Holiday Traditions

When I was in my 20s and living in Tennessee, I came across a book of Christmas stories written by Alice Taylor, An Irish Country Christmas.   They are tales of Christmas in rural Ireland in the early 20th century and they are lovely.  The stories are charming and funny with a tad of sentimentality mixed in.  The book is a collection of the reflections of an adult looking back on the innocence of the holidays at the age of 9  ----- old enough to have some independence but young enough to still embrace the magic of Santy.  

Over the years, I have made it a point to pull out the book in mid-December and read the stories again.  By now, the book is a well-known friend, telling tales that I have heard before and wish to hear again.  I open the book sure of the laughter and well-turned phrases that I know await me.  It's one of my most welcome holiday traditions because in the midst of the busy season it is a reminder that it is in the simple pleasures that the spirit of December is best found.

For me, the most satisfying of those simple pleasures are familiar stories, twinkling lights, the smell of evergreen, and my collection of hand-carved wooden snowmen.  It is here that I can locate memories and traditions and a moment of quiet that most spells the pleasure of the season.

Mystery Sprout

The last time I was at my local Wegmans, I checked out the brussels sprouts, as is my custom.  In the bin, T and I found this:

I told JT this is what happens when GMO seeds are used.  As if he needed another reason to avoid vegetables.

Beak Report

The adventure with my nose started on November 12th, with the first ill-advised surgery.  The day that my stitches came out, on November 27th, my swollen nose looked like this.

Having the stitches out didn't hurt but the pushing and prodding involved left my nose a little sensitive for the next few days.  I am under orders to keep the wound line slathered in bacitracin, so I still have a greasy beak.  But the swelling has diminished and it's looking better every day.  This picture was made on Monday, December 2nd.

And here is Wednesday the 3rd of December.

JT made this picture of me yesterday.

I'm just a tad over two-weeks post surgery and the doctor assures me that it's healing up just as he wishes.  I check in with him in four months for any final touch ups.  And my commitment to sunscreen is stronger than ever.

Before and After

Nearly two years ago, in January 2012, an 11 year-old JT got braces on his teeth.  Freshly metaled up that morning, he was rather excited about the affair, feeling like braces were a rite of passage.  He was at least willing to partake.  His first set of bands matched the Baltimore Ravens football team colors.  

In the months in between, the band colors regularly changed.  And each month,  I've made a picture of the boy on the day that we visited his very patient orthodontist.  This picture is from last December, when rubber bands were first introduced.

Yesterday, a month earlier than we expected, the braces came off.  I made a picture, of course.  From the looks of it, a lot has changed in the last two years.

Last night, as he was working his way through the pile of bubble gum and caramel that T and I got him to celebrate, JT said to me, "two years passed so fast."  I couldn't have said it better myself.

'Tis the Season

Yesterday, we choose our Christmas tree and set it up in the living room.  Christmas trees always cast a special kind of special in the house so that each year's tree seems perfectly suited to the celebrations.  This one is no exception.

Here and there is a package to adorn the tree.

The stockings are at the ready.

The house smells piney and lovely and the cats are delighted to have a visiting tree.  As for me, I love the simple pleasures and beauty of Christmas traditions. 

On Truth, Reconciliation, Forgiveness and Nelson Mandela

I still remember the moment when I first learned about apartheid in South Africa.  I was 14 years old and a participant in a debate contest.  The other team mentioned apartheid and I had no earthly idea what it meant.  As the debate unfolded, I learned about the system in South Africa.  I found it all unbelievable.  Nations could act like this in 1982?  Unthinkable!  Not surprisingly, I lost that debate and my naivete that day.  But I gained information about an injustice that would forever change my understanding of the world.  From that point on, I made it a point to know about the situation in South Africa.  Which is not to say that I understood it.  

I can never think of Nelson Mandela without thinking about that moment when I first learned about apartheid.  In his writing and speeches, the mounting injustices of apartheid were made clear.  By the time I awakened on a cold morning in February 1990 to the news that Nelson Mandela was finally being released from prison, South Africa had been on my radar for years.  I'd read the works and ideas of the ANC, heard the testimony of Bishop Tutu, read the literature of Nadine Gordimer and others.  I'd signed petitions and sent letters demanding an end to apartheid.  I knew a lot about the injustice and horror that was the system of apartheid.  I understood the pernicious effects the system brought to a society.

I admire Nelson Mandela for the way that he never gave up on South Africa.  In the last few days, as people have mourned his passing and celebrated his life, I have thought about how powerfully he belongs to the people of South Africa.  It is in the dignity with which he lived his life and in the way he resumed his freedom and governed his country that he belongs to us all.

