2014

Reconcilling Church Beliefs and LGBT Issues

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I was recently asked how I reconcile church doctrine and my faith with issues like LGBT and I didn’t answer the question very well. After some time to think, I realized that it’s easier than you might think.

First, I try not to inflict my views on others. If I’m asked, I will say. Obviously, this is my blog and I give my opinion freely. I’m willing to engage in debate, and on some issues there is no middle ground. I also try really, really hard to keep an open-mind, much more open than many I know and I hope that people will listen to my views as deeply as I listen to theirs.

With LGBT in particular, I don’t see a conflict at all. The Bible isn’t written by G-d; it is an interpretation of G-d’s laws and a historical primer. It’s well established, including by the church that the four Gospels were written well after Jesus died and by people who did know him personally. After reading Reza Aslan’s book, Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, I wonder how different the church would be if James had lived to be an elder in the church and Paul had been executed, but that is a different debate.

Sexual orientation is not mentioned in the Bible and anywhere it’s inferred, it is ambiguous at best.

Any parts that talk about man lying with woman or marriage is between a man and a woman discounts polygamy and concubines as well as if a woman was barren (or presumed barren) as well as if the man died and his brother married the widow. Some consider the deep abiding friendship between David and Jonathan to be a tacit approval of homosexuality, not to mention that same-sex relationships have been around since the beginning of time. Most marriages were a contract with the end result being progeny. In fact, when Jacob was deceived and married Leah without knowing it, he was permitted to marry Rachel after seven years of work. Clearly that marriage was not one man and one woman and he was an indentured servant to pay for his bride, which is a whole other can of worms.

My second point, and more importantly, LGBT is not an ice cream flavor. You don’t walk into Baskin’ Robbins and choose one or two or however many scoops you want. Whether or not someone is LGBT is a biological fact. Gender is biological. Orientation is biological. It, like race, cannot be changed or adjusted to someone else’s liking.

Marriage equality, employment hiring and firing practices, housing, medical treatment – these are all things that every single person is and should be entitled to.

LGBT is not a gay issue. It is a civil rights issue.

When you have a great civil rights leader such as John Lewis agreeing on this issue, it is easy to see the comparisons to the rights of African-Americans in the 1950s and 1960s.

When 38 states can fire you for being transgender, when your legal marriage isn’t recognized in another state, when the military had been turning away qualified men and women because of something biological but not detrimental to their service, it is easy to see how this is a civil rights issue.

Equal rights for everyone benefit everyone.

As far as the church goes, I believe in the separation of church and state. What this means is that the church can’t inflict its doctrine on my civil rights and the civil authority cannot force religious institutions to provide for things not in their doctrine. I would not tell the church to start performing same-sex marriages, but the church should not be telling the state that they can’t be done in a civil venue.

The topics of reproductive rights and gynecological and medical procedures that conflict with religions and health insurance is a different debate and one that I would write on in the future if anyone is interested in my opinion.

Reconciliation

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“…go first and be reconciled with your brother…” – Matthew 5

Next week is my class on reconciliation and salvation. I think they will teach me how to do my first confession, and Lent is chock full of reminders to become reconciled. In addition to the verse above, there is also the Scripture about the plank in your eye. I had to hear that one three times before I understood what it meant. I interpret it as another way to say ‘let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’

One of the biggest problems I had as a teacher was forcing kids to say they were sorry when they hurt another child. I would never do it. What’s the point? They don’t mean it. I felt it was always better to explain to them how the other person felt and ask them what they thought about it. Nine times out of ten they apologized on their own or made some other gesture that expressed sorrow. I’ve tried this with my own kids to limited success. You have to model and hope it sticks.

I am also a grudge keeper; was. It’s a short list, but a fist-clenching one. Over the last few years, before I found my way to the church, I began to change. Not so much more forgiving as much as letting go more. I cannot express to you the positive change in me. Letting go of the grudges took so much anger out of me; anger that I didn’t know I had. It was just lying there barely below the surface, and it was a relief to be able to say that it wasn’t that as significant as I was making it out to be. It should not, and would no longer have a stranglehold on me. It didn’t deserve that much power.

Just as Lent started last week, I sent out three emails. I still have one to do, perhaps more than that. Two of them were an attempt at reconciliation. I’m waiting for a response from one, but for me the point wasn’t a response. The point for me was to express where I thought the trouble was and how I wanted to fix it along with a regret for where we are. I hoped as I re-read them that it wasn’t one of those I’m sorry if you were offended apologies. I don’t like those. It has nothing to do with if you thought you were offended; it was that you were offended. Or hurt. Or insulted. Or anything that was felt by the other party.

