Christmas Eve Eve

From Christmas Eve Eve 2015

For as long as I can remember, my mother has referred to today (12/23) as Christmas Eve Eve, and at some point we developed a tradition of driving around to look at Christmas lights while drinking hot chocolate and listening to Christmas music. We've made a few modifications from time to time--some years we wear pajamas, other years we wear Christmas sweaters; some years we buy the hot chocolate at Starbucks, other years we make Hershey's cocoa at home with special marshmallows from Whole Foods--but we ALWAYS drive around and look at lights on Christmas Eve Eve. No matter how difficult or wonderful a year we've had, no matter what losses, anxiety, or joy we're carrying around, we look at Christmas lights and listen to songs of hope found in unlikely places and families gathering from near and far to celebrate and hold each other close.

Though the tradition originated with my mother, it extends far beyond her. Tonight I will observe Christmas Eve Eve with my brother, two sisters, one sister's boyfriend, and my father and step-mother. We'll drive around in my father's new minivan (do not ask me why a 64-year-old man would buy himself a minivan; we just accept my father's quirks and marvel at how little it takes to make him happy), and my brother will guide us to neighborhoods that none of us knew existed, neighborhoods he discovered during his years as a landman in the early days of horizontal drilling in the Barnett Shale. There will be a lot of personalities in close proximity in that minivan, so my siblings and I are adding an element to the tradition: a closing beer/drink at a nearby bar. Our parents will drop us off at the end of the Christmas light expedition, and we'll walk home together under a dark, starry sky, grateful and relaxed in the last few moments before the chaos really sets in.

I hope all of you are looking forward to favorite traditions over the next few days, and I hope the light and life of the season find their way to you, no matter what kind of year you've had/are having. If you find a few minutes to sneak away and write, here are the prompts (two weeks' worth) from 642 Things:

1. Your family pet starts talking to you. What exactly does he or she think is going on around here?

2. You knew they were lying. You chose to pretend you believed them. (Santa might provide a lot of material for this particular prompt!)

3. What's one way you might become eccentric in your old age? How might you go in another (but equally batty) direction?

4. How did the way your parents felt about their bodies or physicality affect you and how you feel about your body and physicality?

5. What was your favorite trip as a child, and why?

6. What is the object that belonged to your parent that you associate most strongly with him or her, and why?

Advent: Week Two

Arthur Ave Market; Bronx, NY

Here are the 642 Things prompts for this week:

• Who was the hardest person in your life to forgive? How did you do it?

• Finish this sentence and keep writing for 10 minutes. DO NOT LOOK AHEAD

What I most want you to know about me is . . .

• Stop after 10 minutes. Now write this and keep going for 10 minutes:

That was all a lie. Here's what I really want you to know . . .

• Your high school reunion is coming up. Think of one person you really don't want to see there. Write a letter to that person about what happened back in high school, and how it makes you feel, even today, this many years later.

Be sure to post responses in the comments! Go back to last week's post to see Sue's example.

Advent/December Posts

Hello everyone!

I hope you are all settling back into work and your regular routine after the Thanksgiving holiday. Posting these writing prompts took a backseat (quite literally--my computer stayed stowed in the backseat of my car for the better part of six days) to my family's road trip to Lubbock and Abilene for Thanksgiving.

My mom convinced my brother and me (and my two younger kids) to spend part of Thanksgiving weekend in a yurt. We didn't completely hate it, though I probably won't be doing it again any time soon.

But now we're back, and it's off to the races: for many of us, these next few weeks will be some of the busiest of the entire year. In order to keep up with the prompts as well as other responsibilities, I'm going to post once a week on Tuesdays. Each post will include three prompts from 642 Things. I encourage you to write a response to one or more and post them in the comments.

Our time together on Wednesday nights will still include discussion of a selection from Mary Karr or Anne Lamott, but I'd like to spend more time on writing and sharing. If you haven't joined us for a class yet, please come! I have so enjoyed getting to know each other better through our responses to the readings and in-class writing prompts.

Here are the prompts from 642 Things for this week:

• What piece of jewelry do you wear most often? Write about why it's your go-to-piece of jewelry. Where did you get it? What do you like about the way it looks on you? Why does it feel good to wear?

• Write about a good-bye that you didn't know was a last good-bye.

