Puttin On the RRRRITZ

Do good and good comes back to you. Most days I live that. Now, mind you, I don't do good things ONLY because I want good returned to me. I simply have seen the truth of the statement over and over again.

Last night is an example. I volunteered with the Bayou City Arts Festival a couple of months ago. Previously, I was a "day-of volunteer" but this year I upped the ante and dedicated a few vacation days to learning what the Artist Support Committee was all about. I had an incredible experience and met some very nice folks.

One of those hard-working individuals was a staffer. Kelly is in charge of many things -- including my committee. Last week she asked if I wanted to be her guest at a performance of Young Frankenstein. They had gotten some tickets and were sharing the bounty.

Of course, I said yes. Not so much because I'm all about the musical but it sounded like a fun night and it included an after party with the cast.

The musical is pure Mel Brooks. That being said, if you like him, you'll like the musical. If burlesque isn't your thing, don't go. The fun part for me was remembering all the great performances from the movie. 'Cause, really, everything is just a caricature when the original nailed it the first time.

I spent the whole night feeling like I was in the middle of a series of jokes where the teller keeps saying, "Wait for it... wait for it" and then the payoff came time and time again. Frankestein's dance with the top hat and the shouted line, the big knockers, the moving hump on the back, and of course ... Oh sweet mystery of life.

Perhaps it's not such a mystery but I'm glad I found that positive things we do with good intentions can surprise us with their results. I didn't expect a night on the town when I offered a weekend of my time. I didn't know that good friends and interesting new stories would introduce themselves. I just did what needed doing.

That's the good life.

Still learning ....

Once the line in the sand was "Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated?" I was in my 20s then and the women with whom I worked would speak of the 60s and early 70s as formative years for their youth/young adulthood. I knew I was but a child and had much to learn because the answer to the question for me was "in a crib."

Now I've become the woman on the other side of the new timeline (though the question varies and is not nearly as dramatic, there's still some point in history that reminds me, "OMG, they don't remember _________" .... and maybe it's when we didn't speak in OMGscript). I spent today with some incredible young adults and I smiled when I realized they were listening to me and working alongside me just as I had my mentors almost 25 years ago. In fact, most of the people in the office today weren't born when I first got into the professional realm.

I thought that when my turn to be the "sage" came due, I'd be bothered by my age. I'm not. I celebrate it. I've managed to do a lot of living and pack in an incredible variety of experiences in a little over two decades. I might wish my curves weren't multiplying and my skin wasn't sagging but other than that ... I'm all good.

So I'm wondering what lessons I've learned that I'd like to pass on to my newest recruits in the "I have to work with Karen so I might as well make the best of it" team. I'm thinking . . .

- When you suspect that life sucks, realize you've got your hand on the air valve. Change is always possible; maybe not practical but definitely possible.
- Go somewhere where they don't eat like you do and chow down. Then, if you must know, ask what you just ate. You'll be a better person for culinary adventures outside your culture. And if getting to that table involved a plane ticket, you get extra points.
- Don't commit to a career; find a path. I am so glad that one day I realized I was more than my resume.
- Grace isn't just a word in an amazing song. Grace offered on a regular basis will forge friendships that feed your own soul. Hard thing is releasing the right to judge quickly and hold grudges. Reward is that grace can be both given and received.
- Keep laughing.

Don't know if I should start making t-shirts or cross-stitching on pillows or if maybe that's not a bad start to some lessons I need to capture in some form. But since countdown-to-the-next-version-of-me has now begun I thought I would at least remind myself of why I like me.

Sweet Notion

Last night I attended an event focusing on "up-cycling" rather than recycling with proceeds going to social change. The group -- Sweet Notions -- is on to something. They do what they do with high quality, even though some of the donations don't always look that way when first received. They also have a conscience and a plan to ethically make an impact on lives and the environment. (Here's their link ... http://www.sweetnotions.org/)

I'm having a sweet notion moment in my own life. I will soon be upcycling my skill set and embarking on a new career path. I want to pursue development at a non-profit. Trouble is ... just as some of the potential guests I tried to explain the evening to only heard "donated jewelry", thought "chains-a-la-Madonna, circa 1985" and couldn't fathom the beautiful art old broaches and belts can become in the right artist's hands ... so goes it with trying to translate the two decades of experience I've had in the church world to execs and HR folks in my new targeted work realm.