The other email sent was one that I don’t send often enough; the expression of how much someone means to me. I don’t often say it to all of the people who deserve it. I pray daily for a select group of people. They have their individual slots when the Father recites the intercessions. I’ve decided to continue to do emails like this one as signs point to certain people. Again, it isn’t for the satisfaction of an answer, it is for me to know that I’m expressing my gratitude in ways that I should do outside of Lent.

Of course, I get angry. Everyone gets angry, but now I have perspective. One of my problems with thinking about forgiveness is my long memory. It is a curse when there are things you want to forget in order to forgive and can’t get rid of them, but I still try to put them aside, and for the most part, I can do that now. I credit two people in addition to my walk with Jesus and G-d.

It was a long time coming, but in the last three years, I’ve found it a much better path to travel. My peace benefits everyone around me. I’m less likely to jump on every word, I think before I speak, and I let things go that are so inconsequential they shouldn’t bother me in the first place.

Lent is a time for me to think about who I want to reach out to, whether I’ve treated them badly or not as good as I should have. It allows me to think about how I approach things and gives me the chances to fix them, to adjust my thinking. It lets me appreciate and show my gratitude for people who are there for me who I don’t thank as often as I should. I think of them often. I’m grateful to them. I ought to say it more often.

Fucking Roundabouts

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We recently got a roundabout in town. It took the place of a traffic light that created more trouble than it was worth. The roundabout really helps. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t know how to use it. It’s a one lane circle with four exits. That whole yield to traffic in the circle thing has them baffled.

Let me tell you a thing, townsfolks – this is the easiest traffic circle, roundabout, devil’s trap you will ever find anywhere in the world. It’s well lit, signs are posted, it is now literally the easiest intersection I have ever encountered.

As some of you remember, a few years ago I went to Wales, and I spent a week driving there. Having never driven on the left side of the road was bad enough, but the fucking roundabouts! Holy mother of Satan! I should warn you now for language. There is no language that is off limits in describing the Welsh roundabout.

It’s a rural country, Wales is. I almost never had a car behind me or was in any traffic to speak of. Unless of course, you are in a roundabout. Then, every fucking driver and his brother are so close up your arse that they should buy you dinner first.

There was one roundabout, just to interrupt; they call them roundabouts. Sounds civilized, doesn’t it? Much like the Scottish version of ‘hills’ which are really fucking mountains. (Look up Craigower Hill if you don’t believe me.) Cunting roundabouts! Traffic circles from Hell! This is no exaggeration. Driving in Hell would not be this bad, and that includes not having air conditioning down there.

As I was saying, there was this one roundabout; one of many really, but this one really stands out. Plenty of traffic; of course I’m the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing.

First, you enter the roundabout when there’s a lull. There is no fucking lull. It is four lanes of fucking no lull. But wait, there’s more to ‘first’ than meets the eye. When you enter, you of course, enter to the left. The steering wheel is on the right side of the car and you enter from the left when there is a lull.

Good fucking luck.

You enter the circle and you look for your exit.

This fucking roundabout – did I mention that it has four fucking lanes?! This fucking roundabout has signs, but they’re useless. I don’t even see how native Welsh drivers can understand them.

All signs are in both Welsh and English. This isn’t a problem, but one example I’ll share that I ran into more than once is ‘men working’ in Welsh is something like five words. Construction ahead took two signs and that was just for the Welsh portion.

These signs for the circle, in the circle: do they say: Bangor, 10 miles with an arrow pointing the way? No, of course they don’t. They say something ridiculous like A4 with an arrow.

A4?!

Fucking cuntswallop! Is this Bingo?! I didn’t get my Bingo card when I entered the roundabout – who do I see about that?

So I go around again, hoping that the car riding my arse isn’t going to hit me even though I’m going twice the speed limit since I still don’t know if it’s miles or kilometers and I’m hoping for the best. (It’s miles by the way.)

There is a sign detailing all of the exits. There are seven spokes to this roundabout. SEVEN!

Four of them say Bangor. Bangor is about the size of Central Park. Alright, maybe that’s a slight under-estimate, but it’s a smallish college town with basically one road through the whole of it.

Now, the fun begins.

To exit, you need the left most lane. Or do you? When you exit, you are exiting from this four lane monstrosity to a two-way, two-lane, no yellow lines, bordered by ancient or at least medieval stone walls that barely give your side view mirror room to scrape by.

