Let Your Heart Be Light

For some reason, I feel defensive of the Spirit of Christmas this year. Maybe also disillusioned and disappointed. Before I wrote this post, I wondered why.

There was a blog post at work recently referring to Santa, who visited some of our branches. The photo with the post was tagged with the identity of the individual who dressed up as Santa. A Christmas Spirit-minded staff member suggested in comment that there must be some mistake about someone having dressed up as the jolly elf and that surely this was the real Santa.

My mind began to meander along a Santa path.
I thought of adding a comment, some quick clever quip.
I was leaning toward some cutesy take-off on "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus."

I had a vague familiarity with the Yes, Virginia story: a young girl sends a letter to a newspaper asking if Santa Claus is real. But that was really all I knew about it.

I wasn't even sure if it was an actual event or if it was some old Christmas After-School special that missed the Yakima television stations when I was growing up.

I typed 'Yes Virginia' into Google and clicked the fourth link down.

Even with just a quick scan, my eyes began to water.

According to newseum.com, in 1897 an eight year old girl, named Virginia, wrote a letter to the New York Sun:

Dear Editor: I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

Papa says, 'If you see it in The Sun it's so.'

Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon

Newsman Francis Pharcellus Church's response begins:

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.

This was in 1897, mind you. Not 1987, 1997 or 2007. I'm amazed at the December 2010 applicability this holds. If 1897 was a skeptical age, what are we now?

I had not read this newspaper editorial before. What a shame. I immediately printed up a few copies. I taped one to the door of my 'office.' I placed one on the counter with the half dozen Christmas cards sent to my department from other departments. I sat wishing I had more time before Christmas so I could print up many copies and send them out as my Christmas 'letter.'

I won't include the complete text here, although it is not long. I trust you to click there now and read it in its entirety. http://www.newseum.org/yesvirginia/ (Then, of course, you know... come right back and finish reading here when you're done.)

The parts that resonated most within me:

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

Where did we lose our way, People? Humanity?

Certainly we were not created for our current, and apparently long held adoration and celebration of all things edgy, negative, fast-paced, confrontational, adversarial, skeptical, cut throat, violent, 'get them before they get me,' empty, distrustful existence that we live and breathe and market and support and encourage and exalt and aspire to and revere and buy into with our last copper cent.

We bow to The God of Cruelty, Cunning and Cleverness.

(The poet Rumi said; Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. Cleverness is mere opinion, bewilderment intuition.)

We would never dare admit that we do not, in fact, know it all. That our strong and long held opinions and life philosophy, might be useless and arrogant and utter nonsense.

We are addicted to news. Bad news.

We live in a culture that thrives and celebrates the downfall of others.

We scour the celebrity rags in hopes that the 'stars' of our small minded culture have stumbled and crumbled socially, emotionally, physically.

We relish and willingly wallow in the energy of ego and avarice.

We strive to out-do the neighbors over the fence in what ever area we feel most materially insecure.

We seek to beat the car next to us off the line when the light turns green.

We grumble and grouse when those around us shine and succeed.

We resent and we covet and we begrudge.

And we stoop to our lowest self, as opposed to soaring to our highest truth.

We fear vulnerability, that we'll be revealed as frauds. And rightly so, as we cannot muster the courage to be authentic and true and wide open. Even within, or perhaps especially within our most intimate of relationships.

How moronic is it that over one hundred years after these apt observations were pointed out to Virginia, we are even more guilty in our small mindedness, in our refusal to see, to scoop up, to celebrate, to shout the truth?

I don't know about you, but to quote Ben Stone from Family Stone: "I'm ashamed of all of you. Even you." We are all complicit. We all participate and support, if in no other way, than in our refusal to refuse. When will we learn? When will we stop? When will we finally see that our constrictive and controlling cultural status quo no longer serves our collective spirit? It does not serve you. It does not serve me. When do we say 'enough?'

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Let your heart be light. Be light! Be Santa! Be Belief. Be an example. Be filled with Faith and Poetry and Romance. Be Magic this Christmas. This next year, Be Santa, Santa, Santa! Every single day.