My new notion is to start offering my services on a trial run. "Satisfaction guaranteed in 60 days" with no commitment required. Seems to me I could show my stuff in 60 days.

The irony in much of my hunting to date ... and I've been out there, believe me, is that most of the groups I'm applying with make specific mention of faith communities as being part of their target audience. Wouldn't a former communications consultant TO churches make sense then?

So if anyone is out there still reading this from time to time, and if you are so inclined to pray/think positive thoughts/pitch my plea out to the Universe, then I think that is a very sweet notion and thank you in advance.

And by the way ... once I'm no longer tied to the very public realm as I am now (i.e. when I no longer work for the state's best representative but in a job that is not quite right for me) I will return to a more frequent updating of this blog.

New Vision to Pull Me Forward

I want to open up a place in a community frequented by travelers and call it "The State of Grace." All who enter will know that they are welcome and will be heard and well fed.

I'm now contemplating the decor. License plates come to mind. Wonder what our State plates could look like? Hmmmm . . .

More to come.

Dream Dies but Hope Remains

The dream home will not be mine.

I visualized it. Meditated on it. Imagined it for the greater good. But alas, if the New Mexico prize HGTV is giving away were mine, I would have had a call by now. The reveal of the new owner is this week and since no camera crew is at my door to tape my astonished expression upon hearing the news, the news, for me, is not good.

Still, the hope generated by living within the dream remains. I hope for something better. This morning I probably went so far as fantasizing when I read of an artist who, because of a spouse's income, was able to give up a paying position to stay at home with her child and in so doing discovered the artist within herself and now has a different, self-prioritizing career. I must confess that there are times when the fact that there is no socially acceptable or financially viable reason/way for me to quit my job, stay home, and create is just a bit tedious for me. But then I recall the number of parents I know who are ready to trade in their teens for a new model and the number of husbands/wives who feel trapped and I know that my life is my life and I'll find my way.

If folklore is based in some reality, the "in between" places are filled with trolls and darkness that can easily overwhelm. Doorways, window sills, and the midnight hour are those locations and times in between where the unseen can cause havoc. But there is invisible good at play as well says the story books -- fairies and light ready to provide a glimmer of hope. I choose to focus on the fairy dust possibilities as I live in my "in between" state at the moment. Some days I battle with the trollish babble of "you're stuck," "you've lost your edge," "you can't always enjoy what you do to make a living, but you have to do something." But for the most part, I keep pushing toward the light and the call of "you have much to offer," "you can make a difference," "listen to your drum and keep marching."

So here I sit in a home I love because of what's inside it, ready to share with any friend in need, and take a moment to remember that every day of life, love, and laughter is a day when I can easily declare myself a winner.

Confessions of a Confused Mourner

My friend called me late one night this week to tell me that the young woman in the news who was killed in an early morning collision was the waitress that took care of him and his buddies on their semi-regular breakfast gatherings at a local diner. She was in her 30s, he thought, and had just dropped off her two kids and was heading to work when the wreck occurred.

Tonight, while reading Facebook status updates, I learned that another mother of two small boys had passed away. She was an incredibly creative woman, volunteering untold hours to create photographic inspirational journals of mission trips, pouring her wisdom into her children, and supporting her equally gifted husband -- all from a wheelchair, or bed, or feeble stance because arthritis robbed her of ease of mobility.

I am not a mother. Never have been, never will be. But today I felt the incredible joy of having a three-year-old hold me tightly as we spun around until we were both so dizzy the world kept spinning even when we stopped. She loved every rotation and, even as she weaved and held my pants leg to steady herself, held up her hands to me, and demanded, "Do it again, KK. Do it again." Because I love her and the giggles our merry-go-rounding produced, I complied, and complied, and complied.

