Golliwogg's Cake Walk

I was expecting to have a quiet, work filled day hiding inside from the wet drear that defines the start of of the northeast winter. But my plans were stilted when little Megan crawled into bed with me at 7:30am (I usually am up at that hour, but on PST, mind you). I pleaded for some extra sleep time, which she surprisingly agreed to. But it took only 15 minutes for her to interrupt my morning nap with a gentle, "Aunt Annie, let's not sleep anymore, okay?" How could I say no? Actually, I didn't say anything, and eventually she gave up, since I woke up alone at 9:30. Between hide and go seek, watching the Incredibles, and making sprinkled covered, chocolate-dipped marshmellows, Megan and I decided to squeeze a little piano time into our packed play schedule. And it was then that I had another revolutionary reunion.

Years ago in my junior and senior high school days, I met a master communicator who spoke more personally to me than anyone had ever dared. His ability to move my lackluster emotions to new heights compared to none. His name was Claude. How's that for an everyday name? Claude Debussy was able to make my fingers speak in ways that words could never do. His music led me all the way from deep, personal exploration to performance and competition for the enjoyment of others. In a way, he taught me to simply feel, and to feel with confidence, if that makes any sense. I met him again today. And I was reminded that this language that had become my mother tongue in my youth had been suppressed for too long. My deadened heart was awoken. The bonus in all this? It brought new meaning to bonding with my three year old niece.

Thanks, Claude.

Look What You've Done

Is it possible to live in contradiction? Finding joy in the day to day has been relatively easy lately, as I've made a conscious decision to recognize God's gifts at all levels. I'm grateful for everything from my well-designed, Japanese nail clipper that catches my errant, unwanted toe nails, my 5 wood, even though it lets me down 40% of the time, all the way up to the folks who have shared their daily days and nights of late with me. God's longsuffering wipes up the splattering of my bad decisions and ferrets a better Annie out of the crevices where I hide with my sins. Everyday, I am more conscious of His mercy, more stupified that He offers it on a regular basis to me. The good things become even better in this light.

But to look ahead to the years down the line destroys the smile I adorn during the waking hours. Hope alludes me. To put that non-refundable deposit on fleeting happiness, well that just seems nonsensical to me. My rest comes at the end of a day, knowing that I have made it through another 16 hours experiencing the little joys of today. Tomorrow? It does not belong to me.

So to those who see the golf slugging, corporate climbing, merry Annie, I've fooled you. I've made a fool of...well, just me.