Grow and Expand in your humility. Your bewilderment. Your willingness and honesty.

Forsake edgy and dark and hate-based adversarial minded energy, from within and from with out. It comes only from a place of fear!

Instead Rejoice!.

Repeat the sounding JOY!

Do the best thing for our weary spirit: Let your heart be light!

THINK SNOW...Movies

I love movies. I love snow.


Snow movies might not be a universally recognized movie genre but universal recognition is over-rated.

The movie genres used at the library system where I work are:
For the Youngest (Sesame Street)
Family (Toy Story, Big)
Comedy (That Thing You Do, Splash, Turner & Hooch, Money Pit)
Drama (Forrest Gump, Cast Away)
Action (Apollo 13, Band of Brothers, Saving Private Ryan)
Suspense (Angels & Demons, Da Vinci Code)
Sci-fi (The Green Mile, City of Ember)
Horror (The 'burbs, Ladykillers, okay maybe not 'HORROR' but horrible for sure!)
Anime (Your guess is at least as good as mine, here....)
Special Interest (Concert for George, seriously go look it up. He plays one of the Mounties!)

I recently participated in an Intervention which took the form of a Tom Hanks marathon. A bit of deprogramming for the sake of the greater good, and in retrospect I have this to say:
Fuckin' Hanks, Baby!

Okay, way off track there.

Back to Snow Movies. Movies we seem drawn to around the holidays and through the winter months primarily because of serious snow seduction. (Not including out-right Christmas flicks.)


Here's my list:

• Family Stone
• Snowball Express
• Grumpy Old Men

Barbie's Honorable Mentions:

• New in Town
• Mystery, Alaska
• Day After Tomorrow
• Dr. Zhivago
• Bridget Jones
• Cold Mountain

Also Groundhog Day and Snow Dogs (Yes, yes, I know. Shut up.)

I also love the snow scenes in the Harry Potter movies. I wish there were more.

And even though I don't want to hear about your edgy, horror snow favorites, I'll say it:
The Shining. I have erased all the dark disturbing stuff from my mental data banks but I do recall loving the snow.

Now, tell me your favorite SNOW Movies! This is important stuff, who knows what I might be missing?

Here's the deal, if I had a magic wand...

...I'd wave it over those people who do not put up Christmas lights at Christmas time.

Not that I'd smite them or anything. I have no hard feelings or any ill-will. Live and let live is my motto, (or at least it was once a long time ago for about five minutes).

If you do not put Christmas lights up, that's fine. Suit yourself. But if I had a magic wand, I'd wave it over your Grinchy green head and make it so that you could not see the Christmas lights of others. None!

You would drive, as usual, along your regularly beaten path: To work, to the grocery store, to Walmart, to the strip club off you go, but each house you pass would be the same dark, unfriendly houses they are the other eleven months of the year. You would not get to leech Christmas Spirit from others.

If on the other mittened hand, you are not too cool to show some sweet, shiny, twinkly holiday cheer to anyone who happens down your Santa Claus lane then (and only then) you would get to fully soak up and enjoy all the Christmas lights of those generous souls around you.

This 'too cool' thing is driving me crazy and you'll be hearing from me on this again soon.

Spin Potter: The rest of the story

This post is part TWO of Don't Make Eye Contact. (See previous post below.)





So I decided I could take "I'm going to see it again," in more than one way.


My first instinct was "Well, you're not going to go see it a second time if you HATED it." Right? Too much information already.


But I decided that this doesn't necessarily mean she loved it. It just means she probably didn't hate it. I can live with that. Look at me embracing ambiguity.


I choose to believe that she wasn't exactly sure what she thought of it. Close one.





I went to see HP and the DHs Part One last Sunday.





After an exclusive brunch of biscuits, granola parfaits, crab omelet, some form of potatoes and a mango Mimosa I went to see HP.





I tried to go in without expectation of any sort. I've read the book once. Listened to it, probably three or four times. Discussed the intricate plot twists and therapy inducing turns countless times.





As with all HP movies I knew it would, could never contain it all. There is no way to include every thing. It's too bad but it's true.


