A Wish for Grace, A Dream of Sleep

December 24, 2015December 24, 2015 / marydpierce / 21 Comments

Fa-la-la-la . . . oh, forget it.

Today is the day before Christmas. The last shopping day. The last day to go out and buy food if we’re to have a proper meal for Christmas. I have three baskets of laundry piled high: His dirty clothes; my dirty clothes; clean clothes and towels waiting to be folded. We’ve a tree (see photo above) with lights and an angel on top, but nothing else, and yet, I think it’s the most beautiful tree we’ve ever owned. It is perfect, is it not?

I am tired. Really, really tired.

This has been my refrain, my mantra — every single day this year.

After months of trying to find the cause, I learned that I have severe sleep apnea. A machine recorded how many times I stopped breathing in my sleep, which turned out to be an average of once every 75 seconds. I was hoping Santa would bring me a CPAP machine for Christmas, but it looks like that’s not going to happen. (A higher power than Santa requires that he fill out forms and documentation in triplicate while also procuring the eyeball of a Komodo dragon, three sets of fruit bat wings, and a pair of fuzzy dice before he’s allowed to deliver medical equipment.)

All of that aside, this is not a post just about me. It’s about you, too, my readers, my friends, my family, my tribe. What I wish for us all.

I’ve had plenty of down time this year. Hours spent lying in bed–not sleeping–waiting for the brain fog to lift, the morning headache to subside. Time enough to think about all the important stuff, or my interpretation of it, anyway. (Everything is subjective.)

And what I’ve come up with is this: Life sucks.

Life is incredibly difficult and unfair. It’s full of nasty isms — racism, sexism, ageism, terrorism. Everybody hates something, or someone. People are mean, politicians corrupt. All over the world people are suffering and sick, afraid and lonely. People are dying. Too many are contemplating suicide.

Why should I stick around for this? Why should any of us?

It’s been that kind of year.

And then someone on a social media site shares a cute cat video or (even better) the video with a penguin laughing — laughing — and for a few seconds I forget about how hard life is. It occurs to me that life has always sucked, yet here we are, still hanging in there, wending our way towards grace and a little kindness through whatever means we can.

Tomorrow is Christmas, the Boy is home, and music and laughter will abound despite everything else. Despite piles of laundry, an unadorned tree, and gifts that didn’t get wrapped (sorry, guys!). Despite death and disease, hatred and terrorism, love, hope and charity still persist.

Wherever you are, however you hurt, hold on to the fact that there are people who love you. There is generosity and love all around. Sometimes it’s hard to see, but it’s there, I promise you. You are enough. You have done all you can.

Tomorrow is another day, another step forward on whatever path we choose. An added bonus here in the Northern Hemisphere is that we will have another minute or so of light.

That’s good enough for me.

May the coming year be better for us all. May we all find joy in whatever nook or cranny it resides. But most of all, I wish us peace.

Christmas Kindness: a Story

December 26, 2012December 27, 2012 / marydpierce / 45 Comments

Image futzed with using a photo by JWP.

Like the best stories, this one begins, once upon a time . . . .

There was a father, a mother, and a baby boy who was born in the dead of winter on a very cold day. (I should warn you that if you think you know where this story is going, you are wrong. This is not THAT Christmas story. This is a different story entirely.)

The father and mother had little money, but they had a warm home, and their boy was exceedingly healthy, so they believed they had exactly what they needed. The father worked at building machines and the mother worked at building the boy. The boy was full of light and laughter and curiosity. He had a mischievous sense of humor, a powerful imagination, and above all, he was persistent. (A quality some people call stubborn, but those people are wrong.)

Years passed as years do. The boy grew and grew. People began to ask – what do you want to do with your life, boy? What would you like to be? But the boy didn’t know, for he was still a boy (albeit taller). His parents said, be happy. And he was.

The boy grew a little older, a little taller still. He went to college and his head filled up with words and ideas; his heart filled with passion. One morning he awoke to find that it was time to graduate. A degree was bestowed upon him and there was much rejoicing by his family and his friends.

He found a job that he liked very much, but it was temporary. He could have worried about what he would do when the job ended, but he chose to remain positive as he had always been, and to do and learn all that he could. Happily, this strategy paid off. The job became permanent. (It’s called persistence, people.)

Christmas came. The boy got his first Christmas bonus. But this was no ordinary bonus. This was merry Mr. Fezziwig extending joy and Christmas kindness. This was a bag of gold coins. So happy was the boy at this surprising presentation, that he laughed for a full minute. The kind of sustained laugh his mother had marveled at throughout his childhood. A laugh that began in his heart and rippled through his body until he looked ready to burst with the energy of it.

When he stopped laughing the boy knew what he would do. He would carry the bonus around the city and give it away, coin by coin, to people who could use a dollar or two and a happy surprise. So that he could share with others a moment of joy like the one he had felt in receiving the coins.

And that is exactly what he did.

Not The End

P.S. If you like this story, feel free to share a kindness or two with someone, anyone, even by way of a smile. It will make you feel good. I promise.

P.P.S. This story was written for The BOY by his mother who is proud beyond measure of the superlative person he has become. And also the mother is a tiny bit smug because she knew what his true worth was all along. (She hopes to be forgiven of this.)

Finding a Vantage Point

July 5, 2012July 6, 2012 / marydpierce / 29 Comments

My husband and I were on a mission yesterday. I love watching fireworks, but this year I wasn’t up to dealing with the massive crowd during the show. The crush of people leaving afterwards. The long hike back to the car, the traffic jam. The noise. Our task was to find a spot that afforded a decent view of the fireworks but far from the madding crowd, and where we could make a speedy get-away.

And we wanted ice cream.

We had a few places in mind. At the second spot on our list we were greeted by a line of orange security cones and a traffic cop. The field we hoped to watch the sky from was on the top of a hill behind a new development of houses. We assumed the guy was there to keep non-residents from doing that. Still my husband asked: “Is this a good spot to see the fireworks?”

“Perfect”, the cop said, surprising us. “As long as you park your car on the side away from the orange cones.”

I leaned across my husband and told the cop, “Okay. We’ll be back. We’re going for ice cream. Would you like some?” He smiled and said sure, that would be nice. Surprise him on the flavor.

Being kind costs so little. In this case, $4 for a double scoop of ice cream which was well worth the price of the smile on the guy’s face when we really did return with it.

We were back within fifteen minutes. A few other cars had arrived by then. A few more came after that. The evening was humid, but a steady breeze across the top of the hill cooled our skin and kept the bugs away. We chatted with the other people. I met a girl whose name was also Mary. She was nine. She was with her mother and their new dog Bella, a year-old yellow lab rescue dog who was timid with people. Unless they were eating ice cream. Then she had no fear at all. Three other people came from a party they’d been to. An older couple brought their daughter and her two little boys who were three and six. A family with two teen-agers and a long-haired dachshund name Luigi came last. Bella and Luigi made eyes and barked at one another. I’m pretty sure it was love.

And then, the fireworks began. The cop was right. The view was perfect.

(I forgot to bring my camera, but my iPhone is pretty good in a pinch.)

Unlike the snafu in San Diego, we had a twenty-two minute show. It was sublime. It’s amazing how a common cause — the search for a spot with an un-trammeled view — brings out camaraderie in human beings. As we walked the few steps to our cars, we congratulated one another on our mutual find.

And then we booked it out of there to beat the crowd.