Later, I was overwhelmed with emotion as this precious bundle laid her head on my shoulder when she was momentarily overtaken by a coughing spurt and I comforted and quieted her. She held on that time with no doubt that I would be there for her and, secure in that knowledge ,she raised her head up, took my face in her small hands, and kissed me.

My brief experience today made the news of the loss of these two women even more confusing.

Children surrounded by love are fearless in their expectations. Children expect mothers to drop them off and be back to pick them up, to be behind the camera and in the photos, to comfort their ills and cause their laughter.

These are not unrealistic expectations.

Things that Made Me Smile Today

-- From someone's Facebook status: Women are angels. And when someone breaks our wings...we simply... continue to fly... on a broomstick. We are flexible.

--Saw a sign at the neighborhood supermarket indicating "pork shoulder butts" were on sale and wondered why I had never before wondered about that particular anatomical perversion.

--My friend texting me after she heard my sqeaky voice (due to cold) and the two of us deciding my Muppet name should be Snotty Spice

--Everyone's reaction to calls from the District Director for the State Representative (that would be me) calling on official business today and sounding like a Muppet or Munchkin or

I'm a Sap ... but I've also been sick so forgive me

I cried.

Booth and Bones were expecting nothing less than a horrible Christmas. Booth's son was heading to the mountains with his ex. Bones' dad is in prison. Even though she arranges for the "conjugal" trailer to be used by her brother, his wife, their kids, and her dad, she was going to Peru for an anthropological study. But even the trailer is a bust because they can have it but no decorations.

There's also a body and a killer and blah, blah, blah.

But the last scene got me. Booth's son doesn't go to the mountains and they get Christmas day together with "two trees." We don't know what that means. Cut to Bones who doesn't go to Peru and is in the trailer with the fam. Bones calls and tells her he and his son want to give her present to her. She says, "Later." And he says, "Look out the window."

There Booth and his son stand beside a Christmas tree with multicolored lights plugged into the car battery.

I cried.

Some day some one is going to know me well enough to know that that simple act would have made it the best Christmas ever for someone like me.

Until then ... I cry. Sappy, I know.

Lost and Found

I'm not sure why Evangelicals get so upset with Dan Brown. (Then again, I'm not sure why most ardent believers get upset with anything that upsets them. If they truly believe God is in control, then maybe chilling out a bit would be an act of faith.) If anything, they and the Masons should thank the author of The Da Vinci Code and The Lost Symbol. He's made belief seem kinda cool.

The Masons should especially write him a thank you note. They couldn't have produced a better recruitment flyer than Brown's most recent work of fiction. Sure the bad guy infiltrates the ranks of the highest order but all the other secret-holding, fear-defying followers are successful, stoic, and seemingly brilliant. Since I only know of one Mason in my sphere of friends and he has held up his end of the bargain by remaining mum on the subject, I'm here to tell you that I was intrigued by what few insights I was offered. I'd think about joining ... oh wait, I can't. That whole "fraternal" deal and all. (Hmmm....guess that's a blog for another day.)

So back to the pros of the book. Early on in its pages, we're introduced to the idea that one can scientifically prove the power of prayer exists. Karen's translation is as follows: Like sands on a beach, each one having mass and therefore gravitational pull, so can thoughts have mass and if the collective is large enough can affect a gravitational pull or cause an action to occur. At one point (and seemingly for no point other than to make this point), they even measure the weight of a soul! So making old Dan out to be the big bad seems silly to me. He's saying, "Hey folks, there might be something here! And wait, I can prove it!" Of course, that just plays havoc with faith and believing in that which you cannot see IF you measure the importance of it all in how much faith you have rather than in what you put your faith in.

Ok, so it is a work of fiction ... something all the naysayers seemed to have a hard time coming to terms with when the Code was released. But frankly, in the Symbol, when we get the lowdown on the number 33 and the fact that we have 33 vertebrae linked to the sacrum (or sacred bone) well, my first thought was that will preach! Hello? Your body as a temple? How come I've never heard that in a sermon before?

