No, You Are Not Welcome, 2024!

I have always hated leap years! With a passion ... 

They roll in like an unruly teenager, full of pluck and insolence, trashing your house, your car, and emptying out your bank account before they take off into the sunset never to be found with your whole life in shambles behind!  There is no reasoning with them and nothing to do but step aside, let the damage unfold and hope it passes. Because you know, we are told that everything has an ending. Even the tragedies ... 

2024 was much like all the other leap years that have passed over me. Maybe it’s because it’s the most recent, but this one really left a mark! I feel exhausted and totally uninterested in what is next, if you can believe it ... Me, the nosiest, most curious person you know - couldn't care less about what comes next! Because this year has taught me: “don’t ever ask: what else?!” - because to you that’s a rhetorical question, but to life, that’s a challenge! 

This has been a year spent under the watchful eye of the cardinals, announcer of bad news but promise holders of happy endings, too. They greeted us every morning in our back yard and bid us 'good night' almost every evening.
At one point, a whole Vatican of cardinals flew over our heads during one of our walks, and then we knew we were going to be in for an interesting one ... 

In a (large) nutshell, this is about as well as I’d summarize this year (and you’d need a long drink if you dare be here for the whole thing): 

In January, mom collapsed alone, in our home in Romania, and was in a coma for some number of days ... We had family and friends gather around her to care for her around the clock after that. The ER doctor wrote to us that she can never be left alone for the remainder of her days.  

In February, mom collapsed to her second coma, this time with a very severe case of sepsis. Her doctor urged us to come back to Romania, because she was not sure she would come out of it. But mom is like a cat with about 10,000 lives so she did come out of it. Damaged, and weak, never to be herself again, but she survived it. 

March gutted me! It asked me to make the hardest decision I have made in my entire 49 years of life. It was time to find a place for mom. Even if the family lived with her, we were urged that her mental state and her health is too precarious to be at home. 

You know those idyllic commercials for “A place for mom”? They are all a bogus bunch of nonsense! No place, no matter how polished and advertised in slow motion with plenty of light and smiles is ever as good, as loving, as safe as you would want it to be for those you love. It was like someone was pulling my heart out of my chest with no anesthesia and promising me this is for the best reasons and it’ll be good! I didn’t see it. I never saw it. And for me to make this decision the week of Mother’s Day, it was just cruel! I kept asking why? What have I done? Who have I wronged to be asked to make this decision for the woman who gave her all to have me ...?

As my personal life was in this much turmoil, the world was stewing with bad news, as well. March was the month that reinstated Putin (after a rigged election) as the president of Russia - all while the world shuddered, and all but a feeble reminder of what we’re headed towards! 

In April, I tried really hard to start some semblance of a healing process ... I came back home after the hardest, most cruel month in Romania and I looked for ways to lick my wounds and heal ... We went up North to be with my sister for my birthday. Watching the total solar eclipse together put some things into perspective: when something makes you feel that small, you realize your woes are only infinitesimal on the firmament of life and the universe ... Aa. and I then headed South, to Florida, to learn more about how to advocate for Homozygous FH - the genetic disease that both my parents so generously gave to me and my sister ... I learned of new ways to help the world live with this sometimes invisible and cruel disease. You know what a smart man once said: when everything falls apart around you, look for the helpers ... I try to do that: be a helper to whomever might need me ... 

The solar eclipse on April 8, 2024 - Montreal, QC

May continued with this year’s streak of pain: mom was rushed into the ER for the third or maybe fourth time this year (in five months!). This time with pleurisy. This on top of her lung cancer and COPD, of course ... May was a touch-and-go month for her - several visits to the hospital for lung fluid punctures, a tooth infection and more complications ... The little bit of diversion we had here (a trip to the mountains on Memorial Day weekend) was always accompanied by long all-night calls with Romania to coordinate mom’s care and with my sister who was there for Easter, trying to be there for her in spirit while she handled mom on the ground through the ups and downs... 

The world continued to boil over, as the prime minister of Slovakia was assassinated in May. Trump is formally convicted of a crime the same month - the first former president to do so. In May, we also lost the Greensboro News and Record’s building, the place where Aa. and I met in 2007 - as it was torn down by bulldozers in Greensboro, NC. There is nothing that reminds you how transitory we all are more than watching something once standing proud as a beacon of truth turn to rubble. 

June was another touch and go month for mom. She went to the hospital for a week to undergo a procedure for her lungs that would hopefully prevent her from ever building up fluid again. We spoke every day, as we normally do ... and she begged us daily to take her out of the hospital - but it was not possible ... A few weeks after being released she had to be rushed into ER again because her operation stitches had become infected. How’s that for adding insult to injury?! With every painful breath she takes, I feel a pang of pain in my side. But I must keep going. For me, for my family, for her. 