And scrape by I did now and again.

To digress, on a one way street, it’s even worse. And that’s assuming you’re driving the right way; you never know with the GPS piece of conCRAPtion. Modern compact BMW versus thousand year old wall? Scrape the wall. After a thousand years, that wall isn’t coming down. Trust me. Besides if I don’t scrape that wall, I scrape the church on the other side. St. Mary’s. Also about a thousand years old.

And now back to our regularly scheduled rant. Now you hope that this is the only roundabout, but it’s not likely. They like a series of them to keep you on your toes. I think it’s a Darwin test – survival of the fittest. Or the luckiest.

Roundabouts are the reason there’s a church on every corner. If you’re not praying while you’re driving, you’re clearly not stressed enough. Most of my time behind the steering wheel included my white knuckled clutching until the final stop when I could barely uncurl my fingers and heaved a sigh of relief that I was still in one piece.

Often I would burst into tears upon stopping simply at the thought of having to go back the same way, but there was also the release of tension with the tears. And then a deep breath.

For about three weeks when I got back, I needed a sedative to be a passenger in a car that went through a roundabout.

Roundabouts are the devil’s spawn.

A Door Opens

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I am still impressed with how many individual pieces are put together to create an easy meaning in my daily life.

From today’s Psalm: “Lord, on the day I called for help, you answered me.”

This one is actually not so surprising. When I arrived in church two years ago, I was looking for help and I was answered. Over the last two years, I have continued to ask and I have continued to be answered in different ways, not always the ways I expected.

“Ask and it will be given you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Matthew 7)

We are told that when one door closes, another one opens and to be on the lookout for the opportunity when it does come knocking. So many clichés in one line, but we remember them because they mean something. They give us something to look for; to prepare for.

As part of the meditations for today, I am reminded that there are things that shouldn’t be hurried including opening a door that’s not ready to be opened. If it’s locked, it won’t open easily, and if you force it open, it might slam shut in your face. When that door finally opens, we will know it’s the right time and we are relieved. If we open it too soon, we are not always ready for what lies beyond the threshold.

I’m also reminded today that when I ask for help, the answer doesn’t come immediately. I am impatient. I need immediacy. But waiting does have its advantages.

There is a bit of time to think. There is time to find more questions for when the timing to ask them is right. There is time to pause and prioritize. For the most part, time is on my side. I just have to trust that.

I pray for some things and some people daily. Among my faults that I try to rectify through G-d’s intercession is asking for help for myself especially for patience, courage, and strength. These three things can get me through, and when they can’t, I ask for more and it is often given. Not always right away, but meted out as I need it.

Today, I was given something that could have hurt me, but it left me with hope and imparted the strength to go one more day. It was a small thing, but it meant something.

Simplicity

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True prayer is simple and sincere.

Growing up, I was uncomfortable with prayer. I preferred to talk to G-d about what was going on in my life and ask for things that I needed help with. It was a good system. I didn’t have to think about the vastness of G-d and universe, and certainly no one ever talked to me about Jesus except with the yearly reminder at Christmas.

When I first went to church, I read that day’s verse. It hit a little close to home and I cried. I sat there for two hours wondering what I should do, how to make things right. I talked about my problems, I asked what I should do, but it wasn’t until, almost involuntarily instead of asking for something for myself, I asked for my friend.

Once I was taken out of the equation, a warmth and calm washed over me. It was tangible. My eyes dried and I sat for only a few more minutes and knew that whatever happened, it would be alright.

Simple and sincere.

I am once again at a place where simple and sincere are my watchwords. This is not easy for me. I’m wordy. So afraid of offense, I talk around the issue and apologize before I need to, sometimes when I don’t need to at all and the sincerity gets lost in all the wasted spaces. I need to convey feelings, and they are so complex that the extra words are already forming and the reader will get tired of them as soon as they start reading. I need to be simpler. The subject is simple; why can’t the message be?

Simple and sincere.

If I remember that in many instances in my life, it will give me great reward. One of the things I will practice here before I get too wordy.

The Words of My Mouth, The Thoughts of My Heart

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Some days I find something in each reading, and they mesh together and amaze me with their insight.

There’s a great book that I got for free when I first got my Kindle called Under the Tamarind Tree by John Harricharan. It has motivationals and pithy quotations. What I found that worked really well with this book was to randomly pick a page or a location as Kindle operates and read that section. I find that it gives me more message awareness by being random rather than reading the pages in the order they were written.