I think the answer to that and to the underlying issue here rests partially on our great desire to want to believe in something bigger than what we can imagine and our utter fear that we won't ever get our heads around it. I love symbols and rituals and the suggestion that there is more here than meets the eye. And I gave up trying to be the smartest person in the class a long time ago. I'm deeply satisfied with not having answers. I'm even happier when I hear someone ask a question I would never have thought to ask. All this "unknowing" makes me know that there exists something far beyond me and rather than feel lost, instead, I'm most definitely found.

Congested TV

I've been sick for three days. This post is not a complaint however. All I have to do is read the paper and see a photo from Haiti and I silence my cough and say a word of gratitude that there's a pharmacy nearby and soup in my fridge.

So what am I doing on a Friday night posting about not complaining about being sick?

I'm watching bad television. Actually, the shows haven't been that bad. Medium intrigues me and Numbers is pretty cool with geeky eye candy. But what's caught my eye today/tonight are the commercials.

--Michael Jackson in 3D at the Grammys. Really? I get having yet another tribute to him since he was a musical presence for so long, but his music isn't enough? We need 3D?
--Texas is promoting voter registration and they have a young woman in a school hallway saying, "My kids asked me if I was going to vote. Duh!? I'm a teacher ..." She lost me at Duh. She really lost me when she added that she didn't know if she was registered.
--Other than Eric Clapton looking really, really old, why should I look twice at the new Fender phone?
--The new McDonalds series featuring sexy people talking sexy to a sandwich, skinny models eyeing the male clothes horse because he's eating a wrap? That's the draw? He's cute and broke, girls! Or else he'd be eating at the Olive Garden!
--The attack of the Wheat Thins ... a male version and a female version ... both of them bite.

Many commercials are movie shorts -- creative and enticing. Others are like the phlegm in my chest I can't get rid of.

Chop It Up, Spit It Out

Ostrich, black-eyed peas, small bananas.

Open up a basket and those are the ingredients waiting to become a main course. Excuse me?! And then three "chefs" get to judge what some non-celebrity (i.e. they've never been in front of a camera) cooks whip up in 20 minutes. If not all goes well, the cook is Chopped.

Please ... really?

I hurt every time host Tom utters the word as condemnation, "You have been chopped." Partially, I'm cringing at his over annunciation. And the other part of me, just cringes that a non-chef is suffering from such over inflation of ego.

And don't get me started on the judges. They are glib, rude, and arrogant.

Yet, most Tuesdays, the show is on and I'm half watching it, glad there's a mute button, and waiting for grace to come forth from someone's mouth. Since this is supposedly reality television, I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen.

Family Vacations

A dear friend is nearing the end of her Texas stay. She's going to graduate a daughter in May and then pack her kids and Texas memories and relocate north where snow comes more often than once a decade and a husband who has already picked up stakes awaits her.

This weekend we added to her photo album with a trip to Austin. Though she's been a resident for eight years and seen some great Texas sights, she had yet to experience the capital city. Another buddy had a birthday this week so we loaded up the car on Friday afternoon and the three of us made our way there to commemorate and celebrate . Home base was at the place of yet another member of this chosen family. He was host, tour guide and general champion of all things fun.

South Congress shops amused us with funky pins, posters, magnets and toys for grown ups. We experienced great food (including the best pork chop I've ever consumed at a place called The Woodland) at venues cheap and upscale. A tour of UT and a women's basketball game (that they somehow lost until the last minutes of overtime when Iowa State took the lead and kept it), music, walks around the lake, climbing the hills to take in the vistas and some of the most incredible sunsets -- these were all captured on film and in our hearts.

I took one very memorable photo of the three of them. The idea was that I was going to get this incredible wide shot with them in the foreground and the hills behind. Instead, I zoomed in. Each one smiled for their own reason. One because one more year was being recognized by those who loved him. Another because he knew he'd made another convert to the city that claimed his passion years ago. But hers was the widest, the most compelling. Her eyes were bright and the moment of perfect clarity was there for all to see. Her face conveyed what we all knew ... these moments are rare and few and while the future is bright, "now" is to be cherished.

I'm glad the viewfinder on these digital cameras work so well. My tears made it really hard to focus.

