Incompatible with Life

I was introduced to the concept of choosing a focus word for the New Year by a dear friend who was participating in the One Little Word scrap-booking challenge. I did eventually sign up, but abandoned ship after the first month when I realized that my capacities and supplies for creating visual art of any form were limited. The idea of selecting a word to grow into over the course of the year stuck with me, though, and I’ve continued the practice. As the old year closes, I pick a word that speaks to me—a word that embodies a change I need to make or something I’d like to expand in my life. I always make a collage of magazine photos and text that exemplify that trait or concept. The collage isn’t exactly a vision board, just a cut-and-paste visual reminder of my word. I hang it in a place of honor in my bathroom—don’t laugh, that idea came from a licensed therapist—where I see it often enough to prod my mind into remembering it. The first year I tried it, my word was SHINE. I’d...

Silent night Holy night All is calm All is bright Hospital bed Middle of night Doctors and nurses Witness the plight Round yon virgin Mother and child Holy infant So tender and mild Tiny blue babe Fights for each breath Mother and father Await her death Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace.

It was eight o’clock when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” I called to Scott, who was otherwise occupied with carting in armful after armful of holiday loot from the car and dumping it under the artificial fir tree in our foyer.  This brief sojourn at home was the midpoint in our annual Christmas Eve tour of gorging and gifting. Having finished a traditional holiday dinner at my mom’s, we’d stopped at the house just long enough to unload the current batch of presents and let the dog out before hopping back into the car for the next round of merriment at my sister’s.  I opened the door and there, on our front porch, stood Santa Claus, flanked by a sullen pair of teenagers in green and red elf hats who were clearly mortified to be spending the night before Christmas trailing their dressed-up dad as he canvassed the neighborhood for young believers.  He must have been a neighbor, but I didn’t recognize the face under the beard and—I’ve got to admit—I felt a lit...