The Grinch and Christmas

3 more days before the grand Finale, Christmas, rolls in and then 2011 will grind to the halt. Soon after, even before, the ball drops, Christmas decorations would be back in the attic, trees packed away or on the curbs, and the stores start their ceremonial after-Christmas sale. This year, we managed to get into the spirit in time – the nearly 20-year-old, one-limb-short Christmas tree was standing next to Mr. and Mrs. Snowman a little after Thanksgiving. She was wearing a new set of after-Christmas sale bargain LED lights, looking oddly unusual or foreign. I couldn’t quite pin point why, but something was definitely amiss – and I am quite sure it wasn’t the 1 small box of ornaments that we decided not to bother.

Not just the tree, other things continued to contribute to the odd factors. My walk pal, iPod, went missing after 1.5 year of faithful service. I left it on my desk that day before heading home as I had done many times, but this time it was gone for good. My Christmas pin, a simple and cheap Christmas tree, was the next defector. It fell off my sweater 2 days ago on one of my shopping trips. I have to wonder, was my Christmas cursed, jinxed? Did it happen when my musical globe broke on the day when we put up the tree? I was then struggling painstakingly to drape that uncooperative garland on the mental when it fell off and its bottom smashed into pieces right in front of my eyes. It was an inexpensive, wind-up globe – all white and silver, with reindeer and a Christmas tree inside. When you turned it upside down, the glistening flakes would dance and flutter like a fairy land where dreams and hopes come true. I had loved that silly thing dearly and left it on the mental all year round. And now it was just a globe lying limb-less in the mass of destruction. The whole room went deadly quiet then and there except my hot tears and muffled sobs buried in the soulless Christmas carols from the radio.

I think my Christmas was taken away since then. Two Christmas parties and all that holiday goodie baking have not helped to pull me out of the gloom. All that is left is a world of craze with Wal-mart’s crowd, collapsed traffic and obligated burden of baking and cooking. Tuesday was one of those. It has been a long week. At 5pm, I was exhausted, but there was still more baking that I had sworn done with and the cooking for the next day’s lunch at work. The kitchen was a mess. I was scrambling to get everything done so I could take Luke to that pizza dinner I had promised him. I was feeling grumpy from not being able to exercise because there was simply no time. Then Luke’s piano teacher stopped by to give me a dinner box and dessert plate, but that short visit took away some precious time that I desperately needed. There was yet another stop I had planned to make after the pizza. Finally I realized I couldn’t accomplish all – not without sacrificing the pizza dinner. I called Luke and told him we’d go on Thursday. No complaints or sadness from him. He ate the salmon dinner from Helen gladly.

Kitchen nightmare done, we went back to Custom Car care to get the cell phone I had left it in the other car and headed straight to Miheila’s apartment. Luke played Silent Night for Maria – she was having trouble learning that piece. After that, those two (9 and 24) looked at Maria's summer vacation pictures from Romania while I had a drink wtih Miheila. From behind, they appeared to be of the same age. That was the only sane moment of the whole week – only because of Luke and his Silent Night.

Last night was the Christmas Service at church. I had fought all day with my downcast. We did make it – a short and simple 1-hour service with music and Christmas message. It was nicely done, and yet I struggled to keep my ears attuned to the words of the true Christmas essence so that my eyes would not stray to the empty spot where Luke usually stands with his violin. Several times I had to touch the body besides me to remind myself that he was not gone; he was right next to me. Off and on his baritone singing would sneak in my troubled thoughts and shame me to tears. We drove home quietly and right after we got out of the car, I saw the violin on the back seat. He had packed it, assuming he would be playing it in the service as he had done for the past 3 years. The pang hit me when he looked alarmed at my inquiring eyes, thinking he had done something wrong. I wondered in that untouchable world beyond those dark brown eyes if he was ever hurt for having been slighted. Even so, it ended as soon as he tuned to walk into the house with that violin case that had never been opened. Whatever injustice it might have been, it was forgiven and forgotten just like that. I wished mine could have too.

