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Thank You Very Much

Most of you know the story of Ebenezer Scrooge — the miserly old man who hates Christmas, until he’s visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future and has an incredible change of heart. This Dickens story has been brought to the screen countless times, including the 1970 musical “Scrooge,” starring Albert Finney, which features this charming, upbeat song at the end of the tale.

Thank you very much, all my followers, visitors, friends and family who have visited this site this year. Thank you for your kind comments, likes and insight into the topics I’ve covered. Thank you for your own blog posts, which have inspired and moved me, made me laugh and at times made me cry.

I celebrate Christmas, and to those of you who share in the joy of this season, Merry Christmas. For those who celebrate other holidays, Happy Holidays to you, as well.

God bless us, everyone.

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Lost Library

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The Wind in the Willows, illustrated by Tasha Tudor

Over the years I’ve owned thousands of books, so many that if I still owned all of them I could start a small library. I’ve kept a few precious books from childhood, including The Wind in The Willows (from which I would, as a child, frequently quote a poem by Ratty [“Duck’s Ditty”]), some picture books, and a volume of The Complete Poetry of Robert Frost.

There’s also On City Streets, a slim, quality paperback of poems about urban life by poets such as Langston Hughes. Based on the copyright date, my parents gave that to me when I was about nine or ten. It intrigues me that they saw a healthy interest in me about other cultures here in our own country, worlds outside of my white suburban home.

go-ask-aliceI kept few of the dozens , if not hundreds, of books I collected as a teenager, except my 40th anniversary edition of Gone With the Wind, a favorite of mine and surprisingly, many of my friends as well, who generally leaned to more contemporary literature. Of course I owned a copy of Go Ask Alice, well-worn and clandestinely loaned to some of my friends whose parents wouldn’t let them read it. You can still find Go Ask Alice, and the cover is identical to the book I bought more than 40 years ago.

dorothy-parkerAs an adult, I’ve donated then re-purchased several books, including To Kill a Mockingbird and Rebecca.  I save very few, but still have The Portable Dorothy Parker (such wonderful short stories!) and several of Anne Tyler’s novels (I keep watch out at the nearby used book store for hardcover  editions of Breathing Lessons or Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant.) Many of the books I buy today I forward to my mom after I’ve finished reading them. In fact, I frequently scour that same used book store for something I think she’d like. She’s always looking for a good book.

I think of stories long out of print that had an impact on me, such as Garson Kanin’s A Thousand Summers. I wonder if I’d find it just as engrossing today.

I wouldn’t have room for all the books I’ve owned over the years, and perhaps it would be selfish to hang on to them anyway, when so many others could be enjoying them. Still, I’d like the opportunity to peruse that “library” and pick out a few to keep today.

Panoply

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Happy #TRT – Tummy Rub Tuesday (Week 122)

Look — my sweet babies have achieved world-wide fame! If you cat lovers haven’t seen this site yet, absolutely check it out. It’s more than just cute pictures of kitties (although there are plenty of those!).

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Collecting Memories

It all started with my new job.

We were responsible for the marketing for a wine festival, then the fourth largest in the country. I started that job only days before the event and barely knew what was expected of me, let alone what was the protocol at a wine tasting. One of the agency’s account executives taught me about sipping the wine, swirling it around in my mouth and spitting it back. That’s the proper thing to do at a wine tasting. It’s also a little unseemly.

Each of the guests, and the publicity team members were all guests, was given a hand-painted pewter winestopper and a small bottle of Pinot Grigios. What happened to the wine I’ve long forgotten, but that stopper started my bottlestopper collection, and what a collection it is.

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The first winestopper I ever got is the one in the front row on the far right — the latest is also in the front row, but on the far left.

There are only ten, but each is a work of art. Or not — a few are very commercial. But the rest are made of finest crystal, hand-spun glass or, like the first, pewter. They are beautiful.

The second stopper I added to my collection was another hand-painted pewter piece my mom had received as a gift from a man she briefly dated. It’s the only one that’s been used. After that, I went to craft fairs, specialty shops and most recently, Pier One, to find the latest addition.

There’s the Map of the World, bought with a friend visiting me from overseas. The two made of Murano blown glass, given by different friends in the same year. The leaf I bought with my friend Karen.

The Versaci Medusa Head crystal stopper is the showpiece of my collection. My mom gave it to me years ago, and I treasure it. She also gave me the Arkansas Razorbacks souvenir bottle stopper for the other end of the class spectrum (it has none).

For years I searched for a way to display them, and finally my mom found a bottlestopper display rack, which she gave me a few Christmases ago. Or for my birthday. I forget exactly. It took awhile to find the space to set the whole thing up, but finally, I have it.

It reminds me of better times, of lost and lasting friendships, of challenges that seemed overwhelming yet were inevitably overcome. People who might otherwise be forgotten are brought to mind, and I smile at the memory.

The irony, although it will help preserve these pieces, is I rarely, if ever, drink wine, or any other alcohol, for that matter. But I love the stoppers.

Collections tell stories. They are worth more than their pieces. They are our history.

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It All Adds Up the Same

I’ve spent some time, not a lot, but some, imagining what my life would be like now if I’d made different decisions.

It happens most often at night, when I’m alone and not much is on TV, none of the books I have appeal to me and I simply cannot play one more game of solitaire on my phone. I sit and ponder. What makes me who I am? My experience, my heart, my intentions, my choices? I suppose all of it.

night-at-homeSome of my worst decisions have led to the greatest breakthroughs in personal growth. Would I be a better person if I had not done such a foolish thing? 

Or would I be making the same mistakes, leaving myself with a level of immaturity I can’t get past? Or is it those mistakes that led to the unwise behavior in the first place? How do our thoughts, actions, beliefs and fate all play together?

The consequences we face are sometimes unknown, unforeseeable. There are those seemingly small errors in our ways that lead to lifelong reminders of that one errant deed, and potentially catastrophic actions that pass by almost unnoticed…and we forget…until there is a gentle reminder, and we breathe a sigh of relief that it didn’t happen the way it could have.

There are those who face mental illness, and they sometimes make what seem to them like logical decisions based on misperception because of the way their brain functions. I’m not talking criminal behavior here, although that certainly does apply, but day to day actions that have an impact on happiness and quality of life.

whats-up-little-bugI could overanalyze this, because here’s the bottom line: as much fun as it is to watch a movie where someone is given a chance to go back in time and change the path of their life, that would be a huge gamble. What if I hadn’t married the man who betrayed me and married the one who got away instead? You probably don’t know the second man any better than you knew the first when you married him. It could have been an entirely different sort of disaster.

I am who I am. If it hadn’t been this mistake, it would have been another. I still would be me. And I’m okay with that.

Image Credits: © sapunkele — fotolia

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