Tag Archives: family

A wee tiny collection

I apologize for my absence; a family health issue in a neighboring state has required a great deal of my time the last couple weeks. I’ve been writing, though not as much as I would have liked, but haven’t caught up enough to post anything. Until now, that is. So in a feeble attempt to atone somewhat for this lack of activity, I hereby offer a few silly bits from my journal.

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(inspired by the prompt “favor”)

Invitation

The favor of your presence
is required at a dinner to honor
Her Majesty Claire,
Queen of Denial.
Formal attire expected; gifts
are not optional.

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(inspired by the prompt “evidence”)

Deniable Plausability

All evidence to the contrary,
I am not the one
who stole your bagel.
Those are not crumbs on my
lapel; I suffer from an unfortunate
scalp condition.

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(inspired by a dream)

Blooming

Too old to be a blushing bride
(and, let’s face it, a bit
too experienced) she thought
something in cream would be tasteful
without pretension. Then she spied
the pink linen two-piece: skirt just
at the knees, jacket edged with elegant
black scrollwork. Beside it hung
a pink shell of silk the barest
tint more pale.

And the shoes! low leather
pumps in matching pink, embroidered
at the collar with that intricate
black motif. It was perfect, warm
with a touch of worldliness.
She wondered how it had ended
up in her closet.

Waiting, with lights

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThis is an Advent tree, not yet a Christmas tree. Last Sunday we wove two types of lighted strands through its branches: warm incandescents, whose light reminds us of stars in the sky, and cool LEDs, whose light appears Advent blue and whose bulbs make us think of icicles.

For a week now the tree has cast a soft glow over the living room, the space in our house where we work and play. When I was a child, I would spend hours beneath our tree, staring up through the branches and imagining I was looking at the stars through the canopy of an evergreen wood. The enchantment of tiny lights has never entirely worn off; I suppose it’s one of the reasons I also love fireflies in summer.

Tomorrow we will add another layer of meaning to the tree in the form of ornaments or garland, depending on what box comes out of storage. When the children were small, we made paper chains for garland every year. They drew pictures or wrote on the strips of paper, and I tore off countless small pieces of tape for them to secure the ends of the links. It’s a kind of miracle, you know: simple circlets of paper interlock to form a chain of any length. Sometimes we each made our own chain before joining them together to create a single chain long enough to encompass the whole tree. You wouldn’t have seen it in Better Homes and Gardens, but our garland always seemed more beautiful to me than the most elegant tinsel.

Technology and miracles

When I dropped my daughter off at school yesterday, I noticed that another parent had pulled her car to the side and was standing in front of it. After a moment, I realized she was taking a picture of the morning sun, just visible through a swirl of heavy mist. It made me smile, and I thought about how many more moments like that are captured nowadays. It used to be that only professional photographers and tourists carried cameras with them at all times, but now just about everyone with a cell phone has a camera in pocket or purse.

Last week, my siblings and helped my mother clean her garage. She has mobility issues and supervised the entire process without leaving the living room. Using an iPad, we consulted with her about where she wanted us to work, what to do with specific items, even how to arrange things to her liking. Someone would snap photos and take the iPad to her so she could see what we were doing and what we had questions about. She was able to see the garage without leaving her armchair and view the contents of containers without us having to drag them into the house. It was brilliantly simple and efficient.

As cool as the technology behind these moments is, I’m reminded that it’s not the gadgets that makes our lives better but the way we use them. At this time of year especially, I’m grateful when something slows me down and focuses my attention on what is useful rather than what is wanted. It’s easy to get caught up in the desire to fulfill every wish, no matter how casual. Gift-giving can be a kind of power trip, and our addictive human response to a head rush of that nature quickly leads to rampant consumerism.

The real miracle of that spontaneous sunrise photo shoot or my family’s garage-cleaning did not lie in the technology employed in either instance. It lay instead in the human responses: wonder at the beauty of the world and a desire to share it; recognition of need and a desire to include another more fully in the solution.

