An Arabian Nights New Year's

There's nothing like one of Wonder Woman's Arabian Nights parties!



The married men seemed to take quite well to belly dancing.




But they really were outdone by the women.

New Year's Greetings and a big Oops!

Every year I start the holiday season with the best intentions to get a Christmas card out. Really, I do. I would love to follow the tradition many of my friends have adopted of sending out a beautiful family photo with a lengthy verbal descriptor of all the wonderful things they've done during the year. Because really, I tend to do lots of fabulous things (at least I think so), and holiday bragging is generally quite forgiveable, and almost de rigeur.

But, I can never seem to do it ... get a card out before Christmas, that is. So, for the past few years, it's been New Year's cards. Amazingmail ones for those whose real world addresses I have, and emails for those for whom a cyber address will have to suffice. I'd just like to assure those people, who may be a little concerned, that yes, I do indeed celebrate and love Christmas, and I wish them all the merriest, but New Year's is infinitely easier to celebrate in the epistolary way.

And, to confess all my sins ... I'd like to apologize for sending out the huge list of everyone's emails. I thought I'd pasted the addresses into the "bcc" section, but it turns out to have been the "cc" section. Oops! If you're not too annoyed, just think of it ass my way of making introductions to some of the most fascinating people I know.

The Second Vision

I had that vision again. Or, rather, it was the second part of the first one, so along ago. All I know is that I clung to it even as Aurora’s tendrils inevitably extricated me from the dream world where I longed to remain. I woke most reluctantly, to a distant knocking I thought may have been at my door. Forlornly, I went to answer it, and was greeted only by the crisp morning air. And yet the comfort and hope of the vision remain.

About eight years ago, I remember feeling very disgruntled. I’d dreamed my whole life of being in love … the dramatic, earth-shattering, soul searching and transformative love that comes with much pain and even greater joy. And as time marched ever steadfastedly onward, I began to lose hope that I would ever find it. And then I had the first vision. I cannot remember much of it, only that I awoke with the deepest satisfaction that someday I would have the passionate love that I dreamed of. I knew that sometime in my existence, I would experience the body and soul engulfing love that I longed for. I knew that I could not settle for shoddy imitations.

The intervening years have been amusing, but ofttimes lonely. And more lonely most recently. However, this morning I had a vision that I’d found it, that miraculous love, and the man who I will share it with. I won’t bother with physical descriptions of my dream lover … they are only hazy at best. However, I can still feel that immense relief at knowing another soul, being known, and sharing deeply joyful love. A love that demands that I sacrifice the unworthy parts of my being. A love that propels me to magnify the best parts of myself. A complete love, encompassing storge, agape, philia and eros. A thrilling love, open to the possibility of exploring new worlds.

Somewhere, I remember reading, “The heart is a lute/ Touch it/ And the strings resound.” My whole being is thrumming with the resounding chord, searching for that matching chord. Maybe it’s a delusion. The overwrought desires of an emotional woman. In some dim corner of my mind, I’m prepared for it to be so. However, at this moment, I have a renewed sense of the possibility of the miracle of love.

Memorable Christmases Past

I wish these seemed more interesting, but they are just memories that I've been ruminating on the past few days. Don’t even ask about what year these events actually happened, just rest assured that it was at some point in the past

The year of the Christmas Stand: A pseudo-grinchy year. None of us wanted to buy, set up, or clean up a tree … real or fake. So on Christmas Eve, I plopped a fake pointsettia plant on top of an old music stand. We piled the Christmas presents around the bottom (we’re generally never so grinchy that presents fail to appear), and sang odes to the Christmas stand.

The year of the Best Christmas Present Ever: I’d gotten to the point where I knew that I was the best Christmas-present-giver in the family because I had the most disposable income to use on presents, and my brother Spork really hadn’t gotten into present giving yet. I hadn’t even really thought about what I wanted that year. But my sister JLITH had, and got everyone in the family to pitch in. Imagine my surprise when I opened a small jeweler’s box to find a pair of diamond stud earrings set in white gold. So beautiful and perfect. I was absolutely blown away. I wore them constantly for about four years. Then, one sad day, when I was out on the town, I saw that one was missing. I backtracked, but the earring was not to be found. I still keep the one in my jewelry box … a memento of the BCPE. Diamonds are lovely, but even better was my sister’s thoughtfulness.

The year of the Christmas Argument: My maternal grandmother died in 2005. However, before she became too ill, she wrote a short autobiography. Not long … maybe 20 handwritten pages. But all in Japanese. Which I can’t read. So when my aunt brought the pages, along with a bunch of old family photos, I got them all scanned and copied. And I asked a good friend if I could pay him to translate them into English so that our family could read it together. On Christmas day, I told my mother that this was going to be one of my presents to the family. And she got very upset. And said some unexpected (and therefore hurtful) things. The gist of it is that she wants to translate it, and would not like anyone outside of the family to work on it. Which I just don’t understand. However, I told my friend the story, and work on the translation was never actually done. A year later, there is still no English translation, and still no idea of what is in those pages. Hopefully someday my mother will get around to translating them, or get tired of the obligation, and let me have them translated.