July seemed that we were well enough to try to sneak in a bit of a bright spot, as we took some time for ourselves: we flew to Chicago (my first time) and then we visited with Aa.’s mom for July 4th in Michigan . But then, shortly after we came home, while we were at a baseball game in Greensboro, NC, then former president Trump is shot in the head, in an assassination attempt in Pennsylvania. About 5 days after that the world is back to normal, with the story barely in the headlines anymore. Whatever your stance on the matter or the person shot here, what kind of a world do we live in where an assassination attempt is just normal?! The whole event made me feel dirty for being human, really! 

The timeless Chicago and its "Bean"

President Biden announces he is stepping down from the race to the White House in the fall and is making room for Kamala Harris to replace him. This is also in July, 4 months before the elections. I don’t think this country has ever been more divided and thrown into confusion before as it is now - but of course I was not here for The Civil War and for the 60’s ... It’s like: just when you thought you got your balance this year, here’s another punch in the gut! 

And even worse news came from people much closer to my heart: my best friend’s mom dies at 70 from complications of lung disease. The streak of sadness would not let up this year, I figured, by this point ... But I stopped counting a long time before then ...

August came roaring with another piece of bad news from home: my only aunt also moved into an assisted living home after making the decision that she can no longer care for herself either ... On the backdrop of my family just falling apart this year, I didn’t want to be anywhere for my sister’s birthday in August but with her. So, we surprised her with the only surprise I have been known to successfully accomplish in my life when we showed up at a restaurant in Boston for her birthday dinner ... Everyone that knows me knows that 1. I hate surprises and 2. I am just about the most predictable person you’ll ever meet. For me to pull this one off successfully was an accomplishment of a lifetime. But we needed each other, my sister and I ... She gave me some much needed strength for my April birthday when I got to go up there and spend it with her, that I just wanted to give her that gift in return. I hope she felt the same as I did in April ... 

The JFK Library in Boston, MA

September was another bleak month. One of my sister’s best friends from work passes incredibly young with two small children after a short and cruel battle with cancer. My former philosophy teacher dies in his 70’s from many complications from a stroke he had over a year before. My aunt is sent to the ER from the assisted living facility with respiratory block caused by her heart condition. 

On this backdrop, I fly to Romania to spend mom’s 71st birthday with her. Her birthday was a bright spot during that trip, as she got to come out of the place she is in and have lunch at her favorite restaurant. As I was trying to leave my home town, at night, the Tarom (Romanian airline) could not find my ticket for the flight out of there. I was livid. Their own app showed the confirmed ticket, the app where I bought the ticket showed it, too, but the check-in agent said a passenger by my name does not exist on his flight and the flight was full so they could not just give me a seat. Huge scare, but averted because they had ONE person NOT show up so after check-in was closed, they snuck me in at the insistence of my uncle who is a retired Tarom official. Glad that the universal “knowing people in the right places” still works sometimes. Also in September, Trump manages to survive another assassination plot - this time averted with no shots fired. September also brings unprecedented weather to North Carolina, too, and absolutely trashes the West (yes, not the ocean-front East) part of the state, the mountains, after the passing of Hurricane Helene. 

And just because pain gets lonely and needs injury for companionship, I test positive for Covid in October. Yes, folks, this is still something real and this is still going around! North Korea ships 10,000 troops to fight in the Russia war in Ukraine, while the US lifts all restrictions on how the Ukrainians can use the arms and ammunition that they bought from America. I am not even brave enough to imagine what kind of world we would wake up to the following morning - every morning ... This feels like the ultimate straw. Except it is not ... 

On a personal level, I meet with a new vascular surgeon for an update on my abdominal aorta and he pretty much waves me off that I am OK, when the CT scan he ordered and never reads shows the status of my aortic stenoses is worsening. I am used to medical doors slamming in my face, but it’s especially hurtful when you know the situation is worse ... The fight continues, I can tell you that much! 

We all know what November brought at a national and even international level ... It brought a new (old) president to the US for the next four years. Everyone I know is mad or sad about this - regardless of what side of the fence they both stubbornly hug! Some people are mad at the result, some people are mad at the loss of identity of one party, some people are mad because they lost friends and even broken up families in the process. The vitriol and hatred continues to boil as the world seems to  continue to not figure this out at all, but instead, to dig us all into a deeper grave. 

My mom’s last living aunt was hospitalized (she is 86) with a ruptured large intestine in November, as well,  and has been very slowly healing with several complications for over a month now. She is now bed-ridden and without a clear future yet. 

To get away from it all, Aa. and I decide to take a bucket-list trip to follow the sites of the Twin Peaks series in the Pacific Northwest. It was a trip much like a Lynch movie: part mystery, part dream, and all real ... I need a whole book to document this as one paragraph would not do it justice. 

My happy place: Kiana Lodge in Washington State - filming location for Twin Peaks

The pay-back for having a breather came when we got back, when we had a small cancer scare that ended up being benign right here, in our home ... But sigh of relief on this one for now! Then, also in November, the same out-of-control political nightmare that threw America into chaos earlier in the month repeated the feat in the Romanian elections. Foreign interference, social media manipulation, and all other means of political corruption thwarted an otherwise free election to cause it to be canceled by the Constitutional Court - an unprecedented event in Romanian history. But this is how leap years roll, I tell ya! Remember 2020?! 