Riddle Me This, Batman

I stood in line today so that I could be told which line to go stand in. Arriving at the front of the line, I received a slip of paper ensuring me I had a place in line saved just for me as I sat to wait. When my number was called, I was pointed to the next and last line. Where I paid up, smiled, and it was over.

What government agency was I visiting?

MLK Day -- A Day Off and A Day for Remembering

"In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

I read again King's "I Have a Dream" and sought to be moved by the words in a fresh way rather than just focusing on the parts that have become a part of my oral history with its singsong cadence and rising vitality. I wanted to see, not just hear, what he had to say that day. Just as with any good writing, returning to the text regularly will offer you new insights based on where you are in your own journey. This MLK Day proved no exception.

How many times, I wondered, as the quote above stung me, have I been so driven by my own sense of righteousness that I gulped greedily from the cup of bitterness. Sarcasm and snide remarks, dismissal of another's thoughts merely because of the "side" they represented was not my own -- these have more frequently than I care to admit, been my weapons of choice. No matter the injustice that I want righted and how important or critical I think immediate attention should be paid, my cause is not helped when the fury of my emotion drowns out my point.

MLK knew that. To read his text is to be educated. To hear his words spoken that day is to be lifted up, but not to the place of an "eye for an eye". Instead, he shouts to us a lullaby, soothing our anxious spirits with the comfort of knowing that we are not alone, painting a picture that is impossible to see without standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before us but with a bit of effort, is visible.

The day is coming when I once again will feel passionate about a cause to the point of indignation, when my blood runs hot with the desire to shut "them up", shout "them" down, stop "their" stupidity. When that day comes, I pray I will I have the soul force to satisfy my thirst with the cup of overflowing grace so frequently offered to me.

Quote that Made Me Stop and Think

"Our politicians seem to be at least as sinful as their electorate, with professions of religiosity just adding a layer of hypocrisy." -- Rick Casey in Houston Chronicle

Choo Choo

For those of you who already think I have a permanent ticket on the crazy train, you're going to do little more than shake your head at this one. . .

I'm dreaming the dream of the HGTV Dream Home. Every day I enter to win.

The significance of this ritual is that I don't do it thinking I'm going to win a house. I do it and dream I will. Years ago when I worked with organizations encouraging them to develop vision statements, I did so with amusement because I really didn't have one for my life. The closest I could get to such a thing was, "I see myself in my 50s on a mountain in New Mexico, wearing colorful blouses and skirts that flow in the wind, walking out to greet the numerous guests who come to me for rest and restoration."

The new dream home is in New Mexico . . . on Campbell Ranch. (But I just learned that last part.)

Since the Rose Bowl Parade when I first saw the ad and went online to see what was happening, I've begun to tell myself a story:

I own the home. Situated between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, it makes for a great bed and breakfast. I live in the casasita that is attached to the main house via a walkway. Writers, pastors, priests and folks who just need to breathe visit regularly. I work with local artisans, chefs, and community leaders to provide a creative environment for retreats or events. Whatever is earned goes back into maintenance and then a foundation is established to handle the rest and begin to establish something that focuses on young women and either writing or cooking or leadership or all of the above. With the $500,000 that's part of the package, I have the funds to do the start up and possibly keep a place in Houston since home is where your people are and many of mine are here. At first I thought, I might convert the office to another bedroom for more income but now I'm thinking that the book I've wondered if I had in me could be birthed there.

The vision grows every day. Will I be disappointed if the call never comes? No. Because what this exercise has done for me is remind me that I can't stop dreaming, that the creative exile I've imposed on myself was my own doing, and that the gorgeous vistas of the world are open to all -- rich, poor, or dreamers with tickets on the crazy train.

Perspective . . .

This week I dropped my wallet at a restaurant. The wallet was retrieved as was my insurance cards. My license and credit cards were not. Still, as soon as I had the leather pouch back in my hand and I had steeled myself for what was ahead, a wave of absolute ok-ness washed over me. Hours have now been spent canceling, arranging for new, transferring direct monthly payments, etc. but people have been great to work with, I actually have a $50 check coming to me that I would have never redeemed from points collected on one card, and . . .