I know I don’t deserve Luke – I just need him. His innocence and simplicity is the only hope for me in this life so trifling and trying. And yet he is the shadow so easily overlooked – even by me who needs him most. How can I blame others for doing the same thing? I just wish time could go back when he was still young and I hopeful for a future still beautiful and possible. For this Christmas, the spell or curse of loss stubbornly drags on. I blame the Grinch -- the broken musical globe, the missing iPod, the lost Christmas pin and the empty spot on the podium. He may have spoiled it all, but never my Christmas gift: the 5’ 5” angel without wings.

Left Behind

3 weeks have passed since the young and beautiful defected to the greener pasture. Across the grey partition sits an empty desk. Gone is the once lively, gay pod, where people would drop by; gone are the daily phone calls or the IMs popping from her to commiserate about life in general. To be exact, she has tried to stop by a couple of times to say hi only to be received by me lightly and politely. Our relationship, or almost-friendship, for the past 3 years seems to have dwindled to the halt – by my choice apparently. As shrewd as she is, by now she has most definitely picked up the signals and moved on already.

Undoubtedly, my “rejection” could easily be interpreted as jealousy – as in jealous of her successful defection. After all, why would I write her off like that when the so-called big escape is merely at the other side of the same floor? Shouldn’t a true friend weep and rejoice with the others? Most of all, are we, or were we, ever been friends?

I thought of another defector, DS, whose escape led him to the new pasture not only greener but also farther – nearly 40 minutes away across the water. It has been over a year since he left. Comparing to Y&B and me, we shared way less in our conversation or outside of work extra curriculum activities. And yet we have managed to keep our communication, light but steadily, as of today. “Less (then) is more (now)” seems to be the right description of this relationship.

But wait, there is more (or less)! Another coworker after 25 years of service here left too just this past week to pursue happiness elsewhere. He happened to be among the very few here I have had some interaction with –respectful though mild. We have indeed shared both light jokes and heavy discussions. His empty desk across the other wall actually left a void here in this pod. Incidentally, just today I came across another team member all dressed up, getting ready for his interview for another position. Another soon-to-be-gone, another vacant pod?

In merely 3 and half years, 4 have come and gone. Some of them I have missed and some not. More will follow suit to jump ship as it is only natural in any work place. In a world so inconsistent, the only constant seems to be this left-behind, the occupant of cube 20. Ironically, the most trapped is also the forever restless with an absurd fear for changes. This jail with barely 6-foot partitions and no door to shut might as well be the Alcatraz, impossible to escape. How does a confusing contradiction like me serve her life sentence here with no chance of parole? Would I ever survive being the last one left behind with the rest of them chosen and taken to the better place and future? The biggest question, though, is: wherever they are going, is it really better?

I recall my last failed attempt to escape, the mourning afterwards when all reality set in and I back to my cell. My most unwavering support and friend, D, continued to point out that the green pasture outside might not be as green as I thought after all. Could it be possible as he pointed out that the Omniscient above might have meant to shut the gate to protect me from the danger outside? If He had thought it was safe and well there, wouldn’t He thwart the barrier, HR included, as He once did to bring me here? All this time my envious eyes have focused on those runaways instead of the hands that keep me. Left behind I may be, but never without a good reason. There will be one day when that final escape comes and this reject here is anything but left behind. For now then, maybe I am not at all left behind but, rather, saved for better.

Stary, Stary Night

D called on Thursday afternoon proposing an impromptu overnighter in Monterey with our long-time friends Dave and Beth Ann. Summer may still be lingering in the southern Virginia, but this trip would definitely make the last fun before school starts. Without a moment of hesitation, I seconded the motion – we are going to the mountains!

3:30pm Friday, all was packed and the 3 of us drove to the meeting spot to taxi together. The sky was overcastted with a hint of summer rain, threatening us to thwart our all anticipated dream of stars watching under the mountain sky. Sure enough, a few miles down the Interstate, the rain did come. Thankfully it tapered off as we drove on. The hope was high, so was our excitement and conversation. Over 22 years of friendship, this marked the first trip ever in the same car – our children are grown, except for the forever-child Luke, who was sitting at the back of the van with a quiet smile. Once we passed Richmond, I64 was lined with layers of blue mountains and green valleys. Like little kids, we could hardly suppress our excitement – the stars are calling, and we are coming!