When I left the theater after about half of the credits, I wasn't sure how I felt. I realized that I may be in exactly the same boat as my friend at work. I may need to see it again to really know what I think, how I feel.


But you know me, I'm happy to tell you what I think until then.





I didn't hate it.


It felt like a lot to take in.


I was not overly distracted by the places where it deviates from the written version.


There were some scenes and portrayals that I loved.


And at least two scenes that caused eye-rolling and deep groaning.


But mostly I didn't hate it.





I know this might not sound like a rave, but don't be so sure. I was actually quite impressed with how loyal the script and the director seem to cling to the book. I'm grateful. It must be easy to warp and twist and morph and cave purely for the sake of ticket sales. I didn't see this. Good for you, millionaire movie maker types.





The movie is about magic folk but more than once I remember thinking, why aren't they 'magicking' that glass of water or chandelier bomb. But it was fleeting and not overly disappointing. Mildly, but not overly.





I like this movie. I think. I'll need to see it again to be sure. I want to take it in.





One thing is sure. In spite of the fact that it is filled with characters capable of magic, this movie is not magical. It just isn't.





But to be fair neither was


C of S,


P of A,


G of F,


O of the Ph


and H-B P.





They vary in their quality of story telling. Each movie. Their deviation from the books, or not. Their trueness to the characters, or not.


But the only one that was truly magical was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. It will never be the same. HP virginity. Sorcerer's Stone.

The Dursley's, the Hogwart's Express, Hagrid's hut, Dumbledore's beard, the Griffindor commons room, the Quiddich field. It was never again, pure and untainted after SS.

That movie was magical in a way I've never felt before or since. And I'm not optimistic about the future.

Was this the way people felt when they first saw The Wizard of Oz or Gone with the Wind?


Well wait a minute, I did go see Star Wars A New Hope seven times in the theater so maybe lightening does strike twice.

Don't make eye contact!

HP Spoiler Alert!

Can I tell you that there is a traffic jam of topics going on in my head? It's bumper to bumper but no one is getting any where. And every vehicle is honking its horn.

The new Harry Potter came out about ten days ago. I knew I wouldn't go see it the first day. I don't think I've ever gone to see a 'big' movie on its first day.
The risk with said strategy and this HP movie was that I'd potentially hear something before I did go see it. I took precautions. Evasive maneuvers, as needed.

I wanted no preconceptions. None good and none bad. Each a curse in its own way.
You hear someone mention that they weren't crazy about a movie and you walk in skeptical, anticipating disappointment and probably about to get it.
You hear someone mention that they really like a movie and you walk in with expectations that might not be met.
I find this second curse worse than the first, if I have to choose.

I work for a library system. Harry Potter is big in Libraryland. There are a slew of followers in the building where I work. For the last ten days, I haven't been able to look them in the eye. I've actually put my hands up on either side of my face like the blinders on a horse as I walked past so I would see no irritation nor exaltation in their eyes.

Because people at work refused to wear signs indicating whether they've seen the new movie or not, I had to be pro-active.
"Have you seen it yet?" I call out at the first sight of someone heading toward me in the hall.
If the answer is 'No,' we're probably all good unless they decide that I need to hear what they've heard from their thirteen year old nephew. To which I avert my eyes and raise my hand, which is the Unofficial American Sign Language sign for Shut up about Harry Potter movie reviews! This was relatively effective.
If the answer is Yes, I go into sensory lock down. "Don't say anything!" I implore. "Not good or bad. Don't tell me. Don't look at me!" I hold my hands up to my face and shun their scowl of bewilderment. For the most part this was enough.

The last HP movie viewer I came across just before Thanksgiving holiday weekend is generally a nice person. I like her. I walked around the corner without my guard up, mind elsewhere, when I ran right into her.
"Hi Barbie."
"HAVE YOU SEEN IT?" A little panicked.
"Yes," she started.
I covered my face and quickened my pace as I begged:
"DON'T SAY ANYTHING GOOD OR BAD. DO NOT SAY ANYTHING!"
She said "Okay, okay I won't say anything."
Whew, disaster averted.
And because I really do enjoy talking to her and am grateful for her respect of my wishes I tell her "By this time next week, I will probably have seen it. We'll talk about it then okay?"
"Okay," she chuckles. Then just when I think I'm in the clear she says "Plus I'm going to go see it again anyway."