I don't live in Haiti.

The news of the devastation that just a few seconds of the earth's fury can cause leaves me in tears and speechless. Having stood in the midst of ruin when Tropical Storm Allison sent 5 feet of water through my offices, I can recall the utter sense of helplessness of being surrounded by what had once meant so much to me and now was literally a pile of crap (and I truly mean crap) at my feet. And having said that, I also know that my experience doesn't compare in the slightest. When I left the stuffy, stinking confines of that condemned building, I still had a bed to go home to. I had a means of knowing -- without a doubt -- that there was light at the end of my tunnel. The Haitians didn't have much light before the quake.

I don't usually compare my circumstances to others to make me feel superior but I do sometimes reflect on others so I can remember to be grateful. Maybe my job is sometimes frustrating, but the paycheck comes, I have insurance, and every day I get to work with interns and volunteers who inspire me with their dedication and passion. Maybe I'm overweight and facing more physical nuisances than I did ten years ago, but I can walk those pounds off and do so without the use of a cane and with the knowledge that nothing is eating away inside of me. Maybe I don't have a man in my life to say "I love you as you are" but I have friends and family who will answer my calls, eat my food, laugh at my stories, share their children and dogs, and challenge me to take that walk, see that film, write, laugh, play, LIVE!

Gratitude isn't a big enough word to capture how I feel when I get it all in perspective.

A Day in the Life ...

The air was crisp and unusually cold for Houston. The sun demanded squinting or shades. I was on a mission and the environ seemed right for action.

Saturdays are not always that full for me. I play on Friday nights and some Saturday evenings but the weekend daytime hours are my protected zone. Saturday is not quite as sacred as Sunday but nevertheless, I don't always find that I'm quite as driven as I was this weekend.

The morning rituals complete -- newspaper, a breakfast that requires some creativity in the kitchen, checking in with some of my Food Network favorites -- I headed to lunch with a friend. We caught up and I heard how holistic medicine was possibly changing her life for the better. Since it's been pretty rough for several years, I was equal parts celebrating and keeping my fingers crossed that this wouldn't be another disappointment. Next there was shopping for clothes, dropping off winterwear for the homeless, shopping for groceries and then ...

I called my walking buddy to see if she was up for a last minute walk. We'd have to bundle up -- still only about 40 degrees when we determined we'd do it -- but the beauty of the day simply called to us as well as any siren.

We took in my neighborhood. Runny noses, gloved hands, jackets zipped up to our necks, but it was invigorating.

I came home and soaked my chapped skin in the moisturizing bubbles of my tub and bit down hard on the washcloth so as not to scream at the needles digging into my skin. But afterwards, I was pleased with myself and my day.

I rewarded my productivity with a dinner party at yet another friend's house. I went over early to get creative with appetizers. We wound up with an olive tampenade and a mushroom/tomato/onion concoction for bruschetta. Then I cleaned the shrimp for the lemon fetuccine. When our other buddy arrived before the guests of honor we enjoyed a toast and I reveled in the bounty that flowed from the countertop and my life.

Thoroughly enjoyed the conversation -- though the children kept shushing us because our laughter was drowning out their movie -- and even felt somehow complimented when the married guest of honor decided he would investigate my love life (or lack thereof) and declared it impossible for me not to be taken. His words, "You're awesome!"

And on this day, and this night, I agreed.

Keeping Christmas in My Heart

Friday I hosted the staff and volunteers at my house -- cranberry/pomegranate punch, stuffed mushrooms, sweet peppers with mozarella, pulled pork with bbq sauce, chicken with veggies in wine sauce, roasted potatoes with rosemary, roasted cauliflower and carrots with a curry dusting, and peppermint ice cream with chocolate cookies. I woke up at 4 a.m. to put the slow cooking stuff on.

Friday night my buds and I ate leftovers and then piled in the VW with the top down to look at Christmas lights around the city.

Saturday was my day at Omega House. Spent most of it cleaning. Then Cyndi and I shopped for my nephews and she was a most excellent elf! The evening found me tired and not too eager to attend the birthday party I had said yes to but when Brittany said she would chauffeur Shane and me, I went for it anyway. Made it to two parties and met neat people and still was in bed by 11.