The year of the Christmas Pictures I Took of Spork: My youngest brother is seven years my junior. Which means that when I was about 13, he was about 6. A carefree and happy-go-lucky 6, who always fell for my bear-hug ruse … which always ended up in a tickle-fest. Anyway, one Christmas I dressed him up in his festive pj’s and took a bunch of posed pictures of him … snuggled up with a teddy bear, shaking presents, reading Christmas cards, fast asleep and waiting for Santa. I’d almost forgotten about them, until I looked through a photo book with my nephew a couple of days ago. They’ll make pretty good blackmail shots someday.

The year of the Rocking Christmas Program: I think this was the last year that Music Man was in the singles' ward. He always put together fantastic musical programs for the choir. This year was no exception. Actually, the only song I can remember singing is, "Go Tell It On The Mountain." But for an LDS choir, it's a bit daring for sacrament meeting. Choir was never quite the same without Music Man, and I soon changed over to the family ward, which was a big change in general, and a big change in choirs specifically. This year I looked around i-Tunes for a version of the song, but couldn't find any that had the same energy and hope that Music Man's version had. So, I just sing it in my head, and remember that snappy-happy sound.

My mind/time warping Christmas

Or ... On Becoming the Greatest-Aunt-In-The-World-Except-For-The-One-Who-Actually-Provides-Housing.


And some more pictures ... these ones were the easy ones.

Dancing notes

Red slippers will do very well for dancing. Test drove them by slapping moleskin on the bottom, and they danced beautifully. Now I feel good about investing in chrome suede for the soles. Note: Moleskin joins the Wonderful Everyday Inventions List … along with ziplock baggies, drier sheets, post-its, advil and benadryl.

Nostalgic night of dancing. Saw and danced with Watakun, my first lindy boyfriend, for the first time in a long time. Healed a breach caused by an old argument with Lancer, with a wonderfully danced song. Also ran into 8-ON, Little Julie and Ben. DJ’s Tony and JD played lots of 40’s era swing music, with a fair amount of Charleston thrown in. And, Norma Miller, the grand dame of lindy, made an appearance. What a night!

A Beverly Hills Christmas

Heaven

Coming home after a long, stressful day. Getting in the shower and letting the hot water pound on the back of my neck. But it was still too much effort. Turning the water to Really Rather Hot (just past Rather Hot, but just short of Scalding), angling it to the back of the tub, and sprawling myself under the spray. Ahhhhh .......

The heartache and glory of the nativity

Went to the musical fireside tonight, because I really needed to hear some good Christmas music. YSA ward sharing their talents with the stake. Enjoyed the choral groups.

And then the premiere. Rob M and Diego H's magnus opus (at least, so far). A collection of songs written about the players in the nativity. Zachariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, Gabriel and shepherds. So wonderful. The talents of the lyricist, composer (and accompanist!) and singers helped me to discover anew the heartache and glory of the Christmas story. Such an accomplishment for all involved. Soon Rob leaves to join a Broadway show in Vegas (the boy also sings beautifully ... so much talent wrapped up in one person). Makes one wonder what lies in store for him. I, for one, already have visions of a Nativity musical hitting NYC in about a decade.

Parade of the White Elephant Gifts

Gadget Boy’s WEGE Christmas party. Haven’t been to a WEGE party in a while. Mostly because I associate them with gross gifts like reindeer poo cocktail swizzle sticks, etc. However, after witnessing Superman and Improv-er’s amicable sharing of Shakespeare’s bust (a Christmas-past, hotly contested WEG), I decided it was time to try again.

I arrived a little late. Not as late as I could have arrived, since Perky and I were going to carpool, but she was running very late, and I came ahead of her. But still. Arriving a little (but not too) late made me realize why people arrive late to parties … too little buzz to accommodate inane conversation, and too little in the way of people to size up. I ended up talking to Feminist A for a while, comparing notes on the scenes in the Santa Monica and LA stakes. And just when I thought I’d just have to pack it in a leave, because I am NOT a good-stand-around-small-talker, there were suddenly enough people to start the gift exchange.

Santa showed up, looking suspiciously like Improv-er and with the concomitant cookie request, so we all trouped up in turn to tell what it was we wanted for Christmas, and choose or take a gift.

Me? Well, I want to win every game of Catan I play in 2007. But if I can’t have that, I guess I’d be willing to settle for a kayak. Not that I have a car in which to move it from apartment to beach, or a wetsuit to use with it in the winter months. But I think a kayak would be ever so much fun.

As for my many WEG’s? First I stole a set of the most recent Spiderman dvd’s. When that was stolen from me, I stole someone else’s motorcycle model. I considered this a favor to the girl who had it at the time, since she ended up choosing a mechanical caged bird instead.

