Valentine's Day, Schmalentine's Day

February 14 is nothing more that a big commercial. Buy this! Get that! Your significant other won't feel loved if they don't have gifts/chocolate/a ring when they wake up today! It's a total drag, and I have a significant other with whom to celebrate the holiday.

Valentine's Day originated as a Christian feast day honoring a martyred saint named Valentine, (three of them, actually) and through later folk traditions it has also become a significant cultural, religious and commercial celebration of romance and love in many regions of the world (Wikipedia). According to early tradition, Valentine was imprisoned for ministering to Christians and performing marriages for Christian soldiers which was forbidden under Roman law. While in prison, it is said that he restored the sight of the daughter of one of his jailors, prompting the conversion of the jailor and his entire household to Christianity. Good for them.

So how did we go from a Christian feast day celebrating the life of a saint to this sappy, commercial holiday? We have the British to thank for that. In 1797, a British publisher issued The Young Man's Valentine Writer, which contained scores of suggested sentimental verses for the young lover unable to compose his own. Printers had already begun producing a limited number of cards with verses and sketches, called "mechanical valentines". Paper Valentines became so popular in England in the early 19th century that they were assembled in factories. Fancy Valentines were made with real lace and ribbons, with paper lace introduced in the mid-19th century. In 1835, 60,000 Valentine cards were sent by post in the United Kingdom, despite postage being expensive (Wikipedia). Within the next five years postage went down considerably due to postal reforms, and the number of valentines sent shot up to over 400,000.

In the United States, the first mass-produced Valentines of embossed paper lace were produced and sold shortly after 1847 by Esther Howland. Her father operated a large book and stationery store, but Esther took her inspiration from an English Valentine she had received from a business associate of her father. Intrigued with the idea of making similar Valentines, Esther began her business by importing paper lace and floral decorations from England.

The U.S. Greeting Card Association estimates that approximately 190 million valentines are sent each year in the US. Half of those valentines are given to family members other than husband or wife, usually to children. When the valentine-exchange cards made in school activities are included the figure goes up to 1 billion, and teachers become the people receiving the most valentines (Wikipedia).

Valentine's Day is a major source of economic activity, with total expenditures topping $18.2 billion in 2017, or over $136 per person. This is an increase from $108 per person in 2010. In 2019, a survey by the National Retail Federation found that over the previous decade, the percentage of people who celebrate Valentine's Day had declined steadily. (Thankfully.) From their survey results, they found three primary reasons: over-commercialization of the holiday, not having a significant other, and not being interested in celebrating it.

I, for one, am not interested in celebrating it. I told my husband not to get me anything this year, and I wasn't up for fighting the crowds to go out for dinner. He, of course, didn't listen and got me a small bouquet of flowers, a card, and some chocolate covered strawberries. I really appreciated that he did not get me the two-pound Whitman's sampler that I never finish, and that my hips don't need anyway. Dinner is probably not going to happen since The Boy is coming over to spend the day (and night) tomorrow, and that is just fine with me.

If you do celebrate Valentine's Day, or Galentine's/Palentine's Day or whatever form it has evolved into now, I hope you have a wonderful time. I'll just carry on normally and enjoy the blessing of a beautiful day and thank God that he allowed me to wake up on this side of the grass one more time.

James who was NOT Jesus' brother

It's been a long time since I've read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, longer than it's been since I've posted anything to this page. But it's not a book easily forgotten. The adventures of a young boy, floating down the Mississippi River with a runaway slave tends to stick with you especially when you're an impressionably young yourself. 

I had heard a lot about the book James: A Novel by Percival Everett. I subscribe to several publishing newsletters, and this manuscript has appeared multiple times as one to be on the look out for. Then a friend talked about how good it was so I determined to buy it and see for myself. Luckily, it was not very long. I think I would have been rather discouraged to find it being as hefty as the original version. I dove in and finished it in about two days. Given work and my own writing attempts and the grandchildren's escapades, two days is a long time for me to read something. Left to my own devices, I could have finished it in a single day, that's how engrossed I became in this novel.

