v-day's double meaning

Photo: from our Alaskan honeymoon

Valentine's has been that, for so long, for me: V-day. You've heard of it, right? The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler. She added a college initiative a decade or so ago, and my friends and I jumped right on the bandwagon, bringing this wonderful play and the activist group MPIRG together, which is still going on today, even after the original members have all moved on. I worked on it for four years, helping bring $100,000 to local women's shelters and organizations by our fund raising efforts.

So Valentine's Day sort of passes by the radar for me; I hadn't been permitted out of the frenzy of ticket selling and grant writing. My husband even helped by ushering every once in a while. The first year, I ran the sound, if that tells you anything about this tin-cans-and-shoestring production. It's been several years since I've been associated with any production, other than audience member or donor, but I still cannot disconnect myself from Valentine's Days being spent in the lobbies of various Twin Cities theatres (we were a traveling production, which saved us money on renting spaces, as we'd often get one discounted night, but it also allowed for other folks to be able to get to us easier), snow melting from our boots, cash box clanging against our thighs.

This year, my husband bought me new lenses for my camera, something I hadn't expected and look forward to playing with--a fish eye attachment and a macro (that is actually less macro than the one I already have, but he tried, he certainly did).


See the originals:
1. i heart linen, 2. Cold, Cold Heart, 3. valentine pebble, 4. it was a good day for heart shaped rocks at the beach, 5. Untitled, 6. I heart snow

so this is christmas

(Yes, that is Husband, when he was young--isn't he adorable?)

Christmas, childhood: our tradition included opening one present the night before. We could pick it, and we delighted in picking the ones for our parents too. We set out cookies and milk, which I am certain my father had no trouble mysteriously devouring for us. We opened presents immediately the next morning, in our pajamas. I remember a cardboard play house we built for my sister; I left a squishy unicorn sticker on the ceiling. I remember the year we got our American dolls, the year they first came out. Can you guess which I requested? Mine was Molly and my sister's was Kirsten, leaving Samantha and no others, at that point. I loved those slick books, the illustrations, the history lessons at the end. We had a late lunch / early dinner--something along the lines of turkey or ham. In middle school, I asked to accompany friends to the candlelight service at the Presbyterian church; I loved the way everything twinkled, the mystery and comfort of the dark, the beauty of the hymns rising up.

After moving away, our holidays have changed. Each year is slightly varied--but much of the changing relates to the expansion of our family--now I have in-laws, and those in-laws have babies, and Kelly is having a baby, and everywhere little ones are sprouting up. Mandy is a new-mom, Jen is twenty weeks and apparently the baby is already bumping around in there.

The holidays are now about growing families, about new traditions. I have now spent Christmas morning with my husband's family for three years, last year even attending the late night mass at his parents' Catholic church, and this year, I slept at their house, woke up to a Christmas of pancakes and coffee cake, music playing and the shudder of four dogs barreling through the house.


We made gingerbread, and though it was sticky and frustrating and our shapes resembled some monstrosity, I think it was nice, this kneading and shaping, this renaming of the holidays. This way that our homes have many components, many places--making Minnesota gingerbread cookies in Wisconsin, as we thought about our siblings in California, Texas, New Jersey, as I thought about all the places my graduate school applications are being sent to (California, Texas... New York, etc.). Thinking about the way we make our homes into a refuge.


The way I am so grateful for the family I have--the little one in Minnesota, with our four dependent creatures, with Penelope pressed against my side, with Zephyr snuffling through the pile of blankets, with Gatsby snoring at my feet, with Libby snarling from the window.

With my husband, who I feel giddy about, whose hand I always want to hold, whose smile makes my heart burst, whose companionship I would be lost without. The gifts we are given that don't come in packages--the love that I have for the people in my life, my husband, my best friend, my family, my friends.

winter storm 2

We are spending the holidays at the Husband's parents' house--four dogs romping about, cookies in the oven, holiday music. I am excited about gingerbread; I've been thinking about it ever since I read this post. I think I will try this recipe.

I love the posts that put you in the holiday spirit. I've felt under the weather and stressed this early December--with my grandfather passing, the fire, applying to graduate schools, and now a cold that is approaching from the back of my head, spreading toward the front--I hadn't felt terribly festive. However, I just have to leave it up to some of my favorite bloggers & flickr folks to make me feel a bit more in the spirit: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Their dogs: a black lab-mastiff mix named Chance and a yellow lab mix named Sassy (who truly lives up to her name). Two golden dogs, two black dogs, and four humans, chasing them about.


Outside, a windy storm, cutting off power in other areas of the city. It is our second storm of significance, and neither have hit us at home.

Happy Thanksgiving!