What was it the Wicked Witch of the West said after she was hit with water......?
"I'm melting, melting. Melting."

What is black, white and red all over?

My life is exhausting. This makes no sense on the surface.

I am not in a knitting club or a quilting circle.
I am not on endless committees at work, in the community or in church.

I'm not in a book club or taking a gourmet cooking class.
I work less than forty hours a week.

I am not back in school to finish my degree.
I do not volunteer at any local worthy cause. Unless you count dropping things off at Goodwill.

My children are grown, for the most part. They do not require nor desire constant supervision, intervention and/or personal commentary on my part.

I have no pets.
No discernible hobbies.

I am not addicted to such energy black holes as....
....gambling,
....Twitter,
....exercise (whew, dodged a bullet there!),
....Facebook,
....cleaning,
....World of Warcrap or any other MMORPGeewhizwheredidthelastyeargo games,
....working,
....shopping
or preposterous, holy-shit-get-a-life reality television shows like Dancing With the Has-Beens.

(You'll notice that Big Bang Theory, Harry Potter and dark chocolate are not on the above list of what I'm not addicted to, but try to keep in mind that we aren't talking about what is not on that list. We, and I use this term loosely, are focused exclusively on the points that support my pulpit here.)


I am quite clearly not busy writing blogs all the time. (Although I might be addicted to starting new blogs...but probably not.)

I do not travel; I rarely vacation.
I do not go to plays or the symphony.
I don't club hop nor clutter hoard.

As much as I'm enjoying the compilation of things that are not sucking my time into the great unknown, my point here is that my life is exhausting. And it makes no sense on the surface.

Without all of the above distractions, addictions, compulsions, recreational activities and bona fide past times, how can I be exhausted every single day?

I wake up exhausted.
I climb out of bed already overwhelmed and defeated.
I feel this heaviness in my bones but I look around my life and daily existence for evidence of being over committed or like Bilbo Baggins "sort of stretched, like butter, scraped over too much bread" but it does not add up.

I'm not talking about a physical fatigue, although there is that. This exhaustion is emotional, spiritual and from somewhere within. The origin of which cannot be seen with the naked eye but I am still pretty sure I know what it is.

I am not living my right life. That's the cause.

I know this. It's one of those 'truth' things. I am just not. This is not my right life. I sure of this. I've sensed it for a good long period of time; yet it is still the case. What the hell is that?

There is no organic, genuine life energy in living the wrong life. Instead there is manufactured, artificially salved, forced and phony social energy and facade that we produce because it's expected of us in public, but it's a forgery of our true heart and love and intuition. And it is exhausting.

Are you life weary?

The wrong life is always going to be a bad fit. We may learn to live with it but we'll know somewhere inside, no matter how much practice we've had ignoring it. The wrong life requires constant tugging and twisting and readjusting like a pair of jeans two sizes too small.

If we insist on hanging onto our wrong life with both hands, for whatever well-intended and oft-rehearsed reason we might cling to about what a 'good' person does, who a good parent is, what 'successful' looks like, we will only struggle and scramble and squirm and waste away.

In a backward attempt to fill the empty cracks of our wrong life, we'll smoke, shop, drink, consume and participate in any other superficially soothing and instantly gratifying activity sold to us on the web and cable television as attractive and admirable. And often we hold up our wrong life as some sort of honorable self sacrifice for the sake of those close to us: kids, parents, toy poodles.

But when we throw the pursuit of our right life under the bus in martyrdom for the sake of others, everyone and everything suffers.

A little preachy today, huh? It's okay. Some of my very favorite people on the planet may read this and feel stabbed but I'm really just talking to me.

My life doesn't fit and I'm getting so tired of trying to MAKE it work.

There, I've said it.



So what is black, white and red all over?
My clothes closet.