The story is told from Jim's (the slave) point of view. He is about to be sold away from his family, so he runs away. He meets with Huckleberry Finn and their life on the river unfolds. They have many (mis)adventures but manage to escape them with most of their skin intact. They encounter the Duke and the Dauphin, the Blackface Minstrels, and even a riverboat or two. Eventually, they return home to find not quite what they were looking for, but something more profound and life-changing.

Everett's writing style is at once thought-provoking and funny. He takes you deep inside the mind of his character, forcing you to see life through their eyes and their thoughts. This tends to alter something in your psyche so that you are changed even if it is in some infinitesimal way. You come away from reading this book different from when you started it. If you don't seriously question yourself and society's mores after James, then something was possible wrong to begin with. 

I believe this book is for the ages. It speaks not just to the morals of the day, but to those of today as well. Much of what Jim (James) and Huck encountered is still repeated albeit less openly. Discrimination is alive and well in this country and it's not just limited to a single race. 

Do yourself a favor and read James: A Novel (Percival Everett: Doubleday: 320 pages: 2024). I promise you won't regret it.

It's Been Too Long

 I can't believe that it has been three years since I last wrote anything on this blog. Talk about procrastination! So much life has happened since 2019, I don't even know where to start. Since then, two grandchildren (The Boon and The Boggle) have made an appearance; we gained a new Cat (That Stupid Cat Thing went to meet her Maker); I retired after 30 years in K-12 education, got bored, and got a job in higher education; The Hubby changed companies (still in the same position, somewhat); and The Cinderella semi-moved back home. The Free Spirit still lives on the other side of the country, and The Eldest and her husband bought their first house (It is really nice and just perfect for their little family). Covid has hit our family twice (The Hubby and The Cinderella) but both cases were quite mild, so we've been very lucky on that front. The Parental Units on both sides have all managed to avoid it, and that is another blessing.

So, what about 2022? I still don't make resolutions, still think they are self-defeating promises that will inevitably end up broken, causing us to feel even more guilt than when we made them in the first place. I still try to make goals. For this year, I hope to:

1. Continue to work on the bucket list even if The Hubby thinks it's morbid. I've actually managed to check off a few things in the past couple of years. See the page titled "Random Plans" for more information.
2. Copy a verse (or three) of scripture every day. I've actually been doing this for a while now and have found it to be quite calming to my soul. From here on out, I'm just going to be more intentional about it.
3. I am NOT going to let other people control my behavior. How I choose to act or react is up to me. No matter how aggravating or out of line people can get, I can still choose to be calm and kind.

I still suffer from depression and anxiety and have to battle these demons on a daily basis. Still making my lists, and setting goals like these actually helps me a lot. If I stay busy, I tend to win the fight most days. It's when I am bored with nothing to do that I find myself in the dark, losing the battle with my mind. Hopefully these goals will keep me focused and grounded enough that I don't give in to the demons too often. Plus, I've taken up new hobbies and I have many UFOs (unfinished objects) to complete. And I have grandchildren. I should never be bored again.

So here's to 2022. May it be filled with peace, happiness, and love. And a distinct lack of Covid for you and yours.

God bless you.

To All the Teachers I've Loved Before...

Dear Mrs. McWhorter,

I must apologize. I have been remiss in keeping in contact with you over the years, and now this is the only medium I have to express my thoughts regarding our time together in the early 1980's at Cedar Bluff High School.

I can only hope you would have remembered me as you were my only science teacher during my three-year tenure as a student there. I can still see you behind your lab table endeavoring to impart to us the building blocks of life and the fine art of combining chemical equations (which I still cannot do through no fault of yours).

I greatly admired you, Mrs. McWhorter. You were always so elegant and ladylike. You rarely got upset and when you did, it was more along the lines of "I'm very disappointed in you," rather than any real anger. Even when, after being hit with a softball, I threw up on your beautiful, suede, high-heeled shoes, you never lost your cool. I think I knew, even then, that I wanted to be just like you when I grew up.