We stopped by our favorite small pizza place in Fishersville for dinner. After the pit stop, we continued on for yet another one and half hour through the small towns and the winding mountains. By then nightfall had arrived and the visibility was reduced to the minimum. Our skilled driver, Dave, exhibited little anxiety over the seemingly treacherous roads. The 2 men in the front, one driving and another navigating, miraculously mastered the direction from the owner of the Bed and Breakfast – “Drive through 3 mountains, over the river and through the woods” and took us finally to the front of the inn at the top of the mountain.

Our lodging is owned by a gracious couple, Jim and Loraine. It sat alone at the top of the mountains and blinked with porch lights to welcome these 5 tired yet all excited tourists from afar. We walked in to a cozy cottage, furnished with antiques and simple, tasteful décor. From the wood burning fireplace, pine flooring to the country kitchen, all charmed us with her homey comfort. But, our affair was with the stars! Without a second of wait, we went outside to the deck – and there they were, our dates, twinkling bright and high at us on that August sky, welcoming us with equal excitement. At 9:30, the night was pouring in fully at this other end of Virginia. On the pitch dark canvas, all was lost but the vague outlines of the mountains from afar and a few lights down below the valley. Life inside was getting ready to rest, but not outside; it was just about to commence: The wind was picking up and whispering in our ears, critters chanting everywhere and yes, those stars - the guests of honor, the crown jewels and the leading roles of the night. 5 of us sat there, our heads leaning back and eyes devouring the beauty and supremacy of those stars chattering silently in their ancient old mystery. We were awe struck at how and what each one was named and placed by that invisible, majestic hand behind the endless night curtain. Our conversation was light, random yet warm and genuine; from the stars to life we communed as friends and brothers and sisters. Two times we spot the shooting star – like little children, we gasped with delight.

It was right under that stary, stary sky that these travelers, weary not from the trip but from the burden of life, rested, replenished and revived with new vision, clearer and brighter, just like the stars.

Instant Message, Instant Disaster

It was Monday, the all sad beginning of yet another 5 work days. I brought in a homemade treat – a 3-layer chocolate cake with delectable butter cream icing to alleviate the wretched curse of the week. The day ground away lifelessly and finally lunch was here. The usual “in-crowd” was notified and relief served inconspicuously. Minutes later, my 29-year-old colleague dropped back in – the verdict was in: it was a success, she said and added that she had shared it with another coworker, Matt, because “He is good to her; sometimes he’d bring in treats for her”. She had done that before – extending my generosity to Matt, only to her own credit. I had thought it not very gallantry of her and sounded my protest; after all, the treat was meant for her, not to mention I didn’t even get recognized. She laughed it off again and left.

What does a self-absorbing, not-at-all gracious person do when he is baited like that? It didn’t take me long before I decided to “remind” Matt via IM of the credit due to me. Matt to me was just Matt, devoid of the detail of last name – our paths hardly crossed and we at best nodded to each other when passing at the office. The only Matt I knew of was a Matt D. and his name popped up from IM. I clicked on him and went straight to the point:

“Next time you have a bite of the chocolate cake, make sure I get my credit (or treat).”

Seconds later came back his reply: “Are you sure you get the right Matt?”

Oh no, said the quick-draw, unyielding warrior to herself, you do not hide from me. “You are just playing with me.” I pushed further with some more comments about my cute coworker’s devotion to him was nothing but a farce, unlike me, faithful and true. He did not seem to budge but continued on his pretence. His persistent innocence finally alarmed me. Quickly I clicked on my 29-year-old colleague. “Which Matt did you mean?” Just like that, her answer put me in a whirlwind of disaster as I stared at the poor victim of my foul play, who was staring right back at me on the screen in his sheer confusion. OMG was exactly what I was thinking, but my quick fingers now reversed to limb and weak while my mind exasperated and numb. “Please forgive and FORGET me” were my last words before I took my quick escape.