December rolled in with a bang. Quite literally, when the CEO of UnitedHealthcare was assassinated in New York. It feels some days like this country sees only two solutions for every problem anymore: a lawyer, or a gun. Nothing besides or in-between. 

Aa.’s closest friend’s wife spent most of this month in the hospital between this world and the next one (including during her birthday), and another one of my best friends broke her leg in New York at the end of November. This left both these women out of commission at this time of the year - either in bed or in a wheelchair ... Pain and sickness is emotionally contagious, so we cry and mourn and suffer with those we love, here and far ... And always, always feel helpless. 

All of late fall, early winter has been peppered with more international instability and bad news: from the war in Israel that’s spilling into several other Middle Eastern countries, to the fall of the Assad regime in Syria, to the second collapse of the French government and the turmoil of Canada, and of course, through the long, bloody, and painful war in Ukraine which is next door to my other “home” - miles from my home town in fact ... it feels like this Titanic is flooded and going down fast ... 

And now, as I write this, I am getting ready for my third trip this year to Romania to be with mom, my aunt, and briefly with my sister and nephews for a few days ... I am even scared to put that foot down outside my front door and start this journey, but life has always taught me that hiding is how evil wins! So onward is the only way ... 

This was the least productive year for me, literary-wise ... I felt no desire to write, no reason to do it, it all seemed useless and futile. I also probably read the least, because I cannot focus enough to go through a book. Not really ... 

There have been some (not many, but a couple or five) bright spots this year that made the going easier, at times - and for that I am so grateful, of course ... 

Despite the sadness and the back-paddling, besides the aging and the sense of loss, this is also the year when we saw Bob Dylan and Alanis Morrisette. The year that I followed in the footsteps of David Lynch, one of my brilliant guiding minds. As technology and science are still advancing, this was a year of partaking more of their new offerings for a better, more efficient life; the year when I finally found a more stable (albeit painfully expensive) cure for my HoFH (the only thing that ever truly worked for me - a new once a month infusion called Evkeeza thanks to medical discoveries). I am grateful that the world still innovates despite all the calls to the contrary. Or maybe it does because of it ... 

It was the year I saw a full, total solar eclipse, the Aurora Borealis and a comet - all in the span for 3-4 months. The year I saw the most architecturally beautiful city that I have ever seen (Chicago) and the year I met up with a long-lost friend from way back in high school that happens to live in the Pacific Northwest. Through some kind of a blessing, he and his wife were available to meet us on our Twin Peaks tour. I don’t like surprises, but this was one of my favorites, to be sure.

Above the clouds: Mount Rainier, WA - challenging us to always reach higher

Unrelated to the leap year, as I get older, I am finding out with every year that I have fewer and fewer friends ... Especially in times like these, where you feel like you’re barely hovering over the abyss, I have felt most of my “friends” drift away. I am sure everyone is busy handling their own tragedies, perhaps, so I am not too bitter about that. But it does get quieter and quieter in the friends zone for us ... I have no judgement to add. It’s an observation, and nothing besides. 

The people we did get to see and spend time with this year, whether in good times or bad, were God-sends. They made the journey more manageable by sharing the load. For that I am forever grateful. Even those we cared for in sickness and even those who had sadness of their own were a welcome balm, to be able to share their sorrow as much as they shared ours ... To them all, I owe the lessons I have learned and the energy that I have to keep going ...

Everything does have an ending and so will this wretched year. Good or bad, much more sad and painful than light and joyful for sure, it is part of my life. Like any link in the chain - the whole life would not make sense without it in it. I am changed. I am morphed into whoever this new person is now. I feel in my body like I am still 10, but in my heart and my mind, I feel 120. Don’t even dare look in the mirror ... Most days I am scared of what stares back at me - this scared mouse, afraid for her and her loved ones’ life, with only a glimmer of what used to be hope in her eyes. I am not too convinced the actual hope is indeed still there most days ... 

But ... at the end ... we don’t want evil and sadness and death to win. At the end, as long as there is breath, we move on ... At the end - always remember: tragedies are not endless ...

Now for the next year, the only promise I am making is this: I will work the hardest and the most diligently that I have ever worked to see that there is a next year and a next 50, even. 

Happy new one, all! I hope we all meet again after the threshold - braver, stronger, and readier ... 

(Photo from the Londolozi reserve - South Africa)

The Tree

I told myself a long time ago that I would always decorate a tree for Christmas. As long as I am able and on my two feet, I will always pull out the boxes from the attic and hang the ornaments on that tree. So far, I have kept my promise. I have a whole routine, just like we did when we were little and my sister and I decorated our family's tree. Then, we had Christmas cartoons playing on the VCR. Nowadays, I switch to Pandora Christmas stations on my iPad and listen to "happy" Christmas music (none of that sad, somber classical stuff which is good, but not for tree trimming!). 

