my folks on my lapel

It's Christmas time again.

Anyone who knows me knows how much I love this season. It's in my blood. I was born to it (Dad was Santa). I was raised in it (Mom made every Christmas wonderful). I'm happily a lifelong citizen of its spirit.

The first Christmas season without Dad, I thought I was holding up pretty well. Like I've said, memories of him are almost universally good, and the joy I feel around Christmas is indefatigable. I went about my business of shopping and wrapping and listening to my supersized playlist of holiday music on loop with light and love in my heart. And then around midnight on Christmas eve, I started to cry. And I didn't stop for two hours.

This is my first Christmas without Dad and Mom. And although Mom's Alzheimer's had long since quelled her holiday zeal, she still reveled in the pretty lights and snow and, most of all, family gathering.

Years ago (actually, many decades ago), Mom crocheted Santa pins for everyone. Every member of the family had one. Then, friends received them. Soon, they were sold at St. Luke's to raise money for the church. Then, Mom set up a craft table wherever Dad was selling his wood carved birds, and she sold the Santa pins along with other knitted goodies. I suspect there are several hundred siblings to my pin roaming the Northeastern U.S. I've worn mine every day of the holiday season every year since I was a kid. At one point recently, I glanced down at it and realized that it is a perfect encapsulation of both of my parents at the holidays. And that makes me happy and truly grateful to have been blessed with such wonderful parents.

Merry Christmas.

my backwards grief

Grief is a funny thing. Mom died two months ago, Dad two years and two months ago. In my day-to-day life, thoughts of them arise regularly. These memories range from the time immediately before their deaths to the farthest edge of my childhood horizons. Most times, my brain seems ever reasonable in its reaction. Almost Spock-like on the emotive scale. The same is true when Mom & Dad come up in conversation. I can easily talk about them -- about nearly every aspect of them -- without becoming sad. In fact, so many stories are happy that laughter isn't out of the question.

I've wondered if maybe my ability to grieve correctly is broken. I mean, Mom's only been gone a few weeks. Shouldn't sadness be the norm for me at this time? Why am I able to go about living my life with any modicum of cheer in my smile and sunshine in my heart? Am I doing it wrong?

My friend, Maria, is originally from Croatia. Even though she's lived in the U.S. for many years now, her family still follows Croatian custom closely. When her father died, it was expected that she would mourn for three years. Three years of wearing a black scarf. Three years of not attending any social events like weddings. Three years lamenting the loss.

My Mom had been gone three days, and I was back at my office. Three months will pass, and I'll have Christmas decorations adorning my home when I invite family and friends in for a holiday party. I can barely imagine how well I'll be three years from now.

Yet, I do have grief. And without fail, it catches me by surprise. It's when I'm just strolling along living my life, and an unexpected reminder pops up. Tonight, it was this note above - the message on the back of a photograph of my brother when he was an infant. Dad had written, "Little Gerry... He will hate us for this... ." Seeing Dad's handwriting pushed me off a cliff and into an ocean of grief. Even though what he wrote was funny! How does this make sense?

I always loved my father's handwriting. It was artistic, graceful, individual, carefree. It may as well have been a picture of his soul. I still have letters he wrote to me when I was in college and after I'd moved to Seattle. Some of them barely say anything at all. "Enclosed are photos of some of the latest bird carvings." "The grandkids are getting big." "We can't wait to see you at Christmas." But the elegant, sweeping script written with pen and ink was beautiful and unique. More importantly, he was beautiful and unique. And tonight, I miss him so painfully that I'm nearly drowning in tears.

Why this reaction? Why now? It's been more than two years? Shouldn't big sadness like this be reserved for Mom moments because she's so recently departed? Shouldn't Dad moments be more reserved reflections because I've had a couple more years to adjust to the idea that he's gone?

I don't get this grief thing.

stuck

I was just going to post a picture (no words)... something I found on Google by searching images for "stuck." This one came up, and it made me realize that the best way to get unstuck involves other people helping. Gosh, that would be nice.

whoa

It's been more than a year since I stopped blogging. Honestly, the only reason I'm here now is because I was setting up my links on Google+. Maybe I should start up again. Why not? That seems to be the pattern. Write, complain about not writing enough, threaten to dismantle blog, stop writing. Repeat. We'll see.

This picture is from our visit to the Chihuly exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. More of my inadequate photos can be seen here. Better photos are available on the MFA site here.

cirque du soleil

On advice of a friend, I looked into the CDS show coming to Boston this summer. Having never seen a live show, I thought maybe it was time. Imagine my quite pleasant surprise when, having been forwarded an email from said friend, I was greeted by this lovely ladybug. From the tidbits of CDS shows I have seen on television, all involved were slender, lithe, athletic bodies contorting to everyone's delight and amazement. This ladybug is fabulous! Not slender, and fabulous! Even if there's padding involved, it appears to be for the purpose of enhancing this character, not making fun of it.

We're going to see OVO in August.

fall go boom

I fell off the daily blog wagon. But hard. There are reasons. There are excuses. There is the freedom that I need not explain any of it to anyone. Suffice to say that things are changing in my life. And the daily blogging doesn't fit in the way I thought it might when I started in January. I may be back occasionally. sanguinary blue may go dark at some point. But I do not need to be obligated to an egomanical and desolate soap box anymore.

See you around. Maybe.

way behind

A little illness, a bunch of work, some house guests, and other miscellaneous chores, and you'd think I was too busy to write in my blog. My prerogative, I guess.