I remember so many of your lessons, even though I was not the most stellar of science pupils. And I remember lessons that had nothing to do with science. I remember dissecting earthworms and grasshoppers. I remember freezing (and thawing) goldfish. I remember hatching maggots. I remember making protective viewers to watch a solar eclipse. I remember being the pilot class for marine biology. I remember being in a class of three and you trusting us to do labs on our own. I remember your story of blowing up a frog in the vent hood (and wanting to try it). I remember being the one lucky enough to get to clean the salt water tank (and learning that certain fish will eat sea urchins). I remember completely dissolving a scrub brush in pure bleach thinking I was simply disinfecting it. I remember the smell of formaldehyde. I remember missing out on anatomy and physiology because no one else wanted to take it. I remember melting glass rods trying to make little animals. But most of all, I remember being at home in your classroom.

That feeling, Mrs. McWhorter, is what I try to give my own students. A sense of belonging, of being somewhere safe with someone who shows them, not so much the mechanics of being an adult, but the art of it. What gentleness and kindness look like in action every day. How to be a lady, no matter what.

I miss you, Mrs. McWhorter. I wish I could sit with you and thank you for all that you gave to me and to the rest of your students. But...I waited too long, and this is all I have left. Hopefully, somehow, somewhere, you're aware of this letter, and know how much you were appreciated during your lifetime. Thank you.

Love,
Kimberly Oliver Edmondson (80-83)

My Bucket List

Has it really been that long since I have posted anything on this blog? I am ashamed. I know I've started a dozen different times to put something out there, but life kept calling me away, and somehow I just never got back to the writing. (The infamous) They always say that the new year will be better, and I truly hope so, because this year I've actually set some goals for myself (and for The Hubs though he doesn't know it yet).

I don't do resolutions. That word just has bad connotations. For those of you who do not know the meaning of that word, it means bad juju vibes. You start off with your new year's resolutions, but in the back of your mind, you know you will probably fail before January is halfway through. Then you do. Bad juju vibes.

Instead, I set goals. But isn't that the same thing? Nope. Resolutions tend to be big, honking things with no end in sight. I'm going to lose 50 pounds, or I'm going to tithe more. What do those things even mean? Goals have a purpose. I know what I'm doing, how I'm doing it, and how long it's going to take. And I have very few of them so that I don't get overwhelmed and do nothing.

First things first, I only set goals for one month. I figure I can do anything for January. I'm broke (thank you convoluted pay schedule) so I might as well work on things I can control. Admittedly, by the last week, I'm struggling but by then I've seen a little progress, so I can usually hang in there. Hey, it's only thirty days. (I don't count the first; I like my black-eyed peas a little too well for that.) If I can make it through January, well then, February is a short month, I can easily handle that. As long as the wind blows in March, I'm good (yep, that's weird, but it works for me), and April is the beginning of spring so it's like a whole new life has begun. Get where I'm going with this? Every month has it's own reason to stick with goals. Before you realize it, December has arrived, and, hey, you're not going to blow a winning streak are you?

Then, I only set goals I know I can do. For example, I'm going on a diet this month. I'm only going to eat certain foods and drink only water until January 31. And I'm giving myself two cheat days. Just a little something to look forward to.

So, other than the diet thing (partly me, and partly because the doctor said I needed to stop eating just because I get bored easily) here are some of the goals The Hubs and I have set for the next thirty days.

1. Exercise - Walk more. At least 2 days per week, rain or shine, warm or cold. Starting small, but I'm trying to work up to actually running eventually. I may need something to chase me for motivation, but...
2. Budget - To be more organized about it. It's not that we didn't budget before, it's just that we want to restart out envelope system. If you don't know what that is, google Dave Ramsey and sign up for a class.
3. House - Redo/finish one room. Then another in February. Then another in March. Then another in...
4. Double date night - This one actually starts in February, so clear your calendar, peeps, we might be calling you for a night out with the weird ones.

Which brings me to the last goal and the reason for all this writing in the first place. (And here's where The Hubs comes in though he is as yet unaware) This is my one big, hairy, audacious goal for the year. It's the only one that is open ended and will last all year long. It will take some doing, so if anyone would like to help, feel free to reach out with suggestions, resources, monetary gifts (kidding!) or whatever. I'm going to seriously work on my Bucket List.

Don't panic, I'm not planning on dying, I'm planning on living with a purpose this year. (And if you want to know what my bucket list consists of, click on the Random Plans portion of these blog pages.) I've lost too many people before they had a chance to do the things they wanted to do, and I've heard too many people say, "I really would like to___, but now I'm too old." And I call bull$#!&.