Today’s: “You meet people for two reasons, one is to learn something from them and the other is for them to learn something from you.”

I say this all the time about my friends on Tumblr. My eyes have been opened to many things. It doesn’t mean that we will agree on all the things and that we won’t argue or debate, but the amount that I learn is astounding. The inspiration I receive is energizing. The continued encouragement I receive is motivating. I’ve had people thank me for my small contributions. I would say that my two biggest influences, other than individual friends are the Daydverse and Tumblr and I will probably write a bit more about each later during these forty days.

In the beginning of this first week of Lent, I am still finding my sea-legs so to speak. I see things in everything and my spiritual compass is spinning like a top; it doesn’t know which end is up or why I suddenly end up in that misty, joyful place and want to share my journey with the world.

I’m still trying to form the feelings into words and so I repeat myself a lot. I talk about why I started attending Mass, why I’ve taken the forks in the road that I’ve taken, the influence of my best friend, which you will see in today’s passages.

Some highlights from the passages in The Living Gospel: Daily Devotions for Lent 2014 by Theresa Rickard, March 10:

“Let the words of my mouth and the thought of my heart find favor before you…” – Psalm 19:15

“…when we respond with compassionate action to human need, we are responding to Christ.”

“…act with loving care…”

“…instead of refraining from buying a piece of clothing during Lent, we will buy a set of new clothing for a needy person…”

“…do one thing today to help a person in need.”

 

“Let the words of my mouth and the thought of my heart find favor before you…”

I often carry more in my heart than I can express. Some things aren’t meant to be expressed through words, but through deed. However, as a writer, often words are all I have. I can only hope to reconcile the thoughts, the deeds and the words into what I truly want them to be. It takes practice. And I need plenty more of it.

“…when we respond with compassionate action to human need, we are responding to Christ.”

“…act with loving care…”

When I was in college, it was common practice to car pool and to have your passengers pay for your gas. When I finally had a car, I couldn’t wait to offer rides for the extra money. My father had one of the biggest shit-fits I have ever experienced over this. Why was I asking for gas money? Well, Dad, I need to put gas in the car and then drive the girl home. Isn’t her house along the route to ours? Yes. You’re passing her house anyway; why do you need extra gas for that? Hmm.

He didn’t say it would be compassionate for you to drive her because it’s on your way home anyway. He expressed why he thought I was wrong and suggested in his own way how I could (and should) be compassionate and kind on my own. He always went out of his way for people regardless of the cost to himself.

I never forgot that. It was one of the many lessons my father gave me. He was a quiet man with a funny streak a mile long. But he was EF Hutton. When he told you something, it was quiet, and you leaned in to hear it, and it required deeper thinking. It was important. And it was remembered.

Recently, as many of you know, my friend has been going through a trying time. We are usually in contact with the descriptor ‘often’ being a drastic understatement. When he realized this would change, he knew this would do ridiculously negative things to my anxiety, and wanted to reassure me and make sure that I would be okay, and he set up an art trade where I received a Starbucks card so when I needed a time out, I had one. This is only the most recent compassionate act he’s done for me, and he’s taught me much more.

“…instead of refraining from buying a piece of clothing during Lent, we will buy a set of new clothing for a needy person…”

This was one of my Lenten commitments. I gave up soda for Lent, and had already decided to take the money that I would have spent on soda (which is a lot more than you would think) and donate that to Random Acts. I will be doing that early next week. Random Acts is the epitome of compassion and kindness. They not only do things for others, they inspire others to do things. They are truly doing G-d’s work and if you’re looking for a worthy charity, I would recommend them heartily.

“…do one thing today to help a person in need.”

The cornerstone of Lent is prayer, fasting and almsgiving. Almsgiving is not only the giving of money. It is also the giving of time and talent. Sometimes that person in need is someone from Tumblr who comes to your inbox looking for comfort or a hug. Sometimes it is a phone call in the middle of the night. Sometimes it’s helping one of the elderly ladies to her car after Mass.

There are so many things that can be done that fit into your budget and lifestyle as well as changing for the better that Lent is helping us focus on. I can feel changes that remained with me from last Lent, and I know things will remain with me when this Lent is finished.

I will talk much more about my journey, my reflections on Lent and my friends who have encouraged and sustained me and who I try to do the same for. This Lent is especially meaningful for me. I’m writing so much about it that I know I’m repeating things I’ve already written and will again trying to get the right tone, and maybe at the end of forty days I’ll have something worth reading if I manage to put it all together. In the meantime, I will continue with these daily missives and hope they make some semblance of sense; not just for you, but also for me.

