Story Time

Last night I sat at dinner with my friend P. and a group of her friends I affectionately call "The Church Ladies." These women have known each other since time immemorial, and though I'm something of an adjunct member because I don't attend their church, they always welcome me with open arms and warm smiles. We are all "women of a certain age," and with that come the inevitable joys and sorrows.  We talked of aging parents who were ill, adult children who were far away, grandchildren who delighted us. One woman chose her meal carefully, mindful of dietary restrictions because she was to undergo a PET scan today to check the progress of her cancer. One woman talked of her daughter - a wife, mother, and grandmother herself - who was actively dying of brain cancer and would never see another Christmas.

In short, we told lots of stories.

We laughed.

We cried.

Minutes ago, I read a status update on Facebook, written by our new minister at church. He was reflecting on this time one year ago when he was working as a UPS driver, helping to make ends meet for his family after completing an advanced degree and before finding a new home church.  "My spirit trembles in remembrance," he wrote. "This time last year I was...making minimum wage. Knowing the job ended Dec 24. Knowing no other job was yet on the horizon. Wondering when, if ever (and if so, where), I'd get a chance to minister as a pastor again. And here I am in Livonia, Michigan. Among people who love to serve the Lord. Who love each other. Who continually and generously embrace Jennie and me with that love. Lord, your ways are so mysterious. Your grace so overwhelming . . .

We all have stories, don't we? I recall two years ago when I was reeling from so much loss - two beloved family members, my husband's job - dealing with a mountain of stress at work, uncertain of what the future would hold. Yet we rebounded from grief, jobs were restored, and best of all, we were blessed with a miraculous new grandchild who holds all the hope for the future in his tiny little hands.

Each one of us can relate times of joy and despair, mingled together in the large soup pot we call life. But in the telling and sharing of these stories we deepen our connections and understanding, increase our empathy, and gain insight into our own situations. It's one of the miracles of Christmas, that we feel our frozen hearts begin to thaw and open,  that we make time for gathering together and telling stories of the year gone by, rejoicing and comforting one another as the need arises.

May your Christmas be blessed with places to tell your own stories, friends to tell them to, and time to listen to other stories that touch your heart.

A Holiday Shopping Philosophy

Obviously, I've been a little off track with my writing schedule this past week. I warned you that might happen, didn't i?

Oddly enough, it didn't happen until I got back from Dallas, when I was hit with a combination of sensory overload (can we just say four weeks of unopened mail) and baby deprivation. Added to that were dogs who needed haircuts, cupboards that needed stocking, appointments that needed making.

Oh, and of course, Christmas shopping.

Truthfully, I can't complain about Christmas shopping because I really don't do much of it. Jim and I decided not to buy gifts for each other this year, and my mom is perfectly happy with the personalized calendar of dog photographs I make for her each year. I bought one gift for Connor (well, two if you count the Christmas picture book which I aim to make an annual tradition), and a few other books as gifts for friends.

We used to go nuts at Christmas time, with boxes and boxes of presents to open. When you have children around, it's easy to do that. You buy a lot of stuff for them, and so you feel as if the rest of the family should have just as many packages to open as well.

I am SO over that. Fair warning, Connor - I love you to pieces, but I'm not going to buy you every single thing you want every single holiday. There was a photo floating around on Facebook the other day that proposed the following guidelines for gifting children:

One thing they want. One thing they need. One thing to wear. One thing to read.

You'll probably have to remind me of that when Connor is e-mailing and Skyping me with his lengthy Christmas lists. Nevertheless, I'm starting out as I'm aiming to go on. He's too young to tell me what he wants, so I picked that for him. I've got the thing to read all set. If there's something he needs, his parents can let me know. The thing to wear? It's ready, but it's kind of a secret so I'm saying no more about it at the present time.

I wish I were more crafty - I have some friends who are so very talented artistically. I'd love to give people handmade gifts but I'm still trying to figure out just how to do that. I'm ecstatic when someone gives me a framed photograph they've taken, or a scarf or hat they've knit, or a box of homemade candy, but I feel like it would be totally narcissictic to record a CD of Christmas music on the piano and give it as a gift.

So I continue to purchase gifts, but I at least try to make them meaningful. I buy books  often, and from independent booksellers when I can, because I want to support book publishing and my favorite authors. I give gift cards for shops or restaurants or movies I know my friends will enjoy. I make donations to charities in friends' names.