My “instant” disaster of course incurred nothing but laughter from the pair of instigators, the 29-year-old and Matt, who were all happy to point the fingers right back at me with a closing argument of “serve you right”. Sheepish but indignant, I refused to take all the blame. After all, I was rightfully entitled to the claim of the credit. Unfortunately, I remembered too that this mishap was not my first offense, or second. The running-up was when my quick finger by mistake clicked on the wrong person with the negative comment on the right person. Not only did I fail to “quick to hear and slow to speak”, but also I stumbled in taming the tongue. The worst crime of all, though, was the unpardonable sin of IM.

I have to wonder how I have strayed so far to become the prey of IM. As a proud and obstinate rebel, I have always given my best, honorable effort fighting against modern phenomenon such as cell phone, twitter, texting and face book – all except IM. Since her first appearance, I have fallen into her spell just like the rest of my colleagues. The instant gratification is so irresistible that I overlooked the minor detail – the fatal side effect of instant disaster. Even so, the cold hard truth is that the unguarded tongue reveals nothing but the reflection of man’s depraved heart. Does technology always mean improvement? Not if it aids to the flawed nature of the creature. I thought of the other forms of instant products – instant soup, fast food, even the Internet – everything engineered against quality and excellence. They were born to accommodate this culture’s demand of speed and convenience -- only at the expense of the far superior essence of goodness such as patience and thoughtfulness.

Lesson of the week: Stay away from instant soup.

8/1/11 – Love Me, Love My Friend

9:50AM, IM popped up from J: “We are going to 7-11 at 10:00”. A man of few words, J was always short and to the point. It read to me “We” as in invite – in name only with no room or time for negotiation. It was the joyful Friday; hope was high and party was in the air. For some of us, me especially, it transcribes as a doughnut from 7-11. I quickly tidied up a few loose ends and grabbed my badge and cash for the outing. I walked out of my cubical, just in time to bump into my walk partner, and his friend.

From outside, nothing was amiss. There were “hi” and smile as the 3 of us walked out. Inside, that was another story: surprise, confusion and finally agitation. It was last Friday all over again when he had brought his coworker for our private 7-11 party. I remember the same frustration bumping into the expected sight of his +1. I had held my composure and kept up my cordial, amiable appearance when everything inside of me screamed the opposite. For most people, “one is the loneliest number”, but to this scrooge, two is worse. Imagine two plus one.

There have been many 7-11 trips over the course of 3 years and plus. Some of them with company, and some without. It is but a few blocks with the same old pavement and deserted shops along the way, and yet pleasant and liberating to the jailed cubical mates like us. Once in a while, Fridays especially, motions will be passed for a trip there to replenish supplies such as coffee or treats, which we know is more of an excuse than necessity. Whatever motives they may be, I prefer the trip done in solo – it eliminates the burdensome chit chats and most importantly, the change of pace, without which I am always reprimanded with “what are you hurrying for!”. After a couple months of our morning walk J has fallen into a “special” category with an allowance of concession for my 7-11 trip preference. It started as a gallant gesture from me to indulge my walk pal and clearly ended in disappointment as a result of misunderstanding for each other: we both mistook each other for more than who we are - J thought of me more socialable while I took him more loner.

I remember D, my ex-colleague who moved back to the other side of the water last year, invited me to go on his “Facebook” and the new Google+ project for fun things such as “circles” or “hangouts”. I realize too this invite was a gesture of fondness or favor. After all, he wanted me to be his “friend” and even meet his “friends”! With a whirlwind of changes bursting in our world nowadays, none bewilders me more than Facebook. I’d like to claim the excuse of “I have too many friends already”, but the truth is I really don’t do friends, let alone friends’ friends. As social creatures, we have the built-in desire of company, but since when such needs are realized with the worst of both ends – impersonal as in on-line and personal as in exposing your private life for the world’s eyes? J’s crime, though not in the same category as D’s, is still severe in that he inadvertently assumed that my acceptance of his existence implies the extension of his friends’. Granted he was by no means the first offender caught on act, it is unthinkable and most importantly uncomfortable to be the victim of it. Putting aside my inadequacy or disability in social skills, the math simply doesn't compute: if it had taken me 3 years to get used to J, why shouldn't I be given the same allowance for admitting another new comer?