Discovering One’s Shadow

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When I first read the prompt, “discovering one’s shadow” I immediately thought of Peter Pan. Then I thought of the Vashta Nerada. Logically, next of course, was Green Day’s Boulevard of Broken Dreams. And finally, I remembered that I  once wrote a poem for my high school yearbook about spies hiding in the shadows. It was inspired by Roger Moore’s James Bond, an inside joke about a teacher we disliked, and them coupled with the new style of story music videos from Duran Duran – their Hungry Like the Wolf, Save A Prayer, New Moon on Monday, Nightboat – all different from the usual rock and roll guitar solo videos of live concerts that we were used to at that time. But shadows have both the reputation for being both scary and enlightening. You can’t have a shadow without a light source, can you? We hide ourselves in our shadows, waiting for the right opportunity to glide out quietly as if we’d always been in the light or we can jump out and surprise (or scare) whoever hadn’t noticed us near.

I continued to glance at my inbox at this prompt and never having anything to say, I moved on. Now that it’s the last day of February and I need to begin work on my monthly review, I thought I didn’t want to leave this prompt in the basket. Grasping onto one of my hidden agendas, stealthy goals is not so much to stop procrastinating on my writing, but to motivate, motivate, motivate or not only won’t anything ever get done, but nothing worth doing should wait.

I began to see visions of shadow; not the scary, hidden demons down the alley, but the shadows of things past, the shadows of things not yet done, the shadows of things I’m afraid of doing, and that maybe I shouldn’t run from the shadows, but embrace them as part of who I am; who I want to be.

This year has started out pretty badly. Some of that will be covered in my monthly review scheduled for later, but between getting sick, not really getting better, losing a friend, misplacing another  (or was I the one misplaced), not feeling as loved as I might want to be, misunderstanding more than I’ve been understanding, I’ve noticed the shadows closing in.

When I look directly at them, they mist away. They know that if I ever dared to confront them head on, they’re just not that scary. And the reality is that they were scary, but now, they are merely roadblocks. They are the future; my future.

I see the outline of who I want to be, and if I can breathe out and billow at the wisps until they swirl, it is much like a relief painting. The colors are hidden below the black paint, and you use the stylus to chip away at the blackness to reveal the picture beneath. Much like carving an ebony statue until what you have left is the masterpiece that you’ve been looking for.

That is discovering one’s shadow.

Discovering what lies beneath the darkness; the mind-space that is swirling just below the surface. You can feel what it should be, what it will become, but it’s not quite there yet and it is only upon discovering yourself that you see the shape of the shadow, and now can mold it in little places, shoring up where the mists try to waft and float away. The parts that essentially do slip away were the parts you didn’t need anymore; the shattered shards of a mirror. Look at your past in the broken bits and look for your future in the rest of it; carving out your niche, your belonging place, your you-ness that is inside, slowing becoming more real and less shadow like, expanding, broadening, extending, solidifying. More.

More you.

Flowers

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This is a rock from Dolwyddelan Castle and a leaf from Colonial Williamsburg.

My favorite flower is the Daffodil. I don’t have it so much anymore, but my living room used to be decorated with all kinds of daffodils, pictures, paintings, live flowers in the spring. When we moved, it turned out that we decorated with pictures of our kids. Now that I’m typing it out, maybe I can add some of those pictures.

In four weeks is one of my annual ‘pilgrimages’. We have a garden and flower show. I try to take the Friday as my day and spend it at the flower show. Friday is usually the least crowded of the days, although they’ve started having some school groups visit on Friday. The admission benefits a local developmental disability organization for kids.

There’s always a theme and I usually post pictures afterwards, sometimes from my phone in the bleachers of the show. They’ve had themes of fairy tales, Harry Potter, water, English garden, and different landscape businesses show off their talents. It’s a good way for them to get some added business; gardeners get some ideas for their home gardens. They have workshops to help the amateur gardener get their house and gardens summer ready. In recent years, the Cornell Cooperative Extension has had cooking demonstrations using freshly grown vegetables and fruits. It’s all about the gardens.

I usually wander through the vendor area, picking up freebies, trying jams and dips, sauces and oils, getting ideas for cooking. I try to avoid buying anything because other than admission and lunch if I don’t bring it, I try to have a no/low-cost day.