While holiday shopping itself is not an onerous task for me, I get more annoyed each year with the marketing frenzy associated with Christmas. I wish more people would adopt a "less is more" philosophy for holiday shopping, although I know it would be unpopular with retailers. The pervasive message that buying stuff is what makes people happy makes me grind my teeth. I know better than that - and I suspect all those holiday shoppers do too.

How about you? What's your holiday shopping philosophy?

New Business

New Business? Content by Sol Rosales Thankfully nothing got broken in the move which is a first for me. I’ve moved about a thousand times (not literally, but it feels like it) and every time something practically priceless gets totally torn to shreds. I love being in the new house and getting it all set up to my liking…I even went to http://www.directstartv.com/ to get all those movie channels my husband likes. I can’t believe I was able to finally figure out how to pack everything so it wouldn’t get broken. I’m actually thinking about making it a business of my own –packing for a move – and offeringconsulting for an hourly rate to people who were in my same position. I know it might be a lost cause but I feel like in this economy it’s up to everyone else to come up with a job – you just can’t get corporate salaried jobs like you used to, you know? Anyway, I think it’s a lot of fun to dream about this stuff but I’m just happy to be moved in!

Cut to the Chase

The secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components. Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that's already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves the reader unsure of who is doing what--these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of a sentence. ~William Zinsser, On Writing Well

In my former position as a medical writer, I was given large amounts of detailed information and it was my job to pare it down to the most important points.When I trained new writers, my favorite instruction was "cut to the chase."

Be concise, I advised.

Just the facts.

That was valuable advice for my new medical writers, and it's just as valuable for writers in all genres. When I go back to revise a blog post or an essay, I'm always dismayed at the amount of hyperbole. I tend to use two words when one will do, or add another clause to a sentence when the first one would have sufficed.

"Strip every sentence to its cleanest components," Zinsser advised. Not an easy task in any form of writing, and even more complex when the writer aims to write beautifully as well as to tell a good story.

To do it, you must know exactly what you want to say with pinpoint precision, and you must not fear the sharp point of a red pen.

If you can accomplish it, you've created a masterwork.

Note: My friend Andi is hosting a writing contest that will test your skill in this department. It asks that you write about the Best Gift You Ever Received in 75 words or less.

Missing the Music

Sunday afternoon I was privileged to hear 85 fine men in concert, and even more proud that my very talented husband was one of them.  These men have been singing together for over 20 years, and have a camaraderie that makes their music all the sweeter. Their director is a young man I can only call genius. He stands tall and slender, directs without ever looking at a piece of music, and his fluid motion calls forth such excellence and beauty that it's nothing short of a miracle.

As much as I enjoyed Sunday's concert, it left me wanting more.

More music in my life.

Ten years ago, my life was filled with musical activity. There were times when I would have said overfilled - too much of a good thing. I accompanied a very active high school choral program, played in a very active professional handbell ensemble, sang and rang bells in my church choirs.

When I started my office job, I had to pare down all those musical activities. The school job went first, then the handbell group. Over the past couple of years I've opted out of church choirs, too. I've been accompanying for a middle school choral program, but this year their concert coincided with the time I was in Texas, so I wasn't able to do that either.

I was oddly surprised to realize that this Christmas season I am doing absolutely nothing musical.

Zip. Nada.

It's so easy to let things slip out of our lives, little by little, until before we know it they're gone. We quickly cover the chasm with other activities and sometimes don't even realize it's there.

Until we fall in it.

I fell in it Sunday afternoon, listening to those glorious voices raised in song, cheering with the hundreds of other people on their feet at the end of the program. Wow, I thought. I used to do things like that. I used to make music happen.

Where did it go?

In the way of fate or serendipity, the director of my handbell choir was in the audience last Sunday. As we talked about the program and how uplifting it had been, she said this:

"I'm really glad I ran into you. The group is going to Bronzefest in February and I could really use another ringer. It's just a six week commitment. Would you be interested?"

My first impulse was to say no.  I've gotten into the habit of turning down musical activity because I didn't have time, or didn't want to have too many commitments during the time my grandson was expected to be born.

But those things no longer apply. So why not?

"Let me think about it for a few days," I answered, still cautious. "I'll let you know by Tuesday."

Friends, I'm sure you've guessed my final answer.

It will be good to step back into the musical waters again. I've been missing it more than I realized.

How about you? Is there an activity that you've let slip out of your life and now find yourself missing?