The Twelve Days of Air Force Christmas

I really felt like I owed myself, and you my loyal readers, a goofier, happier Christmas post. Having read Elmo’s version of The Twelve Days of Christmas 87 billion times until I have it memorized, I decided that perhaps this song could lend itself to yet other genres. This seems especially appropriate considering that Josh has been gone a total of 8 months this year, and my nerves actually are quite shot.

So, with very little ado, here is my version of The Twelve Days of Christmas. I’m going to save some space by just typing up the last verse. You can fill in the blanks.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... 

12 nerves a-frayin’ 

11 flight suits drying 

10 year commitment 

9 PCS-es 

  

8 German coo-coos 

7 minute phone calls 

6 rugs from Turkey 

5 tax free months 

4 month deployments 

3 cute kids 

2 week long trips 

And a spouse flying C-17s! 

We’re very thankful to be together as a family this year. I know that not everyone has that luxury and to you I wish a very merry whenever-you-manage-Christmas-together. We’ve all been there, and it teaches us that dates are much less important than the spirit of the day.

Merry Christmas!

Piano

I had my first piano lesson on Tuesday. I have to say, I’m pretty stoked.

For those of you out of the loop, I played the viola for about 13 years—from the time I was 10 until I graduated with my masters. (The viola is a bigger, mellower version of the violin. Played under the chin.) I loved the viola, but it did not love me quite as much. I had really bad back and shoulder pain from playing. I was only ever pretty good. I managed to play in the back of Ithaca’s symphony as a music minor, but I certainly couldn’t feed myself by playing viola.

Even though I don’t really play anymore, music pervades my life. This has been even truer since H’s birth. She loves music. Loves to listen to it, dance to it, and sing it. I sing to her every day. She also loves the piano. H was probably more excited than I was when I opened my keyboard on my birthday. H begs to play piano every day. She sits on my lap, and I manage to get a fair amount of practice in while she “plays” along.

I’ve been feeling a real itch to have a regular adult activity and to get back in touch with my music. With the fall coming up I told Josh that I either wanted to join the Dover community orchestra or take up the piano. As much of a physical pain as the viola was, there is no feeling like sitting in the middle of an orchestra and hearing the music swirling around you. Where else can you find 60 plus people working in perfect unity to create one piece of art? The music itself is masterful, of course. But that feeling of gestalt is incredible.

From a practical standpoint, I haven’t really practiced in years. So, I’m super rusty. I would also need a regular baby sitter for the three-hour rehearsals. With H starting school, I can work in a piano lesson while she’s gone. I’m also attracted to the newness, I admit.

It is just as fabulous to be making music as I hoped it would be. My teacher is a very nice fellow spouse who respects my prior music knowledge. Being able to read treble clef definitely helps a great deal. I’m working on the bass clef. Sometimes I can fake it and play by intervals, but my brain keeps trying to switch into alto clef, which is what I used for viola. (For you non-music people, it’s like knowing Spanish and Italian already but now needing to understand French as well. You will pick up a bunch just because it’s similar, but you still have to actually learn it.)

Either way, sitting at the piano and actually having some vague idea of what I’m doing is empowering and fun. I left my lesson feeling happier and bouncier and more excited about new beginnings than I have for a while. That can only be good. I just finished practicing and my hands are rather tired from stretching and pounding. I can feel the tendons and sinews stretch and even protest slightly as I try to hit the chords and feel where my fingers need to be. I feel the smoothness and weight of the keys under my fingers. The viola only has four strings; the piano has 88 keys. It’s a lot to take in. While the ache in my hands might signal that it’s time to pause in my practicing, my brain is whirring with the new information and the possibilities. I’m looking forward to the real music—both the great composers and the Christmas carol sing-along I’m envisioning.

I’m also eyeing the piano from my spot at here at the keyboard, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself back there for a few minutes before bed.

It Bugs Me Every Time

Today on the way home from running errands I heard “Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls on the radio. This is probably the 6,349^th time I’ve heard it. I went through a period in college where I was a pretty big fan. Every single time I hear this song, however, there is one lyric that drives me mad! (For anyone who needs a refresher, enjoy the music video.)

At one point the adorable Johnny Rzeznik sings:

Scars are souvenirs you never lose

The past is never far

Did you lose yourself somewhere out there?

Did you get to be a star?

And don’t it make you sad to know that life

Is more than who we are

See? Adorable.

I’ve been told that the song is about a college boy trying to get a college girl to spend the night with him. He promises not to tell anyone if she does. For my purposes, however, it doesn’t really matter.

Every time I listen to this song and he sings, “And don’t it make you sad to know that life/ Is more than who we are,” I answer, “No!” Thank God that life is so much more than just ourselves. What sort of petty world would it be when our own wants and needs were enough to make a life? The whole thought seems so self-centered.

There is a whole lot more to life than who we are. There’s love, joy, and family, not to mention war, strife, and poverty. Beyond material things, there’s God (or whatever higher power you hold dear). There’s hope, grace, and kindness.

I say take heart in the fact that our lives are just tiny pixels in the big picture of life. Think of it as one of those photo collages where lots of tiny photos make up one bigger image. We are each a tiny photo. None of us can see the bigger image, but we know it’s there. And that is why I am not sad to know that life is more than who I am.

Happy Hippopotamus Christmas to One and All

I really felt like I needed to touch on this major holiday that is nearly upon us. I have, after all, spent the past few weeks frantically scrubbing, cleaning, dusting, baking, and going to the poor house buying food for said holiday. 

The one Christmas carol that really makes me smile every time I hear it is “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.” I even have a little ornament with Santa toting his sack with a hippo in it (and it plays music!). I’ve been giving some serious thought to why I love this song. 

If you listen closely, you can hear that this is no ordinary child asking for a hippo. This child is not making a capricious decision; she has thought it through. It’s the sort of planning and obsession, mixed with optimism that reminds me of me. I’m not entirely sure if I’ve just complimented or insulted myself.

She considers transportation, “I don’t think Santa Claus will mind, do you?/ He won’t have to use our dirty chimney flue/ Just bring him through the front door,/ That’s the easiest thing to do.” What Santa wouldn’t like for kids to think of his ease when asking for presents? For that matter, it shows that she understands what she’s asking for.

This little girl has been doing her research. Even though her mom tells her that the hippo would eat her up (It’s a clever mom ploy to discourage kids. Remember, “You’ll shoot your eye out”?), she knows that the hippo is a vegetarian. She plans for its care: “There’s lots of room for him in our two-car garage/ I’d feed him there and wash him there and give him his massage.” I especially like the part about the massage. I’d really like it if someone would plan on giving me massages on a regular basis. And what kid thinks of these things?

As I was writing this, I found out that Gayla Peevey recorded this song when she was nine years old. Now the voice and the joy captured in the song make so much more sense—especially when she sings about creeping down the stairs on Christmas morning. It sounds exactly like you feel when you’re nine and you imagine Christmas morning. It’s how I hope H sounds in a few years when she talks about Christmas.

That excitement is really what gets me about the song. It takes me back, man. Even now, I have trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve because I’m so excited.

So, may all of your mornings, wherever you are, be filled with anticipation. “Oh what joy and what surprise/ when I open up my eyes/ to see a hippo hero standing there.” Here’s to hippo heroes everywhere.

Merry Christmas!