After my time through the vendor area, I take my first look at the flower displays. It is always cool in the gym and all of the flowers’ scents blend to create this wonderful outdoorsy feeling. I take a few pictures and take a quick look through, and then I climb into the bleachers with a drink and a snack and write.

I journal, I do prompts, I make lists. Sometimes, I make a couple of phone calls if I want to share my day with people, but more likely I enjoy my quiet time and plan out other writing assignments. This year, the show falls right in the middle of Lent, so I won’t be able to have my favorite Diet Coke. I’ll try to manage on water. It’s also Friday, so McDonald’s cheeseburgers will be out of the question. That’s okay. There’s a little café at the show, and they sell salads. I imagine that I’ll be thinking a lot on my upcoming sacraments. Pretty sure the weekend is almost exactly halfway between my Rite of the Elect and the Easter Vigil. I do plan on writing a bit more about faith and my faith journey in particular. I’ve been asked to write a guest piece for my church’s blog about my studies on the way to becoming Catholic. And really nothing helps a faith journey like a visit to nature, even if it’s manufactured in the gym of the community college.

There is a feeling of otherworldliness and faith in nature, even in this display of climate controlled nature. The sights and the smells are the same and when you close your eyes, the coolness of the circulating air is a breeze through the leaves and when they flutter down, they are magic until they land on the damp, dewy ground and if you pick it up, you can take a little bit of that magic with you.

I Remember – First Plane Ride

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I have a vivid memory, but I’m still not sure how much of it isn’t fantasy. I’m holding Dad’s hand and we’re boarding an airplane. We are standing in the aisle looking for our seats and I picture myself perfectly. White patent leather shoes to match my little purse, carefully placed Jackie O style on my arm. My jacket is all white and buttoned up to my neck, the collar properly turned down. I don’t think I had a hat. Although my hair is neat, as neat as a five year old’s can be anyway, but still sticking out over my ears, a little more than it does now. I’m not wearing the gold pin of pilot’s wings, but I must be clutching it in my small hand. I kept that for a long time after, but haven’t seen it in decades. I did get a replacement provided by my friend, but now you have to ask for your wings. They don’t think they let you visit the cockpit anymore either, although I don’t recall visiting the cockpit on this flight. We were on our way to see family in Toronto, Canada, and since we always drove and my mother and siblings weren’t with us, I can only imagine that it was for some kind of big event like a funeral. We always stopped in the duty-free shop when we drove, so I can only imagine that we did on this visit as well, although Dad could have only gotten half the normal allowance of whiskey and cigarettes, a staple of ours on our return trip to the United States. My parents didn’t drink, but this was a time when you kept alcohol in your house for guests; just in case. These little snippets of memory pop out at the least provocation. Sometimes, they don’t seem so far away.

Three Things

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The coordinator stated the day’s free write prompt: Three things that you look forward to during the blizzard in your own backyard.

Me: And if there’s nothing?

Coordinator: Try fiction?

 

Seriously, though, the snow is pretty. Last week, looking out of the windows, I thought I was on the inside of a snow globe. It wasn’t terribly windy, but the flakes were swirling and spinning and while the snow was piling higher on the grass and the driveway, I didn’t actually see any of it fall. On those days when the kids are already snuggled at school, and the car is parked for the day, I like to sit in my corner office with a hot cup of tea. The recent favorite is Twining’s Honeybush, Mandarin and Orange with just a little bit of sugar – barely two teaspoons. The scent is decidedly citrus, but it’s not overpowering. It slides down my throat with the illusion of honey – smooth and silky and warm.

I only drink my tea out of one or two cups. The first is our Corningware set. It’s white with little yellow vines and flowers, the Kobe pattern. It’s Corelle, which most of us remember from childhood, but these mugs are still breakable. The other is a large mug from Silvergraphics, one of the school’s fundraisers and really the only one worth doing. I hate to pick favorites, but my son’s vase of flowers is my favorite. The other mugs are too small or not the right shape – wide mouths or tiny handles, too light or too heavy. I also cannot drink from a cup with someone else’s name on it; or horoscope. There is something very wrong there. I may not know who I am, but I am certainly not you.

Three things? Really? Lets’ see: the pretty white blanket that covers the ground and gives the pines that Christmas card look. Hot tea in a quiet office of my own. And enough snow to make my excuses to not go out seem plausible, but not so much that the kids are home more than two days in a row. Or have a snow day before a vacation. Too much stir crazy going on then.

One.

Two.

Three.

There!

I managed it and it’s not even fiction.