I do believe that decorating marks the actual end of the year for me - trimming the house, cleaning it, emptying out the closets of clothes I haven't worn, and ... the Christmas tree, the celebration that we made it through another trip around The Sun. It's a milestone, visible, tangible. 

Over the years, my tree has gotten a lot of personality, I think. First off, since around 2004 or so, I decided that ornaments of my tree should only be either purple or white. The lights - only white. No other color is allowed and there are very few exceptions but they must be extremely well argumented. I used to be an "all-color ornaments" type of person. But around 2004 or so, a friend from work gave me a purple ornament because she knew that was my favorite color. That started it all. I thought, "wouldn't it be nice to only have purple ornaments in my tree?!" 

Experience has taught me that purple ornaments are rare, and the tree might look too dark in "only" purple, so white and silver came to the rescue. Nowadays, I have lots of ornaments that we picked out on our many travels (remember those?!), as well as many that my friends have gifted me. They are more or less eclectic, but there are themes, too, like Nativity, or hearts, for example. 

When I trim my tree every year, it not only gives me a chance to reflect over another finished year, but by unboxing all the ornaments, it gives me a chance to remember all those who gave them to me. Our common experiences and bonds. Our friendships, or even estrangement. I remember all the places that I went to to get them and bring them home. This year, more than ever, I felt like we needed more connection (for obvious reasons), and the ornaments helped me remember that we're not alone in the world. That people that love us are out there, behind masks, waiting patiently, and one day, if we hope right ... we might find them again and make new stories. 

Here are some of the favorite highlights from our tree. 

The purple tea kettle that started it all - cca 2004

My husband is German. My mother-in-law taught us a German tradition that says you have to hide a pickle in the Christmas tree for good luck. She gave this to us for our first Christmas as a married couple (2010). This is one of the "non-purple-or-white" exceptions.

Ours friends went to Jerusalem a few years back and brought us this olive wood-carved Nativity Scene. It is one of my favorite ornaments, still. 

Just like the one above, these are an exception to the color - they are all made of wood. My husband made both of these. Although the "spinner" is truly gorgeous and so classy, I really like the whimsical snowman because the hat makes him so sassy.

AtTask 2013 - this is the company I have worked for now for close to 10 years, which has been renamed twice since this ornament was gifted to us at a Christmas party and since I started there. It's probably a collectible right about now. 

There are a lot of hearts in my tree. Those who know me understand why. My husband gave me this enormous purple one the year I had my open-heart surgery (2016). It's mouth-blown glass and so heavy. I love so much its symbolism. 

My husband and I give each other an ornament every year, much like we give each other a card. I have said the words written on this heart to him for years. And one year (I believe 2017), I walked into a store in our new city in NC and there it was. I got it because it pretty much tells our story, the way I see it. 

One of my long, long, long-time friends gave me this camera ornament. It's mostly black (another exception), but it has a fair amount of silver, so it's allowed. It's also allowed because we're both shutter bugs. 

Two of my absolute favorites: home-made ornaments by my sister, with my nephews, back when they loved each other and would sit still (mostly) for a cute picture. They are frozen in time and will always and forever be this cute and happy and perfect to me. (2012 and 2011)

One of my dear friends gave me these two ornaments  during a completely different time in my life. So different that it seems now like it was in another life. They are both hand-painted - the first one is glass and the second one is a real egg painted with the Nativity Scene. I love how fragile and unique they are. Another thing I love about my tree is how it holds the history of almost my entire life and reminds me of my journey.  

This is part of our "travel" collection: Mexico, Hawaii, Outer Banks, NC, Biltmore Estate (Asheville, NC), San Francisco, CA, Key West, FL

We bought this on our last cruise (2019) in The Bahamas. While we were on that cruise, our sweet cat, Gypsy died at home. We were not ourselves the entire trip. I could not have thought of anything more fitting to get for my tree than an angel that will forever remind me of him. Out of all our travel ornaments, this one is the most meaningful.

This is a wire ball filled with pine potpourri. My aunt gave it to me in 2008! and it still smells like pine. I have never changed its content. We bought it while she was visiting the US for her first (and only) time. 

One of my dearest friends gave me these two hearts. They are sweet reminders of her and what a kind person and steadfast friend she is. 

These are my babies. I might have other kitties at some point in my life, but they will always, no matter how small my tree will get, be in my tree. Always part of my life in some way ... Miss them all dearly, especially as I decorate, because there are no tails popping out of empty ornament boxes anymore.  

I lived in NC before but never knew you are supposed to have a cardinal in your Christmas tree for good luck. I just found that out last year. It is my favorite wild bird, so as soon as I learned this I indulged in yet another exception to the color. 

I hope that whatever your physical or metaphorical tree holds this year it reminds you of happy times and foretells of many possibilities to come. 