At one point, I had in my possession a lost dream that has haunted me since the 4th grade … a powder blue Member’s Only jacket. Honestly, I opened the gift with no idea what was inside … no stealing. Anyway, since my parents were the cruel kind who always had money for piano lessons and camping trips, but none for the MO jackets, madras short and polo shirts that ruled at my elementary school, I’d always felt deprived. It was a dream come true to see the signature collar unfold from the packaging. I draped my prize over my shoulders and felt like a school yard princess … until someone stole it from me, and it was then stolen again, making the third owner immune from further theft. I then perchanced to obtain a genuine glaring green 7-11 polo shirt (along with a Napolean Dynamite t-shirt and a Bob Dylan shirt), but that too was taken from me. In the end, I took home a bag of seven cd’s, with such diverse selections as the Dandy Warhols, the Beach Boys, MoTab and Space Ghost. Other hot items of the evening included a bag of goldfish, toy car race track, white Stetson with salsa and picante sauce, a duck light (glass duck which lit up!), a Deep Space Nine framed and pin-point lighted poster, and an Apocalypto cd with a free admission to Disneyland.

To add to all the excitement, there was also kissing. Santa had in his pocket cards anonymously designated for each boy and girl. Pairs were called out and invited to kiss for the camera. Now, let’s be honest, the kissing wasn’t all that exciting (except for SB, BP and DT, which was more like doggie kissing than human kissing). All the guys tried hard to be pumped up and aggressive (whether they wanted to or not), and all the girls tried hard to be demure and dainty (whether they wanted to or not). But it was diverting, and one of those things that only Gadget Boy could pull off.

I left the festivities around 2300. Really, there is only so much Big Party I can take in one night. Was saying goodbye to FGITW, when I noticed a tall guy wearing the ever so uniquely ubiquitous mistletoed head apparatus. I asked if it had worked well for him. He said, “Well, let’s see.” At which point he moved in. And I inadvertently ducked. Maybe I’m just used to giving cheek kisses like in Italy, Argentina or Peru. Maybe I’m not used to tall guys like him moving in for a smooch (the sky seemed to go dark). Or maybe it was my aversion to casual kissing (although this decreases proportionate to how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed). I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, I inadvertently ducked. And he noticed and laughingly commented. At which point I laughed at myself, offered my cheek, got my kiss, and left.

I'm grateful for ...

Hmmm … I’m finally getting over the scrooge-y phase that’s recently been darkening my doorstep. This morning, as I was driving to work, I was even able to think of things I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for self-scheduling at work. Even if I sometimes forget about important things like one of the best dancing nights of the year, and schedule myself on a stretch of three days, with the dancing night being the one in the middle.

I’m grateful for guys who wear long sleeves when they go out dancing. As opposed to guys who wear short sleeves and sweat all over my dress. Then again, StretchJ asked me to dance again last night, and I made him laugh with my gratefulness.

I’m grateful for the internet. I was able to find the right size and color (patent leather red!) slippers (that will be perfect for dancing once I cover the bottoms in chrome suede) when the local store was sold out. I’m also grateful for postal delivery, even if the shoes are arriving too late to wear to the Lindy Groove holiday party.

I’m grateful for hitting the snooze button this morning. As a result of getting too little sleep last night (the dancing was really fantastic), I left for work a little late, and was able to see a spectacular sunrise.

I’m grateful for smog. Because the crimson sunset was probably due to the smog and low lying clouds that are verboten in December in Los Angeles.

And, I’m grateful for occasional bouts of scrooge-y-ness, which make the rest of life seem pearly and pretty.

And, mostly, I’m grateful for dancing. The last few weeks have been irritating and unfulfilling. When I took a step back to evaluate, I realized the missing piece was dancing. It helps me feel creative, productive and connected. It’s a good way to stay in shape. It’s a great way to meet and make friends. And I’ve been neglecting it to make room for things that just don’t satisfy as much. So, this year next year I’m going to make more room for dancing.

Have me committed

It drives me crazy. People not keeping their end of a commitment. Especially when we've made plans, they back out, and I'm left holding the bag. I may not have even wanted what was in the proverbial bag in the first place, but was willing to support it based on time spent together with flaky people.

Now, I understand emergencies. Relatives dying. Car exploding on the 405. Getting asked out on a date by Mr. Wonderful. And there are definitely times when I want to back out of plans because I'm not longer enthused about something, or something better comes up, or I just feel like spending some quality alone-time. But, I generally will just about kill myself to follow through on plans when someone is depending on me. What really drives me nuts is when someone says they're committed to doing something, and plans are made based on that commitment, then the committed person becomes suddenly uncommitted, but the plans can't be taken back because other people are now involved.

Or maybe I'm too rigid. I concede that it's a possibility. Maybe I need to take a more lax view. Not rely on people to remember or even keep their word. But somehow that seems like a very cynical and depressing way to live. I guess it ties in to my occasional distrust of people, or at least a belief in their fallibility. So, the best way I've come up to deal with it is to live and learn. Trust those people who are reliable, and be wary of those who prove themselves not to be. It’s one way to keep my sanity … or what’s left of it.