As much as I hate it, I had to go shopping recently because I was frankly running out of things to wear and the weather was turning COLD. So in the store, I walked around searching, scoping, scooping and gathering an arm load of clothes to take with me into the dressing room when I looked down at the pile I carried and realized it was all black, white or red. ALL. Solid or patterned. But all black, white and red. An image of the clothes I already had in the closet at home flashed across the screen of my mind and I knew...quite clearly, I'm in a fashion rut.
So to step out of my comfort zone, I bought a skirt that was not black, white or red.

It's beige.

Step back!

Stop . . . with the finger crossing!

Wanna hear a theory? Well as it happens, you've come to the right place. (No wait! Stay, please...)



I think if you are dreading something, afraid that someone might be pissed off at you for this or that, worried that you are going to have to explain your involvement in that or this, if you are concerned someone is going to find out about... what ever....head them off. Be proactive.

Run straight at it, face first, shoulders square.


Handle it. Instead of hiding under a rock until it appears as if the coast is clear, face it. Admit your dread. Your concern, your worry or speculation.



Celebrate the part of you that feels crummy after you've done something crummy. This is an important part of our evolution. Would you really want to be the kind of person who has no feelings of remorse or regret when you've blown it?



If you forgot to call your best friend on her 30th birthday, just pick up the phone and say "Hey can you believe what an idiot I am? I completely missed your birthday. Let me make it up to you in Prime Rib and Merlot."



If you're afraid someone might be pissed at you because you were thoughtless, selfish, neglectful, careless. Admit it, straight up.

It sounds like this: "Oh my gosh, I was so thoughtless." "...selfish" "...neglectful." "...careless." Period. It's the truth isn't it? Own up.



Don't wait to be called on your bad behaviour. There is no honor is waiting to see if you are going to have to be held accountable.

Here's an idea: Hold yourself accountable, Nimrod. Stand the fuck up. Own your successes as well as the lessons you learn.

Or as I heard in a movie just recently, 'Slobber up!'

Don't lie low, crossing your fingers hoping no one noticed your blunder. Cowering.....biting you nails.

Just say, "Geez, did you see what I just did? Can you believe that? I'm sorry."



Let your friend know you put a scratch in her car when you borrowed it; don't just hope against hope that she won't see it or that maybe she'll think it was someone else. Stop it, this is a bad idea. The dread will live within you, chewing, gnawing and gnashing on your peace of mind.



Seriously. This dynamic can really kick-in, in marriage and in men, in my experience. I speculate that men are not wired to face up to their mis-steps if there is a chance in a million that it might go unnoticed and they will therefore not have to account for themselves. If there is a single snowflake's chance in Hell, he'll hang on for dear life.

"If I don't mention it, maybe she won't notice that I forgot to pick up her mother at the airport."

Idiot.



I'm not Catholic but I do believe confession is good for the soul. Although screw that confessing to a third party thing! Honestly, what? "Forgive me, Father?" Forget that garbage. "Forgive me, Friend," is much more like it.

Confess to the actual 'injured' person for goodness sake. For the sake of goodness. Admit your fallibility, your imperfections. Even if you're not sure they know they were injured. Whether they noticed or not, whether they're pissed or not, whether they are ever going to bring this up to you OR NOT is beside the point.

If you feel lousy about something, that's enough. That is the point. Clean up your mess and drop the act! Crossing you fingers, wishing, wishing, wishing, hoping, hoping, hoping....chanting to yourself, "please don't be pissed at me and bring it up and make me talk about it, please, please, please...." Avoidance sucks. Plus it's gigantically unattractive.

Embrace, celebrate your imperfections. Damn it. Embrace embarrassment and honesty. Embrace your vulnerability. Show off your bewilderment. Who do you think you're fooling? We are all frauds. Just be your goofy, stupid self and cut the crap. Isn't it simply exhausting working so hard to maintain your 'too cool, edgy image?' I know I'm exhausted just watching you.

It's such a relief to lay it all out.

Speak the truth prior to the possible confrontation you're terrified will happen anyway.

Then just breathe deep, enjoy the release.

Let it out before you're called out.

Stand up. Speak up. Lighten up.

You'll sleep so much better.