I wish everyone much health, first, and much hope. 

Happy Holidays, everyone! 

10 Years

It's been 10 years since I wrote this (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2008/02/missing-you.html). A lot happens to us in 24 hours, so you can imagine that a lot has happened in these 10 years.

I have become an aunt, I have a husband, I have lived clear across this continent and then I came back, I got a 'redesigned' heart, I saw some other countries, and the list can go on a mile long. And yet one of the same three cats is sitting next to me as I write this, 10 years later, and probably the same black dog would recognize him again if he ever came back home. So much and yet so little can happen in a lifetime!

The one thing that's remained a constant through all this time has been my daily thinking and missing him. There are things that remind me of him every day, and that is not an exaggeration. I think of him when baseball season starts; I think of him particularly in March, with Spring Training, and in October, with World Series on. I think of him every time I see Pringles and Milano Cookies on the shelf at the grocery store. I think of him when I watch Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, and I wonder if he would have liked it. I think of him when I hear about a newspaper laying off people or folding. Every such news feels like a piece of my flesh is ripped away from my body. I am sure it would feel the same to him, too.

I miss him when I see a black dog, a random mutt-like, black lab-looking dog, because it reminds me of Floyd and his bond with him. I miss him when the Phillies lose, but I get especially sad when they win!

I miss his wit the most. I still use phrases he taught me and chuckle inside when I meet with a situation that I know how he would have received. I almost know exactly what words he would have used. I still picture his mouth grinning, pushing the dimples deep to the sides, his head tilt, and incredulous stare when I speak about liberal politics.

Lately, I have missed him a lot in this political mess of ours. I wonder daily what he would have thought about this headline or the other, because, boy, you can be sure he would have had a strong opinion on everything. On the other hand, I am glad he was spared the true disgrace and despair that followed some years later. I think it would be safe to say he would hurt for America today.

I thought of him relentlessly when I went through my heart surgery. He was so brave in the face of a forlorn diagnosis, he fought with dignity, with hope, with the eyes wide open of the realist that he was, and – most of all – with grace. I wished, in my direst moments, to have had the grace that he showed in his last year of life.

The huge empty spot he left behind 10 years ago is still left open, like a gaping reminder that he was there. Like all of us, he was unique. He was singular. But only like some of the most special people, did he make a meaningful dent into all our existences. It's the sign of a good life, of a well-lived destiny, however short, when you leave a scar this deep.

Yes, it's been 10 years, and as 10 years show, a lot can happen in that time. But really, all we have on this side of the dirt is not years. What we have is barely minutes. Seconds. Short and shallow breaths! He showed me, and all of us, that not a blink needs to be wasted if we want to have a life to show for ourselves when we're gone.

I saw this quote somewhere and it reminded me of him so. Because, in the end, he was ultimately not afraid: "It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."  And in the end, he lived. 

Miss you today, more than any other day, my dear friend, and hoping you're gracing a better place with your presence today, and forever ...

'The Ghosts of Christmas Past'

I have always faulted Romanians for living in the past. Their present, for as long as I have lived, has always been grim and disappointing, and they always take refuge in the past. “Yes, this government is more corrupt than any government in the history of the country, and our standard of living is below poverty for 99% of the population, BUT … Europe won the Second World War with our oil and we gave the world insulin and Nadia Comaneci!” Who cares, right?!

But as I age, I find myself looking back to the past more and more. Not sure if as much as a refuge from the present, but just as a contemplation of where this aging body has been – a long journey, full of good remembrances!

This Christmas, I have spun through my head the memories of my life, at Christmastime, like you spin an old movie reel. And they are so many and so different. I have been lucky to not only have a family who is very much into Christmas, but to have come across, over the years, families that adopted me at this time of the year and shared with me their traditions as well. I have been exposed to a smorgasbord of Christmas pastimes, so my memories are very eclectic.

When we were little kids, I remember mom and grandma taking us to the most central park in our hometown where we would watch the lighting of the tree and the temporary statue of Santa Claus. We did not have the Santa that lets you sit on his lap at the mall. We didn't have a mall. We had this giant, wooden Santa, about 30 feet tall standing by the city tree. It boggled my little mind how this huge Santa would even fit through our door to come drop off the presents – this was just the beginning of my doubting nature. There were no carols, really, because it was during communism and we were not allowed to carol churchy stuff. Our family sang carols, but it was very much hush-hush. Christmas was about winter and Santa, not about Jesus. For this reason, we never went to Church on Christmas.

We went to see the tree and Santa on Christmas Eve, not 10 weeks before Christmas started. Everything started then on Christmas Eve. We even made our own tree on The Eve, too, not weeks before. We would have the tree up till January 8^th, after celebrating John the Baptist's feast and Jesus's Baptism. We did say “Happy Holidays” in December, and we still do, back home, and that was not because of some anti-Christian agenda, but because we really did celebrate multiple holidays: Christmas, New Year's with its feasts, John the Baptist, and Jesus's baptism. I never thought that there is something wrong about saying “Happy Holidays” till later in my life, when I moved to the US.