• Write about the morning you least wanted to get out of bed.

Imaginary Friends

This ought to be a fun one!

I had an active, vivid imagination, but I don't remember any imaginary friends. I'll have to ask my mom when we're together over the holidays.

Today's prompt from 642 Things: Write about the imaginary friend you had, never had, or wish you'd had.

Voice Variations

My grandmother hated the way her voice sounded on answering machines. She left stiff, awkward messages that exaggerated her West Texas accent, and she always complained bitterly when you called her back: "I just can't stand those things; they make me sound so different!" I never told her that I didn't think they distorted her voice at all. Sometimes grandchildren know when it's best to keep their mouths shut.

Right before she died in 2015, she asked my uncle to make sure I gave one of the eulogies at her funeral, and I was both touched and intimidated by her request. Public speaking isn't my favorite thing to do, but I never could say no to her. I couldn't bring myself to put pen to paper right away; I procrastinated until my father found me hiding in the Pastor's Room at the funeral home a few minutes before the service, frantically scribbling bullet points on a notecard. I knew I would never remember what actually came out of my mouth, so when I walked up to the podium, I brought my iPhone and used the Voice Memo app to record the whole thing.

Lesson 1: bullet points do not make for the most polished presentation, but they get the job done;

Lesson 2: I don't mind the sound of my voice.

Maybe it was because I remembered how much she hated recordings of her voice, or maybe it was a distraction from cringing when I heard myself go down rabbit trails in my talk, but I noticed my voice--perhaps for the first time--as I listened to the recording. Once you notice your voice, you can't un-notice it, so I've been paying attention ever since.

My voice suits me. It isn't too high or too low. The pitch goes up with a slight squeak when I'm excited and down to a low growl when I'm really angry. The tone stays pretty even most of the time, but my children, my dog, and students in my classes all know when it's time to pay attention. My voice can soothe hurt feelings and de-escalate conflict; it can celebrate and mourn; it can convey enough authority for people to write down things I say. These days it sounds more relaxed and pleasant than agitated or sarcastic. I hear in my voice a woman becoming more comfortable in her own skin.

And if it doesn't sound that way on answering machines (or voicemail)? Just don't tell me. I'd rather not know.

. . . . . . .

Reflection for today: "The human voice is the organ of the soul."--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Today's prompt from 642 Things: Write about your voice. Do you think it suits you? Would you change it if you could? How has it changed over the years?

Unplug

I'm posting this from the spot where I always sit on my father's couch. It's the one place the cats don't like to lounge, so it spares my allergies a bit. I look up once in awhile to watch one of my children hunting pecans in the backyard and the other playing checkers with my dad, and the sound of college football drifts into the living room from the bedroom where my stepmother is watching the Longhorns. Grandfather's house means turning off the phone (not just putting it on silent), slowing way down, and lots of "favorites"--favorite burgers for lunch, favorite Mexican restaurant for dinner, favorite movies to watch. As my daughter brushed her teeth this morning, she sighed, "I love coming here." Me, too, sweet girl. Me, too.

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Leaving was a spur-of-the-moment decision, so I accidentally left 642 Things at home. This prompt is from me:

Where do you go when you need a break? Is it a place or a person or both? What does unplugging look, feel, taste, sound, and smell like for you? How often do you do it?

Accidents Happen

I had about a thousand errands to run the day we came back from the parish retreat at Camp Allen and a tight schedule to keep because of my son's baseball game. So rear-ending the car in front of me on Westheimer at River Oaks Boulevard was not my idea of a good time. It was totally my fault; my daughter distracted me from the backseat, and when I turned back to face the road, the car in front of me had come to a complete stop waiting to make a left turn. I can't think of many sounds worse than squealing brakes followed by a resonant thud. And then the feeling in your stomach in that split second before you climb out of the car, repeating over and over, "Please don't let it be that bad. Please don't let it be that bad. Please don't let it . . . oh, man."

I picked up my car from the body shop yesterday afternoon, so I had to laugh a little when this turned out to be the prompt for today from 642 Things:

Describe an accident you've been in. Were you at fault? Who was? What excuses were made? What were the lasting consequences?

Use this quote for reflection as you gather your thoughts:

"Decisions can be like car accidents, sudden and full of consequences."--Allison Glock