In this respect, what lingers most for me about Nelson Mandela is his extraordinary courage as a leader.  As the first elected president of a racially equally South Africa, it was Mr. Mandela's willingness to live in truth and the reconciliation that is forged from forgiveness that he was at his most enduring.  It was his gift to the people of South Africa.  Thanks to him, it is their powerful message to the world.

Real Life Texts with T: Hypocrisy edition

The backstory:  I am involved in a multi-year project to select toenail polish colors that feature names which are not the least bit descriptive of the color.  For example: Head Mistress, Foot Loose, and Jamaica Me Crazy are all "colors" I've had on my toes in the last year.  T knows about this project and reminded me of it the other day when I texted her my concern about the name of a candle scent.

Me:  Candle burning in this office is a scent called "copper kettle."  I do not think that is a legit scent.

T:  Oh sweetie, you are in no position to judge candle names since you choose nail polish by their exotic names……sorry to be the one to tell ya.

Ouch.

The Unhealthy Side of Capitalism

I have health insurance and I am grateful for it.  Like most Americans who have health insurance, mine is via my employer.  Like many people whose employer is a small non-profit, I pay a significant share of my benefits.  In my case, that's 40% of the premium.  To insure JT and me, I pay an amount that is a shade more than $550 a month; more than $6500 a year.  My employer adds another chunk of change, nearly $10,000 a year.  The total to ensure JT and I exceeds $16, 500 per year.  That's a significant amount of money, though I wouldn't consider going without health insurance.

Most years, the company who provides my insurance is making money.  It's a for-profit corporation and that's what for-profit corporations do: make money.  It's clear that most Americans actually forget that fact when they think about health insurance.  But it is important to remember that most health insurance companies are in the business of making money.  They collect a premium from their customers and place a bet that we won't get sick.  The customers pay that premium, hedging against the prospect of illness.  No one actually wants to be sick, of course, and we quickly lose sight of the basic nature of this arrangement.

I mention this because in the current hand-wringing about Obamacare and changing insurance plans, we've once again lost sight of the fact that in choosing an insurance-based for-profit model of healthcare, we've signed ourselves up for a very costly enterprise.  Obamacare's regulations require insurance companies to pay for a host of treatments, treatments that Americans want to be included in their healthcare: maternity care, birth control, vaccinations, regular check-ups, preventative measure tests like mammography and colonoscopies, and host more.  Those things are expensive.  Of course our rates will go up.  This is a significant burden for the people who pay for insurance: employers and employees.

If you work for the government or a large employer with a stash of cash, you likely pay a very modest share of your insurance premium.  For example, state employees in New Jersey typically pay less than 15% of the cost of their premiums, while their employer pays significantly more.  This is not unusual and it creates a challenging political climate.

I am frustrated by this increasingly unequal arrangement and would cheerfully support a single-payer system of government-managed hospitals and physician clinics.  It would be less costly, a fact born out by the current New York Times series about the cost of healthcare, "Paying Till it Hurts."  I've linked to the most recent article in the series here.  A single-payer system would also be accessible to every one of us and significantly better than the system we have today. 

Until then, I've received word that my insurance will cost at least 20% more next year.  My monthly outlay will therefore increase to $610 a month.  That's 610 dollars that will not go into the economy for other goods and services.  If I am lucky and we remain healthy, it will go into the coffers of a private corporation whose profits will pay stockholders.

It could be me, but that seems like an unhealthy arrangement.

Old House Treasures

I've heard dozens of stories about the things people find in the old houses.  Years ago, this house yielded a wooden radiator cover but that was the sum total of its treasures.  Or it was until last weekend, when T announced that she'd found an extension cord under the porch.  I was briefly excited by this news, because who couldn't use an extra extension cord?  Then T wound up her treasure and gave it to me.

Neither of us dared to give this fire hazard marvel a try.  

Front Yard Flowerbed: December 1

The five day stretch of time off for the Thanksgiving weekend couldn't have been more needed in my life.  Between the pace of my days in the Middle School and the challenge of teaching a whole new grade-level, I've burned the candle at both ends this fall.    Add in the crazy events surrounding my nose and minor surgery in the last two weeks and I was ready for a break.

I got my stitches out on Wednesday.  Then I indulged myself with some sleeping-in, leisurely mornings, holiday cooking, book reading, and holiday planning.  T and I worked on some home improvement projects and saw a movie.  There was some fall clean-up and some outdoor Christmas decorating.  In the front yard flowerbed, I dug up the dahlias that bloomed late last summer, trimmed some errant ivy vines, and raked out some of the dead leaves and vines.   

Today, I put 40 tulip bulbs in the ground.  They'll winter over and surprise me and the rhododendren come the spring.

That's happy!