see as i saw

There are no children in my immediate family anymore - all of my parents' offspring exceed the age of 24.  Yet my presents still inexplicably come from Santa.  Maybe one day I'll be a parent and still have the urge to carry on the tradition past its logical stopping point.  But seeing as I busted the Santa myth around the age of six (mom didn't think I'd make the logical leap when I saw her buy a present for my brother which he later opened from Santa), perhaps ability to play along has been skewed.

Extended family gatherings have morphed in the past year or two, with most of my cousins hitting the college age.  There's not really playing and high-octane activity anymore, but an easygoing circle of conversation and banter.  There are some clear differences as you span our ten-year age gap (I am now familiar with a pointless and apparently popular app called Snap Chat), but there's also a foundation for real conversation.

There is nothing that better describes the rhythm of my day than this plate of cookies. Eat, drink. Eat some more, have another drink. Not hungry, but I think I'll eat.

Admittedly there was a single hour this morning, before the holiday system got a hold on me, where I went to the gym. That effort was likely nullified by a single bite. My willpower remains meaningless for one more day; then I'll consider tending to my body's true nutritional needs again.

Luckily Santa doesn't come to my house anymore.  There wouldn't be any cookies left to feed him.  I think I saw some baby carrots in the fridge though; those are fair game.

The first day of Christmas is (nearly) over.  And it has already been an exhausting festival of family and food.  I have been eyeballing the clock for at least two hours, wondering when it's acceptable to fall asleep without the nasty side effect of being wide awake at 4:00am.

Remember how I said that leaving my routine made blogging a bit of a daily afterthought?  Well, ironically my eagerness and inspiration to photograph increase when environs change.  Even if I go somewhere that I've been plenty of times before, I don't spend every day sitting or walking by it.  So when I stepped into my parents house this afternoon, the plethora of Christmas decorations felt like novel stimuli.

Tonight, as I experienced two very disparate examples of talented and passionate people, I found myself thinking (not for the first time) that I wish I had such an outlet.  One of those performances was the Grand Rapids Ballet Company's Nutcracker.  A group of dancers spanning from children to adults, with an amazing ability to express beauty and strength through their body's movements.  And a passion great enough to make the demanding workload worthwhile.

The second act was my own brother.  A kid who always walked to the beat of his own drum (literally and figuratively, although thankfully he retired from drums and stuck with guitar).  He performs in front of rooms full of people, confident in his craft.  It's not only because he's good, really good, but because he has put himself so wholly into every note that leaves his instrument.  I can see that seven hours hunkered down with a guitar, practicing and writing music, isn't work.  It's a justifiable reason to forgo sleep.

I want to be inspired by something in that way.  To be so firmly grasped by an excitement and a need that even the work feels like part of the joy.  I think that trying to translate life, as filtered from my vantage put and pushed through a lens, is the closest I've come to that spark.  Even if my photos don't end up being meaningful to anyone but me, I'd still consider it a worthwhile venture.

(I suppose that technically I saw three performances tonight.  You're looking at a photo of the lower half of a folk/hipster ensemble worn by one third of a local bluegrass trio.)

My focus on daily blogging is already proving to be a challenge over the holidays, the final stretch of my commitment.  There are too many distractions and no routine.  It turns out that this blog is one of first things to fall off of my radar when routine is broken.

So what have I been doing with myself that's more important than writing about it?  Spending quality time with my best friend, her pups, and exercising our old lady affinity with crafting projects.

Despite the fact that the dogs are bed hogs, there's something comforting about having them want to be right next to you.  Waking up with a warm little dog body curled up in the crook of your legs makes it difficult to actually get out of bed though.  And it makes me want to do what I know I can't and shouldn't do - have a puppy.

If I didn't live in such urban housing, with a job/life that consistently keeps me away from home for twelve hours, and a penchant for long international jaunts...maybe I'd have less resistance.  Until the day comes where there are a few more items in the pro column than reside in the cons, I'll live vicariously through my role as dog 'aunt'.

Sometimes the West Coast and the Windy City intersect in the Great Lakes state.  Not in an actual shifting of tectonic plates kind of way, but in a meeting of old friends.  It's crazy and amazing to think that there are some people who walk into your life and, despite thousands of miles and multiple years of separation, your friendship remains unbreakable.

Those are the people that you want more of in your life.  Or at least I do.  Although I'd love for my amazing long-distance friends to permanently congregate in my city, I know that's not really how it works.  So instead I appreciate that our distance has allowed me to realize the strength of our bonds and how important it is to cherish them.

That's all.  Short and sweet tonight.

After a long, tense week there's one way to lighten the strain.  NSYNC Home for Christmas.  Belting it out as I make my way up three hours worth of highway, ironically, to go home for Christmas.

Did anyone else have a holiday concert when they were in elementary school (or perhaps you called it grade school)?  For some reason I thought of that today.  Perhaps it was the NSYNC tunes, despite the fact that none of those would've been featured in our musical program.

Each grade was assigned the same song year after year, and there was a perceived escalation of the songs' cool factor until you reached the pinnacle in fifth grade.  The only year I'm drawing a blank on is first grade, but something makes me want to say that was Jingle Bells.  Kindergarteners sang All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth, for obvious reasons.  And second graders were unenthusiastically stuck with Deck the Halls.

Things started to get fun in third grade; not only was there singing, but choreography as well.  You'd be amazed at how much fun Up on the Housetop can be when you're eight years old.  You may also be amazed at how long you can retain such choreography (twenty years and counting).  And in fourth grade, we were given permission to sing both version of Rudolph.  After singing it properly, we were allowed to amuse ourselves by throwing in nonsense ad libs - "Like George Washington!"

But the pinnacle, the culmination of an elementary school singing career, was the fifth grade performance of Jingle Bell Rock.  You got to wear sunglasses.  Indoors.  At night.  We prepared for the  moment in December when the classes would unite to rehearse...and then the bomb was dropped.  Fifth graders were being relegated to Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree.  Let the uprising begin.  I don't actual recall how we boycotted or argued or whined about this, but the mandate was reversed and we became the final class to sing Jingle Bell Rock.

Every year ended with the whole school singing Silent Night, with the lights dimmed, while the fifth graders lined the aisles with battery-powered candles.  Now that my life no longer contains an annual holiday concert, I've moved on to an annual trip down NSYNC holiday memory lane.