After the Christmas tree and Santa viewing, mom and grandma would take us home which always smelt like food. Cozonac mostly (a Romanian sweet cake) but also lots of meats, mostly pork products. We ate Christmas Eve dinner in the family, always, and then the adults would distract us so they can sneak some presents under the tree and tell us Santa stopped by with presents. They were wrapped in newspaper – I still remember how I hated that ink from the paper making my white fingers black. I remember the smell of the ink, too.

I don't remember getting more than one present. When we stopped believing, we got presents from the parents, grandparents and some relatives, but again, just one from each party and not even wrapped or under the tree. They would just buy us something and they would say “this is your Christmas present”. The joy of finding things under the tree and unwrapping them as a family came much, much later in my life. I grant America with revealing that wonder to me.

In Romania, Christmas (and Easter, for that matter) lasts for 3 days. On the 25^th, 26^th, 27^th of December we took turns visiting people we knew, mostly relatives, and they took turns visiting us. With every visit, we would eat a 10 course meal, with all traditional foods: several kinds of sausages freshly made from a pig that just got killed, sarmale (cabbage and grape leaves rolls), pork meat in aspic, lots of appetizers, including meatballs and boeuf salad, which in fact almost never had any bouef in it at all. We would eat all these foods, prepared tens of different ways in our home and every home we visited for three days straight. I swear our stomachs expanded this time of the year.

In the city, we did not get carolers for Christmas much, but we would get them for New Years. They could sing about the New Year, which seemed more lay than the birth of Jesus, so this was safe. This was the Christmas at home, in the city where my parents lived.

Christmas in the mountains where I grew up was much different. There, it was all about Jesus. People in the mountains were simple and as simple people come, their lives revolved around the church. And they cared little about communism. Communists also cared little about them, too. Communists knew that mountain are remote places with stubborn people and they did not ever care to even try to brainwash them. Mountain people had the notion of private property, they killed their own pig in their own yard and did not have to give The Government any piece of that! They also believed in Jesus and they were extremely respectful of the faith. I cherished that! They did have carolers every year, and every carol was about The Birth, and Jerusalem, and Mary and Joseph. Sometimes, they would sing about making bread on Christmas with a broken oven and a broken pot, but making bread nonetheless, which tasted sweetest, because it was made in the family.

The mountains always got snow, too – so it was a magical fairy tale time to spend Christmas there.

We had a tree in the mountains that one of the older boys in the family cut themselves in the forest right behind our house. We would trim it with pine cones, mostly – not with the fancy, colored, glass ornaments we had in the city. The tree was in our room, which was the main room of the house, the living room and dining room, too. It smelled so good and piney in there. We would fall asleep with the sound of crackling fire logs in the wooden stove, every night and we were tipsy from drinking red wine. Yes, even as kids, we would drink some: it was in a way, we were told, medicinal, to drink mulled red wine; it would keep colds away. Carolers came on Christmas Eve and we would give them nuts, apples and sometimes real food too. We only gave some money to kids related to the family.

Communism was over and Christmases changed for us in the city. We had carolers there, too, and it became a lot more commercial: we got nice presents, wrapped in nice paper, or bagged in nice bags. The food and drinking and carrying on for days was still the same. The closeness of family was nice, too. We are closely-knit families back home as it is, but for some reason getting together for The Holidays (we celebrate New Year's for days, too, then the other holidays of January) was always special: we all contemplated as a family what we left behind in the old year and we made plans on what the new year is going to look like. We hoped. We dreamed. And we shared.

And then, I moved to the US. Here, every year seems different. I have had the good fortune to meet some people that welcomed me into their homes for Christmas and included me in their traditions. And now, after 19 Christmases on this side of The Pond, I have made my own traditions that are a mish-mash of what I have learned from everyone's celebrations, including my family's.

Some memories that come to mind from these past years: the years I spent Christmas with wonderful friends in Charlotte, NC – I am still, to this day, yet to see the amount of presents and bounty that they displaye at Christmas! They are some of the most generous people I have ever known, with warm hearts, too.

For a brief time in my life, I had an uncle (by marriage) and he decorated his house like a Christmas store. There was no shelf untouched, no corner, even the railings of the house were full of Christmas 'scenes' and dripping with artificial snow. He had hundreds of Santa figurines and snowmen, too. He started decorating around Halloween to be ready at Christmas. I spent just two years at his house, for Christmas, but they stick in my mind as being special, because of his joy, like a little kid, showing off his decorated house.

Then, there were Christmases that I spent alone with my cats while being on-call for work. I still cooked like my family taught me, and during my free time, binge-watched Hallmark Christmas movies and marathons of home improvement shows. Having sent off presents to family afar and meeting with other friends around town on non-Christmas days made it feel special to me, in a different sort of way.

