "If I can help in any way, just let me know." How exactly are we supposed to ask for help?

So I cannot express the gratitude I felt when Marisa would call and say, "I'm just overrun with produce from the garden. Why don't you come over and help me out." That summer and fall, she gave us so much from her bounty, always with the attitude that we were helping her since her girls wouldn't eat the stuff and her husband was out of town. Once she even insisted that we take a bunch of meat she had in her freezer because it was "just going to go to waste."

Not only did she help feed my family in a very concrete and real way, she did so without ever making me feel beholden to her.

I guess she has even more grace than her ability to dance.

I'm grateful to my son for being little at the same time her daughter was so that Marisa and I could meet. I'm grateful to my daughter for wanting to see Beauty and the Beast with me. I'm grateful to my dog for being such a spitfire that she tires out Marisa's big dogs and gives me an excuse to hang out with Marisa.

Mostly, I'm grateful, Marisa, for the friendship you give me. Love you, sister!

Lips

Burt's Bees. I wanted to let you know that you've won. I'm not getting paid by you. This is not an endorsement. This is surrender. I'm addicted to your lip balm. I didn't know that lip balm could be something you could get addicted to. I never put much thought to it before. But you've succeeded in giving me a completely irrational brand loyalty. You win. Uncle.

Before last Christmas, I saw your pretty yellow boxes with pseudo-Victorian era drawings of produce, bees, and the guy who looks like Santa in the off season. I always wanted to try your lip glosses. But when I looked at the price, I shied away. If I can get a Chapstick for 99 cents, why would I pay $3 for a tube of your stuff, right? Just made no sense.

But you lured me in Burt's Bees, with a cute little gift set which gave you 3 lip balms and a "keepsake tin" for only $4. What a bargain! Can we talk about that stupid keepsake tin? It was supposed to be an ornament. Maybe at your corporate offices, you might decorate your Christmas tree with ornaments emblazoned with your logo. Not my Christmas tree. Lucky for you my 4th grade daughter was thrilled to have another small box in which to put her treasures (aka rubbish).

I didn't care for the pomegranate. It was red but colorless when applied and tasted nothing like pomegranates. The honey smelled too much like... well, honey. It reminded me of old lady perfume. But then there was your plain old Cooling Soothing Beeswax Lip Balm. It makes my lips tingle. Feels so good. (Is it wrong that I'm blushing a little writing this?)

I found myself actually running out of tubes of this stuff. Nobody ever runs out of lip balm, but I did. I use it multiple times a day. I actually pay *gasp* full price. I've expanded my addiction to include multiple shimmers which feel all tingly but have a little bit of color. My fave is Fig.

Burt's Bees, I'm yours.