Sunday I woke up refreshed and glad that my offer to let someone take my place at the annual Goldwing Children's Christmas Party had been declined. I've done this event sponsored by a motorcycle club for three years now. My fellow rodeo clowns and I entertain foster kids and their parents as they munch on burgers and hot dogs, watch cloggers and listen to singers, and then lead the group outside to watch the Goldwings, Harleys, and more parade by in their Christmas best with Santa in tow. This year I held a 2 month old as her foster mom got a rare quiet meal. We danced with the cloggers and she held on tight. Her mom said she doesn't usually go to strangers. Don't know if that was just her way of saying thanks to me, but you would have had to convince me the world was in danger of no longer turning on its axis to get that precious bundle in pink out of my arms. After we led singing and cheers waiting for Santa, we went back inside and I followed up my dance with a 12 year old blind girl who was on some sort of portable oxygen tank with a dance with a 15 year old boy in a wheelchair. I swear I felt like Cinderella at the ball when we made our way around the dance floor.

After shedding the clown wardrobe and donning my own gay apparel, I helped a friend get his grandchildren's Christmas morning started. He's helping out his daughter's family and she has a baby boy and a preschooler. I'm now quite the informed one regarding Fisher Price and Play Doh.

This diary type entry is not a pat on my own back. Instead, it serves as a Christmas card to myself, a reminder of sorts. My life is so very, very good. I am so very, very fortunate. There's food in my fridge, friends to call on in need and in fun, and opportunities to give back everywhere I turn. Nothing beats the "good tired" I'm feeling at this moment.

I missed seeing Scrooge this year because I couldn't make my usher date. Somehow though I feel I lived it . . . by truly keeping Christmas in my heart. No matter your beliefs, this time of year should be about something beyond ourselves and looking within helps make that possible.

I thank my God for every remembrance of my grandmother, mother, sister, and brothers who made my Christmas heart what it is today.

Amen, Ms. Parker, Amen

Last night, news reporters announced that our newly elected mayor's plans for today -- her first post-campaign day -- were to go to church and then begin the task of selecting a transition team.

Not exactly big news but nonetheless significant, and for many reasons.

Church and state may not get to cavort with one another when it comes to governance but plenty of folks from the church world have plenty of influence. And lots of folks want Christians in office. What's interesting is when the Christians get what they want -- one of their own behind a mayoral desk for instance -- but she also happens to be a lesbian.

I received one of the mailers that featured a photo of her previous swearing in as City Comptroller with her partner by her side that pleaded with me to ensure that hers did not become the face to represent Houston. As a matter of Christian principle, I was asked to vote for someone other than her.

I could have easily gotten on my own soapbox but I learned a long time ago that we Americans are rarely ever "we Americans." We're individuals and rarely will you find one of us in total agreement with another. We are just not a collective society. So I wasn't surprised when I was told by a friend who has frequently consulted with our new mayor and who is much more conservative in her faith than me that she had the great opportunity in the last two weeks to experience the following.

Tired and a bit leery of being accosted when she was with some of her even more conservative friends who knew she was backing The Lesbian, my friend was attending to some church duties when a woman approached. The woman verified that indeed my friend was helping with the campaign and then said, "I just want you to know that I pray every day for this city and from the beginning of the mayoral race, I prayed for every candidate. After we needed a runoff I continued to pray for the two who were left. But this week (two weeks before the runoff), I realized I was no longer praying for him ... that I knew she was going to win and so I continued to focus all my prayers on her. . . "

My friend was thrown and not quite sure if the woman was going to drop a bombshell or not, when the woman continued and said, "I think she'll make a great mayor."

Believers come in all shapes and sizes. Some have small little boxes they try to fit God and Creation into. Some have larger ones. But, to me, the best ones don't just throw words around, they act on their beliefs.

I have no doubt that Mayor Parker will both make me proud and irritate the hell out of me. That's government. But I'm glad to know that she's pretty well aware of her need to make a strong start and she did so by looking up.