Amazing grace

This week I attended the funeral of a relative with whom I was not particularly close. As the minister gave the eulogy, I found myself wondering if I was at the right funeral. The deceased was known in the family for his sharp tongue and the casual cruelty with which he wielded it. He was ruthlessly tyrannical with his closest relations and given to acting out of spite and apparent malice.

The minister spoke of a generous man who cared about his family and gave selflessly to the community. Indeed, I learned a great many things about him during the funeral: organizations to which he belonged, leadership positions he had held in the community, that he had once worked for NASA. I was amazed.

Granted, I had had as little to do with him as possible for the last thirty years, and a lot can happen to a person in that length of time. I found myself wishing I had known the man the minister was talking about, because he didn’t bear any resemblance to the unpleasant person I had pretty much avoided since high school.

I was especially moved when the minister gave thanks in prayer for this man’s life and the ways in which God was visible in it. By that point in the service, I was beyond incredulity and actually able to listen to the message in the minister’s words. Through mysterious grace, I was able to see this relative in a completely different light, perhaps even to see him, in some dim fashion, the way God might have seen him. And through that same miraculous grace, I was able at last to join the minister in giving thanks for this man and the curious ways in which the Spirit had worked through him.

The X factor

It has been a very long time since I studied genetics, and the state of the field is now light-years beyond the things I learned back then. I presume (for no good reason) that some of the rudimentary components remain fairly intact, and the following is based on my recollection of those basics. If I am in error, I welcome gentle correction from the more genetics-savvy.

I spent a lot of time with family this weekend, which got me thinking about how we’re related. X chromosomes popped to mind, partly because it was my mom’s side of the family and partly because you can actually tell, because of their gender and relationship, that certain people have the same X chromosome.

After thinking about it for a bit, though, I realized that the scope of this is fairly limited. It wasn’t possible to tell at all which of us at the gathering this weekend shared an X chromosome from that side of the family. My mother and her brother might have gotten the same X chromosome from their mother, but you can’t tell by looking. It’s possible that my mom in turn passed that same X chromosome to me or one of my two sisters, but there’s no way to tell just by looking.

Because there are three of us, at least two share an X chromosome from Mom, but there’s no outward way of determining who does or doesn’t. In the event that I share that X chromosome with my sister who has a child, it’s also possible that either or both of us passed that same X chromosome along to our children, but again it’s impossible to tell by looking.

Things are a little simpler on the other side of the family, but not by much. It is certain that my sisters and I all share an X chromosome from our father, which he in turn got from his mother. We may or may not share that same chromosome with our aunt or uncles – his siblings – or our only female first cousin. It’s certain we share that X chromosome with other members of our paternal grandmother’s family, but there’s no way to determine that by looking. It is, though, a fact that we don’t share any X chromosomes with members of our paternal grandfather’s family.

I briefly started to calculate the probabilities of these various potential chromosomal overlaps. But then I remembered the two most important things I learned about probability in school: it is always rather more complicated than it first appears, and I wasn’t very good at it. If any math nerds out there would like to tackle these calculations for their amusement, I promise to be inordinately impressed with the results.

A word to the wise

Things a man should never say when arguing with the mother of his children (Part 1 of an occasional series)

You don’t know the sacrifices I’ve made for this family.

This is not to say that he hasn’t made sacrifices, because he most certainly has. Without a doubt he’s made a lot of sacrifices that no one knows about, which means that those same sacrifices have gone unrecognized. If these words ever come out of a man’s mouth, there is no question that he is not getting the appreciation he needs. So why shouldn’t he say this?

Reason #1: Childbirth. Unless his sacrifices included wearing a 30-pound pack strapped to his abdomen for six months AND passing a kidney stone the size of a baseball, he’s got nothing. And that’s not even considering any complications during pregnancy or delivery. He REALLY doesn’t want to get into that kind of pissing contest with her. In fact, if he’s used this line in an argument and his wife hasn’t verbally laid him out cold, he’s either married to an idiot or a saint; it’s pretty hard to resist delivering that kind of sucker punch.

Reason #2: Actually, the need for further reasons is completely obviated by Reason #1.