Drops of Jupiter's Moons

Whenever a gift is used, even if months goes by between uses, makes the giver feel good.  Like we scored a hit.  That's the case with Maeve's telescope. 

It was a Christmas present a few years ago.  Looking at the moon through its lens is like practically being on the surface.  All the craters and deserts are right there, big enough to touch.

After supper, she announced that she was going outside to look at the moon.  A few minutes later she asked if I would like to see the moon.  I followed her out and looked at the rough surface of the half moon.  Maeve also had the binoculars around her neck to look at the moon while other people used the telescope.

When my turn came for the binoculars, the stars were my targets.  Alas!  My hands aren't steady enough to hold the binoculars still to view the stars very well.  Until I noticed that Jupiter was rising in the east.

Bracing the binoculars against the brick wall, the moons of Jupiter were visible.  No telescope necessary.  It's the coolest thing to see the moons of Jupiter in the night sky.  Maybe when it's a bit colder outside, Mr. Gaelic will join us with his warming devices -- a heavy fleece blanket, two fingers of single malt, and a Fonseca.

[Title taken from this.]

Mama Loves Days Like This*

My girl card is about to be taken away.  To me, a date on the calendar to celebrate love (February 14) or mothers (the second Sunday in May) or birthdays (for me, August 6) is not necessarily an excuse to shower me with presents.  My family knows me so well.

Since today is Mother's Day, as with most holidays, we have a family traditional breakfast.  Mr. Gaelic and the girls prepare eggs Benedict, hash browns, fruit salad, LeConte sunrise, and coffee.  No gifts, no cards, only verbal wishes for a Happy Mother's Day.  Except this year Deirdre, who has trouble saying things to me sometimes, gave me a card that expressed her appreciation for all I have done for her.

The rest of the day was picture perfect.  An hour or so of working in my vegetable garden was followed by an extended manicure.  Coffee, naptime, and a trip to the dog park with Baby, all with Mr. G, felt luxurious on a lovely spring day.  When I retired to my boudoir with my laptop for some alone time, what was delivered to my room outdid everything else. 

About to text message Mr. G to see what he was up to, his footsteps were heard on the stairs.  Looking up as he opened the door, I noticed that he didn't have a load of laundry under his arm or a look of consternation on his brow from dealing with the kids alone.  Instead he carried an antique martini glass by the stem.  One bleu cheese-stuffed olive sat at the bottom of the clear liquid.  His gift of making me a dirty martini was almost too much.  My face lit up into the biggest smile possible and my profuse thanks delighted him. 

A perfect way to end a perfect day.

*Mama said click here.

De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da

Look at the calendar.  It's Maundy Thursday.  Not only did Jesus partake of the Last Supper with his disciples, He washed their feet.  Then He told them to do the same amongst themselves.  His new commandment was to love one another as He loved them.

In the late morning, Deirdre and I trekked to the Army Medical Center where the wounded warriors from Afghanistan and Iraq are sent to heal to the point of returning to their families.  The purpose of the visit was to deliver Girl Scout cookies from several troops in the city.  Some of the younger troops made signs and cards for the warriors.  Deirdre, being older, was allowed onto the floors to interact with the warriors themselves.

The first warrior we met had no legs, as did the second.  The third was in a neck brace and two full length leg casts.  Our escort prepared us at each room with the injuries and the length of their stay up to now.  Our fourth warrior has been at the Medical Center since July.  He has no legs and only one arm.  During our visit, waves of pain washed over his face but he tried not to express it.  Instead we talked about the planes he used to jump out of.

The last warrior we saw in that wing had been shot and can't move his arm due to the nerve damage.

"How long have you been here?"

"I got shot on the 11th."

Ten days ago.  And here he is, thousands of miles away from the fighting.  Having a Girl Scout give him cookies.

At the evening service, the seminarian preached about being in a clinical pastoral internship last summer.  In pedagogical terms, the internship was "do, reflect, do".  He quickly learned, in his life, that could also be phrased as "receive, give, receive".

The sermon was poignant in its timing.  In doing something that I considered to be giving of ourselves, Deirdre and I received untold riches in a few brief moments with those men.  In doing, we receive.  I want to do and do and do some more.

[Blog title taken from this song.]

The Ghost of Christmas Regifting

That does it! I refuse to celebrate Christmas ever again. Either that or I’m going to become a hermit.

The week after Christmas is the annual neighborhood “Regifting Party”. Basically a White Elephant party. A way to trade in (and up?) that chartreuse sweater from Great Aunt Erma.

Before I put my foot down a few years ago, the Regifting Party was fun because of all the extended-family gifts. Back then, the extended family of siblings-in-law, cousins, nieces, and nephews would exchange presents. The problem is that the exchanging of gifts was done out of obligation rather than desire. When people that you’re not close to give you gifts, they don’t always work out. Because how would our relations, who are scattered all over the country, know enough about us to buy something that really meant something to us? We rarely hear from them.

Now they get Christmas cards only. But the kids’ only surviving grandparent still sends a check in early December for me (usually) to buy something for the girls from her since she doesn’t “know what they need” as she says. I don’t mind doing it. But I imagine when she reads her thank you notes from the girls that she’s as surprised as they are to what she gave them.

This year after all the presents were opened and we sat around the living room amid hills of wrapping paper, one of the girls commented that the gifts this year really came from the heart. My gifts from Santa, Finola, and Deirdre all made me cry. (Which is why I won’t celebrate Christmas again. They’re getting too good at making me cry.)

This year, no one asked for anything. No one wrote out lists of Christmas wishes. Each of us in the family had to think about what made the others what we are. Our likes, our needs, our wants.

And they all hit the bull’s eye.

Which means that we have absolutely nothing to take to the Regifting Party. Anybody got any soap-on-a-rope?

Ode on a Sensuous Leg

Oh, to have my legs caressed with a special softness! To feel them wrapped snugly in a warmth that envelopes them entirely. All at once. From my lacquered red toes to the top of my ballet-toned thighs. Front and back and all around. A kind of softness that makes people want to rub their hands all over my legs.

I’ve only felt such a luxurious touch once in my life. And that feeling was so fleeting but also was so memorable that it etched itself forever on my soul.

Now my greed, envy, and lust want it again. My legs desire nothing more. Just to be swathed during the winter in nothing less than cashmere stockings.

But I’m not picky. If you can’t find cashmere stockings, I’ll take cashmere tights or hold-ups as well.

Valentine's Swap

Fresh off the press! Pictures of the swap spread. My swap buddy was S.L. Here is the whole kit and caboodle that she sent.

A close up of the adorable card.

Here are the dish towels and the pretty plates.

The card-making or scrapbooking supplies, plus the candies, the heart-shaped bathtub grippies, and the little mailbox.

Here's a close up of the little mailbox, soon to be filled.

Thanks to S.L. for the best Valentine's Swap!!!

Creativity Under Construction

This is the first time I've participated in the gift swap. My giftee might have opened the package and gone, "What the?" I feel like I could have done better. Because after I opened the package from my gifter, my eyes started to well up.

What adorable heart-patterned plates! And the red-heart-on-red towels! And valentines making supplies complete with the cutest little mailbox I've seen. My swap buddy really outdid herself. Thank you, S.L.

So to N.W., my swapee (is that really a word?), the thought process was that everything relates to bubbles. Enjoy the bubbly in a bubble bath while blowing bubbles. And if you just need to let out some steam with the way the economy is treating you, stomp on those bubble wrappers.

Bring on the next swap, Becca. Wifey is going to roll up her sleeves, put on her thinking cap, and scour the pages of Etsy. Watch out world!