Thanksgiving

Chris and I spent the week of Thanksgiving in Texas visiting family and friends. I always struggle after such a retreat and vacation, of sorts, to sit down and write.

There is so much to say.

For now, I'll just tell you what some of my favorite moments of the Trip to Texas were.

1. Getting to know my best friend Lora's daughter, two year old Tessa, even more. We spent a couple of nights in the Stockhammer's home and while Tessa called me "Stefani" as best she could, Chris was simply referred to as "other people." The entire trip.

2. Looking through my Nana's recipe boxes that my mother now has possession of. My Nana died in 1997 when I was seventeen years old. At the time to me it seemed that I was actually very lucky to get to know my Nana. But now I realize, I hardly knew her at all. As I've grown from a youth, to a married woman of thirty-one, I wish I had more time with her.

Her recipe boxes were stuffed with mostly handwritten recipe cards, although some had been typed with the typewriter. The From the Kitchen of line was always filled in and there were many, many women's names. There were clippings from newspapers, magazines and pamphlets. These I enjoyed most, especially reading the backs of the recipes themselves- what other "news" was going on at the time and what prices were at the supermarket.

3. Riding motorcycles with my husband and my father through the East Texas farmland right before sunset. The temperature was biting, but overall it was glorious.

4. Walking the railroad track to the train trestle with Chris, my sister Laura and my brother Jonathan.

5. Being "gifted" with a most needed and relaxing facial from my sweet friend Alaina. I got to see her new space and enjoy being pampered by her special touch. She is now self-employed and seems quite content and terribly busy with clients. What a blessing.

6. Spending the night at my sister's beautiful home on Lake Athens, waking each morning to make a pot of coffee and sit in her alcove window seat looking out into the woods.

7. Stashing some of my mothers homemade rolls away and bringing them back to NYC with me! Mmmm, warm (although reheated) homemade bread plain or with butter and cinnamon. I could survive on this alone.

8. Quietness. Darkness. Stillness.

Unarmed

The pace is frustrating. Heavy, like the rumbling, bass beat of that rattling music coming from a car that happens to stop in front of your house. Shaking your organs. Hurting your insides. You put a hand over your chest, instinctively, just to make sure that your heart is still there and still beating somewhat regularly.

The pace is killing me.

I’m tired of being yelled at, and tired of yelling over the constant, steady drone. Over the hum that never stops. The noise that never stops. The sirens, and honking, and drunken laugher on the sidewalk and car alarms and air brake on the city buses that never stop.

Earlier this week I was simply taking my time choosing what I wanted to eat at a deli in Grand Central Station; looking at quinoa and tofu and beets and cabbage and bokchoy. I wasn’t asking for help yet. I wasn’t holding up any line or in the way- I was just considering my options, enjoying food. Enjoying my time out of the office.

But I felt rushed. I felt like I was an inconvenience. I felt as if the girl behind the counter would have had a much nicer day if she never had to talk to a customer. And in times like this I almost always feel like a victim. Like I just want to sit down and cry, or punch someone in the face.

And there is nowhere to step away from any of it. Nowhere to go where it’s completely turned off. And it makes me an angry person. The worst version of myself: rude, selfish, quiet- introverted, a loner who doesn’t care about you or want to have anything to do with you. Chris says I walk around with a demeanor that says, "I carry blades."

I work so hard on my outside appearance when I feel like my inside is rotting. Even when I seek direction or pray or try sincerely to do better- I don’t ever get there. And it’s not about arriving, or any of that, but daily I feel like laying down and dying would be easier than trying any more, as melodramatic as that may sound. It’s three steps forward and one step back- that’s the only way to get there. That and prayer, Christian accountability and doing things that feed my soul.

Without believing who I am, I am lost. Without knowing the direction, I feel meaningless. And in a world where we can claim success and define ourselves by many, many things, it scares me to be so susceptible. To be unarmed.

I ask for God to speak truth to me today when I sat down to read my Anne Lamott book on my lunch break. In the short story, A Man Who Was Mean to His Dog, she said:

“Well, I am certainly not there yet. I myself am a bit more into blame and revenge; also, I’ve found that self-righteousness is very comforting. But Jesus is quite clear on this. He does not mince words. He says you even have to love the whiners, the bullies, and the people that think they‘re better than you. And you have to stick up for the innocent.”

I can relate.

Pouting.... but Thankful

It's raining. And I'm hungry. And tired.

And I want to go home.

I've been eating less and working out more (in mental preparation for the abundance of food that will be everywhere next week) and it's making me a complete grump.

I think.

Remember the cabbage I made a week ago? I'm still eating on it... I'm tired of cabbage. I need a burger with cheese and bacon and a side of ranch dressing to dip it in.

I'm trying to get all those last few things done before we leave for Texas on Friday afternoon. Friday afternoon when I leave work just a little early to make that 6:00 flight.

I need to:

Stop by and pick up a prescription

Figure out if I have enough contact solution and face wash and toothpaste to make it through a week away

Get the most recent choral music (for our Christmas concert) on my iPod for practicing while I'm gone

Decide on a lighthearted, fiction, book to take along with me

Oh, and pack!

Sometime after choir rehearsal tonight and after a youth leadership meeting tomorrow night, I need to finish packing. The weather in Texas is so different from what it is here this time of year, I'm excited about ballet flats and cropped jeans and short-sleeves for awhile. It's so much easier to pack for warmer climates. Even on our long Boston week-end-getaway all those sweaters and coats and scarves took up so much space.

It's not like I really need to worry all that much. I can run to Wal-Mart or Target or CVS for anything I need. I can shop in my mom's and sister's and best friend's closets for any clothes I might need to wear. But I'm still taking 4-5 pairs of shoes!

...

I'm looking forward to wide open spaces & quietness.

Just being in the same room with family is enough for me. There's just something that isn't eroded by time and distance. We're solid. There's a automatic comfort and gladness; it is what home really means I guess. It's something I don't get to feel all that often. I mean, my NYC family is my NYC family, but my own flesh and blood can't be replaced. We are silly and loud and have inside jokes and memories that immediately pour out of us.

I'm looking forward to doing whatever each day brings. And just going with it. I'm trying to approach this week as a week of true rest and renewal. I haven't been home since Thanksgiving last year, and I'm in need of some Texas air.