One year, I went to a carol concert at a church on Christmas Eve, invited by a, then, coworker. She and her husband were alone that evening and would not let me go to be alone at my house: they invited me for dinner at their house instead. They had a tree and a simple dinner (I don't remember what it was, but not sure it was ham and fixings at all). It felt a little uncomfortable at first, but in the end I felt less alone.

Southern Christmases are truly the best: the weather is amazing (I don't miss snow on Christmas at all – never have!), you can walk after a big meal, and people are nicer and calmer – it really brings out the best in them. I love the Salvation Army bells in the South, too, with people dressed up like Santa ringing them.

Then, we moved to Utah, as a family. I made a promise to myself that as long as there is breath in me, I will have a Christmas tree in the house - and so far it has kept. We made a tree every year, and although our stay in Utah will not stand out as a friend-making experience, we managed to have a Christmas gathering at our house and sometimes a second or third one at someone else's every year. We shared foods, and stories, and presents and learned about what other people, some strangers to us, had planned for The Holidays. These gatherings were that much more meaningful as they were rare and we felt lucky to be invited to them and to be able to invite others to our home, too.

Also, in Utah, we have learned about “neighbor's gifts”: you're supposed to give something, anything, to all your neighbors. We got stuff from many people we didn't know – small things, like a box of tissues (really!), or more significant things from our next door neighbor who we did know (like a garden lantern).

One of the strangest Christmas memories will probably be the one from our last year in Utah: for 12 days straight we got presents from a “Secret Santa”: we got everything from chewing gum packs and beef jerky to bottles of soda and a tub of ice cream.” To this day, we will never know who that person was, but for the “12 days of Christmas” they kept giving us presents.

This year has been a hard personal year for us and even harder for our extended family. With our cross-country move, I started Christmas preparation and sending gifts to far-away family late and not with much enthusiasm. Some of the presents won't make it there in time. We do have a tree, but we downsized the present buying for ourselves this year – after all, we bought a whole new house, right?!

Every year since I started to consciously build my own traditions, I try to do something “Christmassy”, meaning something that you can only do around this time of the year: like going to a Christmas play or concert, or the Christmas market bazaar, or going to see some Christmas lights somewhere. I am not sure why this is important to me, but it is. Maybe it's my dad reminding us to take time for “special” things, because this is how memories are made – and, like I said, you don't get to these things year-round. So, I take the time to do them this time of the year.

I know it's not a popular idea to buy “stuff” for people around Christmas – which has nothing to do with the holiday itself. But if this is how you understand the holiday, I would say it's OK. I do want to see (or imagine) the eyes of people I love glisten with anticipation as they open my presents, knowing that this is my way of saying I am thinking of them. We cannot be close to all family at Christmas, as they are all so far away. But knowing I can send them a token of love and acknowledgment that they are indeed special makes my holiday brighter. This is the same reason why I still send cards to my special people. I get it that it could be consumerism, but I see it as sharing my bounty with people I love.

I don't really get all the cooking, either – but I embrace it as a custom given to me by my family and by people I love. I have a friend who always says that she cooks for people because she doesn't know how else to say “I love you”. I agree to that.

But I digress. Back to not feeling enthusiastic this Christmas.

For weeks now, I have thought about what to cook for Christmas, and I am not feeling like cooking at all. All I want is just to look at my tree, snuggle with Gypsy and close the door on the world for a few days, under a blanket with a trashy magazine.

But I did find some drive to cook and we will have our own traditions, like we normally do, because I cannot bear being a Grinch, no matter what my life is doing. It would feel like I have given up, if I were, and life still has so many beautiful reasons to celebrate. We will open presents over mimosas and breakfast casserole on Christmas Day (a tradition I stole from my Charlotte friends), we will speak with relatives, and watch Christmas movies, me, over eggnog, and Aa. over wine or a mixed drink. We might even make a fire, too. We will nap and read and walk in the crisp air, too. Because we are back in the land where we are lucky to have friends, we hope to see some of them over Christmas and New Year's as well.

Maybe my looking back through the memories is, in fact, a way to escape the present, which is challenging my patience and peace of mind right now. Maybe, I am just Romanian, after all. And yes, this is very much, tongue-in-cheek.

Whatever Christmas is to you, I hope it is warm, healthy, calm, long and lingering. I hope you find at least one reason to smile, many reasons to celebrate, and look forward to what's beyond this time, with hope and dreams anew.

Happiest of Holidays, everyone! 

Still my most favorite Christmas picture. We were young and unassuming. All four of us. 

The Longest Shortest Flight. And the Life Questions It Bore

Besides making me chuckle and making me feel like I am looking into a mirror (she is born one day after me, after all) Anne Lamott's books always make me evaluate my life. They always make me ponder upon such things like “where am I?”, “where am I going?”, “have I made the right choices so far?” (in case you are wondering, they are all “right” choices), and “are my thighs the right size?”. You know – the important stuff.