It's raining. Again. And windy. Again. Payback for a significant decrease in snowfall this winter?

tonight's excuse

It wasn't the sleeping cat anchoring me to the couch... it was me, sound asleep moments after Ted went to bed, and unmovable until just recently. Geesh.

trapped

My cat wouldn't let me get off of the couch tonight. I was stuck; held hostage by ten pounds of blue tortoiseshell fluff. Anchored firmly between my feet, she curled into an adorable -- yet immovable -- ball. I was her captive. Not much accomplished, other than watching "Dreamgirls" and communing with my kitty.

happiness is...

Four schmumfy kitties all sleeping within arm's reach. Three on desktop afghans, one on an afghan-topped hammock below. Truly, I am blessed.

Of course, actually getting a photograph of all four of them together proves too challenging for me. Maybe some day.

Art by Ann Mroczenski

shocked

I don't see a lot of television commercials, thanks to TiVo. But I was home sick today and sleeping/draining on the couch all day long, when I came across this commercial. I've watched it 4-5 times now, and I laugh as hard every single time.



Now to bed to rid myself of the rest of this bug.

boo hoo

Ever have that feeling when you're sick when you just want to cry? Not for pain or discomfort. Not for frustration. Not because it'll help clear out the phlegm. Just to cry, for the sake of crying. I'm there. I've only been sick since Thursday night. It's not as bad as it was last time. But here I am -- just wanting to cry. Doesn't help that my right eye has been tearing for the last couple hours. I thought I'd paid my illness dues this year. Blah.

bed

Because I'm sick again, dammit. And we have guests in town -- staying in our guest room. And I have already used all of my sick time at work this year, so I'd better recover from this by the end of the day Sunday. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

erin go huh?

One might assume that, with a name like Kelly, I would be partying it up today. Well, I wore green to work. A short-sleeve, 5-button henley under a long-sleeve crew-neck sweater, and a purple skirt with small flowers and leaves to complement the top half of the ensemble. I helped my department write a limerick for the contest (we didn't win). I had Irish Stew for lunch. I missed my Dad (he often called himself The World's Largest Leprechaun). No beer, green or otherwise. No bacchanalia. No kooky hat. Guess I'm just no fun.

Some Irish wisdom from a friend:

May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow,
And may trouble avoid you wherever you go.

Some old Irish wisdom I heard years ago (source unknown):

May you be in Heaven half an hour
Before the devil knows you're dead.

hakuna matata

My friends, Rina and Alia, took me to see "The Lion King" tonight at the Boston Opera House. It was a birthday gift. What a wonderful show. Beautiful costumes. Amazing puppetry. Great music, of course. A stunning venue. And the chance to spend an enjoyable evening with two lovely friends.

dear alex lambert

Dear Alex,

You are young. And yes, your lack of on-stage experience highlighted your nervousness while performing on TV for millions and millions of people. For the inexplicable and often illogical voting audience, that shaky inexperience did not endear you.

Pity. Because you have a unique and wonderful voice, and a talent that is undeniable even under the burden of stage fright. Please don't allow last week's vote to alter your musical career path. We need musicians like you. If you don't come back to AI next year, then please keep pursuing the path through other means. I look forward to someday having in my music library the musical stylings of Alex Lambert.

Sincerely,
Kelly

P.S. Your talent is spot-on, but that hairstyle must go. Either grow it all long or cut it all off. The half-and-half baby mullet ain't workin'. :-)

cheating

I admit it. There are a couple entries in the 2010 sanguinary blue that were not written on the day they were posted. I've 'fessed up. What's my punishment? Shall I write a phrase repeatedly on the blackboard?

I will not cheat on my blog again.

I will not cheat on my blog again.

I will not cheat on my blog again.

I will not cheat on my blog again.

I will not cheat on my blog again.

Yah, right.

mr. cuervo is mean

Well, in his defense, it wasn't actually Jose. And it wasn't single-handed. You see, I had a slumber party with my long-time friend, Rina, last night. Her husband was at a conference and her daughter was at her own slumber party, and Rina invited me over for dinner, margaritas, and Wii. Ted would be in bed before 8:00pm anyway, and with my plans in place, even he went out for early drinks with a friend before hitting the hay.

I re-discovered a couple of things in the process. [1] The reason I don't eat nachos any more (more than a few corn chips wreak havoc on my digestive system). [2] Rina makes crazily strong margaritas. The kind that make me breathe fire after each sip. [3] The combination of the above two items nearly incite me to a life-long diet of oatmeal and prune juice.

We had fun. Don't get me wrong. And playing 1981-style Galaga while slightly buzzed is far more exciting than it should be. We chatted lots and just hung out. It was great. But next time, I'm in charge of the food. And corn chips and tequila will not be included.

so long, jonathan garvey

When Ted and I first started talking online -- before the introduction of pictures or even a written description of physical appearance -- he asked me what kind of man I was attracted to. That's a tough question because I've found a variety of men attractive to some degree. But the truth is, I do have a "type." To demonstrate this type to him, I named three.

* Grizzly Adams

* John Goodman

* Merlin Olsen

OK, so Grizzly was a character. I wasn't sure if Ted would know the name Dan Haggerty. John Goodman was current at the time because "Roseanne" was still on the air, plus he was making movies regularly. Merlin? Ted wondered had he found a football fan in me? Um, no. That would be "Little House on the Prairie" talking. Oh, they didn't come any sweeter, nicer, and handsomer than Jonathan Garvey. And from everything I've read, the same was true of the man playing the part.

R.I.P. Mr. Olsen.

huzzah, kate harding

There are so many links I could add here for Ms. Harding. Tonight, it's all about this one. (Oops. Somehow, two got in there.)


Photo by Becky Hill.