So I'm going to prove it. Therefore, Husband(and children)-O-Mine, if you are at a loss for gift ideas for all those holidays throughout the year, take a look at the Bucket List. There are plenty of things you can help out with on there. 

Will I finish the list? Of course not. I know that. I won't even get a quarter of the way through it. But I'll get a start on it, and that's the goal. So, internet world, my new year's challenge to you is, if you have a bucket list, get going on it, and if you don't have a bucket list, make one and get going on it. You won't regret it and in the end (I believe) you'll be the better person for it.

Happy 2019!

Dragonflies of Summer

I see you out of the corner of my eye
Hovering, waiting.
Sunlight sparkles and your iridescence flashes.
Multicolored raindrops across my skin.
I wait,
Barely breathing,
Praying.
Do you see me?

You disappear.
Flitting off on the eddies of the breeze.
Something has caused you
To go exploring.
Elsewhere.
I wait,
Barely breathing,
Praying.
Do you ever think of returning?

Summer heat shimmers.
Mirages appear,
Then disappear.
Like hope.
You're here.You're gone.
I wait.
Barely breathing.
Praying.
Do I dare to dream?

The nights are longer than before.
Blackness pressing on my heart.
Shadows creeping just on the edges
Of my soul.
Demons dancing through my mind.
I wait,
Barely breathing,
Praying
Do you think of me?

The morning slowly creeps in.
Thoughts ramble.
Do you remember
Lessons of childhood,
When you danced through the days,
A dragonfly of summer?
I wait
Barely breathing
Praying
Do you miss me?


Do you still love me?

No One Told Me It Would Be This Hard

She is the one that kept me up most nights, even before she was born. That should have been my first clue.

I named her for my best friend in jr, high school and my best friend in college, both strong, independent women. Maybe that was where I went off track.

She has always seen things from a unique perspective, and not only did I not discourage that, but I actively supported her creativity. Perhaps that was what set her toward this destination.

In truth, I don't know what happened to cause this overabundance of wanderlust in the Free Spirit, but she is gone now, and I feel as if I will never be whole again.

I knew the empty nest days were coming. The Hubby and I were actually looking forward to them. However, we expected the baby birds to move gradually, one step at a time. The Free Spirit has picked up and moved all the way across the country and I had one week to prepare.

My soul shattered.

It's been almost a week, she reached her destination safely, she has a job, and still I lie awake at night and pray that she comes home. There are places I go where I expect to see her. There are stores I no longer want to shop in and restaurants I no longer want to eat in because those were "her" places and just thinking of going in them again brings on a panic attack. I cannot even look into her room.

My child has not died. She is safe, she calls me frequently (I made her promise to do so), as far as I know she is happy, and she is fulfilling a lifelong dream of seeing something other than the southeastern United States. She assures me that I did a good job. She is fine. I am still broken.

She has always been the one I have worried about the most. Hers is the soul that is easiest to damage, the heart that is easiest to bruise. She feels the most pain and is the most forgiving. Unfortunately, this means she is also the most easily led and the least discerning. Everyone is a friend and all causes are equally worthy. Her capacity to love and forgive is so great that she terrifies me, and I continue to lie awake at night and pray.

I know this is the natural order of life. Children grow up and move away. I did and I'm sure my mother went through a similar experience. However, I didn't move an entire continent away, and I left three siblings still at home behind me. If need be, I can be back in two hours or less. If the Free Spirit needs me, it would be untold hours before I could get there and that's assuming there is an available flight. It would be days if I had to drive. The problem is, I know she needs me.

I need her.

The Hubby tells me all will be well. I know that he is, technically, correct. But for now, it is not. My world feels irreparably broken. There is a piece of my life that is missing that I cannot get back. And it hurts so incredibly much that I want to spend my days screaming.

I now understand why the ancient peoples tore their clothes and sat in sackcloth and ashes.

But I can't. So I go through the days, doing what has to be done, getting through it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, pretending to be okay like people usually do, encouraging her when she calls, taking care of the siblings she left behind, and managing one deep breath at a time.

I doubt I'll ever sleep again.