But this one time in particular, recently, I was reading an Anne Lamott book (“Some Assembly Required”) on a flight from Montreal to Toronto and I was not only forced to ask the questions, as usual. I was forced to answer them, too. After all, I had plenty of time. That plane was not going anywhere.

So, by now, you probably think I am crazy, because the flight from Montreal to Toronto should not be long enough to ponder one's existence. Oh, but you are mistaken. Pilots and airports lately can make the shortest distance seem never ending. The Toronto airport, as big and international, and “key” as it might sound, had only ONE (it calls for all caps here) runway open. ONE. That was it. When we arrived in the Montreal airport, several flights to Toronto were canceled because of early morning fog. Then, later flights (ours included) were being delayed, because they could only fly one airplane in at one time, and let one fly away, after that one. Given that Toronto is a super busy and super international airport, there were tens of planes queued up to land and take off.

We boarded the plane in Montreal and waited for the go from Toronto that we could leave. We waited for an hour, I think, on the ground, in Montreal. Then, the pilot let us off the plane because there was no sign that we would be given the OK to approach Toronto any time soon (the flight is about 35-45 minutes, if that!). We waited at the gate for another hour. Then, we finally boarded and we flew towards Toronto. We're all giddy with life and anticipation by then.

And we make it, we are told, to the capital of Ontario, but we cannot see land. We are all en-wrapped in clouds, and we are hovering. We can really feel like we are not moving forward, but just going around in circles, or just hovering. And we hang there. For another hour and a half, or more. A flight of 30 minutes took about two and a half hours from gate to gate. I have flown over the Atlantic many a times, but a flight never seemed so long as this one. When you're thinking you're there in a spell and you're not, the seconds linger and extend like balls of warm chewing gum between a finger and a thumb … So, then, during this time, with nothing to look at but sleeping people all around me, I am forced in mandatory confinement, just me, myself and Anne Lamott. Pondering life and meaning of it all.

Many a things came to my mind. Things I am happy about – like the fact that I made it on this other side of open heart surgery and I lived to tell the tale with only two or three maybe brain cells missing; like the fact that I have shelter, and a job and food good enough to eat at the end of every day; and the fact that my husband is there to catch me every time I fall, on my face, or otherwise; the fact that I had just visited my nephews who take my breath away with possibility and unbounded dreams; the fact that the war has not started just yet.

But then, there were the dark thoughts, too. Things I am not so happy about. Like the fact that some days I feel physically exhausted with putting up an appearance anymore – to live in Utah as an 'outsider' will do this to you after seven years. For those who know me well, you'll wonder why I bother with the appearance, since I never seemed to get the hang of it before. I am not sure I do now, either, but I have to earn my living, so putting up an appearance it is; or at least trying my damnest to do that. Some other things that I questioned during my confinement were: I miss my friends, I miss North Carolina, I miss the Ocean, and life is too short to not have what you want nearby, especially when you could, theoretically. I also am tired of having no friends, no real friends, close by … you know the ones you could call in the middle of the day on Sunday and just go out to the drive-in for ice cream, or something …

I never live for regrets, so being here in Utah for the past seven years has not been a bad thing at all, but it's like a circle that never completed. It's missing a big chunk of it, and it's starting to collapse into itself.

Then, I questioned my job, my role on this planet. I have felt a book, maybe several coming to me over the years, but now, that I have literally seen death, I should get the memo and the ultimatum that time is precious. And books are not written from the grave. Lots to think about it here. Huge sigh!

Like any Lamott book would do, it made me reconsider and redefine my relationship with my parents. As always, there is a lot of complicated “stuff” there. Lots and lots of love, with many a disappointment mixed in. But to quote my mom “it's a sad day when your kids judge you.” But what if they don't leave you any choice but to judge them? What if they can't see that? I know, I know … there is always a choice … blah, blah, blah – it does not make it easier, because we're human and they raised us smart and questioning, so we judge them … I know now not to let their lack of care for themselves make me cry and make me lose sleep. It's still hard, because, like I said, there is lots of love and lots of wanting them to live forever, but … I cannot pity them anymore. That is just it: my pity meter has gotten stuck on empty. And the refill station has closed for business. I hope for the best, but I have a life, one fragile, solitary life of my own to live, too … so I won't poison it with my frustration to their disregard of theirs. But it hurts, and it bleeds, and it makes me sad …

When we made it to the other end of the runway, I felt like I used to feel after confession: like all my worries were left behind me, washed away by some divine hand. And it's only going to be the straight and narrow from here on out.

Doubtful. But one thing I know for sure now: when in doubt about your life, impose some kind of confinement on yourself, and focus on something that centers and anchors you. Leave those waves alone to wash you clean of good and bad. And just remain solid, pure and unmoving – like the Gibraltar rock. Just cleanse your system and restart. With all the thoughts cleansed, your mind, your heart, the core of your being will be ready to fill up again with new possibilities. And just like that: restart. 

After the smoke starting clearing - above Toronto, ON