Dear Cheryl,

***Warning: This post is a sappy one and may be of no interest unless you are Cheryl. But feel free to read it anyway :)


"A friend might well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature." - R.W. Emerson

I could have stayed on the phone with you all night.

I can't believe we had been talking for three hours when I had to make my quick exit and go back to being a mommy. (Although it was 1 a.m. and I probably should have been in bed when my little one went looking for me there)

But can I just tell you that it was wonderful, pure bliss, just to talk to you without being interrupted; to talk to you about whatever came into my head; to talk about things other than my children; to listen to your voice and remember.

"We talk of choosing our friends, but friends are self-elected" - Emerson

Ours has been a friendship filled with happiness and (our fair share of) tribulations. While we were "inseparable" in high school, the post-high school drama was too much. And although I sometimes wonder about what might have been, I wouldn't necessarily change it because the friendship we have found as grown women is special to me as well, even if it is very different from the friendship we once had as girls.

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." - R.W. Emerson

What hasn't changed is that I am so comfortable talking to you. I still feel safe in sharing my personal thoughts and ideas with you. I enjoy our reminiscing. I giggle at our complaints about our husbands and their lack of concern for fashion. (As if we're so "in the know.") I love listening to you talk about your daughter and hearing a love in your voice that I know is reserved for only her. And I appreciate your support, encouragement and kind words when you refer to me as a mother and the job I am doing as a parent.

My only regret is that we live too far apart these days :)
I know we wouldn't be able to enjoy late afternoon naps with three rambunctious children running around; no more spur of the moment driving trips to wherever (although they might help induce said naps for those three children I just mentioned); no more sleepovers or late night parties. But it would be nice to have a play date or two.

"Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance." - Henry David Thoreau

That is why I can't wait to see you in a few weeks. I can't wait to see your smiling face and to hug you and feel you hug me back. I can't wait to meet your precious daughter (and plan the arranged marriage between the bean and my little O).

So until then, my friend, take care of yourself and your family. I look forward to our next marathon phone call.

Love,
Nilda

P.S. Although I loathe Wal-Mart, just remember that I only picket when it's not cold or raining. I mean, seriously, why should social change have to be difficult?

This Time It's Saturday with Shel

My son can't get enough of "Where the Sidewalk Ends," by Shel Silverstein. We read from it daily and one poem is never enough. I happened upon this one tonight and I feel compelled to share it. It is so complex in its simplicity; it has so many facets to it in so few words; It could mean one thing to you and another to me - and we'd both be right. That's what's so great about poetry and literature. The interpretation is up to you.

And while I watch news footage of "Black Friday" where people run (over one another) to buy televisions and video game systems, grabbing and pushing their fellow human beings as if being chased by a horrible monster (maybe they are? That one called consumerism?) that will tear them from limb from limb if they don't get out of it's path - It just makes me sad.

It makes me long for the days of childhood when I didn't know what was going on; when I knew Santa's elves were making a few toys for me so that Santa could place them under my Christmas tree; when I thought that everyone looked forward to Christmas because it meant time off from school and candy canes and sugar cookies with green and red sprinkles and ribbons and bows and brightly decorated paper - and not stress and lines longer than those found at Disney World and anger upon seeing someone else grab the last "must have" commodity of the season.

This poem makes me think of that, and so many other things that are wrong with the world right now. And yet, the last stanza gives me hope, too. The hope that is the central theme of this time of year; the hope that does not scream in your ear or beat you over the head until you get it. It's a quiet whisper in your heart that blesses you with the belief in possibility - that maybe 2007 will be different; that maybe you, and the people around you, can make a positive contribution that will change the lives of others; that maybe you can stop talking and start making a fundamental change in your own life - that maybe the world's priorities will begin to shift and people will matter more than money or power.

Then again, you may read something completely different :)

WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS

There is a place where the sidewalks ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

A Sunday with Shel

I recently purchased Shel Silverstein's "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and tonight my four-year-old and we enjoyed a couple dozen or so poems - and more than twice that many laughs. I bought the book knowing that I loved it as a kid, but I had forgotten so many of the reasons why and it was pure joy remembering.

There was good old Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout who would not take the garbage out; The Yipiyuk who latched onto my toe and would not let go; The super sensational, utterly fabulous talented Dancing Pants; A recipe for a hippopotamus sandwich; And who can forget little Peggy Ann McKay who was so sick she couldn't go to school that day - until she was told it was Saturday :)

Since I enjoyed my trip down memory lane so very much tonight I thought I would share three of my (short) favorites which I didn't necessarily remember from my youth, but instead touched my heart as an adult. Thank you, Mr. Silverstein.


LISTEN TO THE MUSTN'TS
Listen to the MUSTN'TS child
Listen to the DONT'S
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me-
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.


I WON'T HATCH!
Oh, I am a chickie who lives in an egg,
But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.
The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg,
But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.
For I hear all the talk of pollution and war
As the people all shout and the airplanes roar,
So I'm staying in here where it's safe and it's warm,
And I WILL NOT HATCH!


ALICE
She drank from a bottle called DRINK ME
And up she grew so tall,
She ate from a plate called TASTE ME
And down she shrank so small.
And so she changed, while other folks
Never tried nothin' at all.


Have a great week . . .