Before then, I claim the asylum of the literal interpretation on “Love me, love my dog” – just dog, and dog only.

Christmas in July

July makes the monumental cut in that 2011 is officially on its 2^nd half and finishing up quickly with a vengeance. The heat is burning high as summer continues. Unlike the majority of the American population, we treat summer with little care or respect. There has never been much effort for so called “summer vacation”. For one, this family are not ever known as “playing” people. Secondly, now that both sons are out of their teen years, there no longer remains obligation for summer fun such as water park or camping trips. Thus when D motioned for a trip to see his childhood pals, it was somewhat surprising. Lately, both of us have been working long and intensive hours. A long-weekend trip maybe just what a doctor would prescribe for a timely time-out. The motion was then passed quickly without a dispute.

The plan was to visit a few favorite spots back home in Pittsburgh: the Strip, Schenley Park, and of course a baseball game in the beautiful PNC Park. Pittsburgh is now hardly called home since most of his family have gone – the only 2 left D has had little contact with. Without the family obligations, the 3-day vacation ironically seemed hopeful and relaxing. We found ourselves a small motel with easy access to major necessities such as food, grocery and of course Interstate. We spent our first dinner on a newly opened Italian restaurant nearby and found it more than adequate – the food was scrumptious and service prompt. Not bad for an opening of a vacation for this family with deficiency in playing.

Pittsburgh to D after nearly 3 decades of distance is now more some enchanting place to visit than home. He spent his first 26 years there all the way through graduate school. There live forever his best years -- childhood fun in Fineview and of course the unforgettable CMU. They, too, became my favorite as his eyes and thoughts grow younger and younger while he tells of those old stories that both of us never get tired of. Somehow life in that ghetto neighborhood proved to be anything but poor, depriving. I picture with fancy those boys playing from morn till sundown on every field, block or lane, all the fun, thrill and sometimes mischief and imagine what a different world it must have been. And of course in the midst of those golden years there were his best friends Mike and Dennis, who were the chief reason of this visit. We were to meet up for the baseball game on July 4^th but ended up inviting ourselves to Dennis’ family reunion, and then breakfast at their favorite diner the next morning, and finally the grand finale, baseball game at the PNC park.

It was a hot summer day. The walk to and fro to the stadium, 3 hours of Pirates game under the mid day sun did not at all affect the thrill of the fans and especially the forever kinship of the three friends. It was a good game but none of us paid attention. I looked over at them – they were chatting on mindlessly, obvious of the frenzy of the fans surrounding them. Four decades of time may have mercilessly altered them outwardly but not inside. Somehow, the child within remains untouchable at the snare of time or space. Of all the baseball games we have gone to, that one on July 4^th, 2011, might as well mark the most irrelevant one. Pirates has been having a good season. It even treated us with an exciting win, but we would have cared less if they had lost.

After the game, we continued on the memory lane – a treat at Gus and Ya Ya’s snow ball followed by a planned cookout in the his old neighborhood, Fineview, where we had planned to stay for the firework. As the clouds thickened and darkened, the firework was replaced with nature’s own work: thunderstorm with hail, gusty wind and lightening. It mattered not to us while we sang “Happy Birthday” and Luke playing piano for the 89-year-old father. Despite of the storm, the celebration was not held off in that small old house – and it was not just about the birthday, or even July 4^th.

We bailed out on the firework and drove off Pittsburgh in the pouring rain. Had it taken place, it would have been most impressive and magnificent from atop of that neighborhood overlooking the picturesque Iron City – and yet, no match to that in our hearts. The power of a past so innocent and carefree will forever remain a class of its own: superior, peerless, unbeatable. D drove on quietly. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but I imagined he too was under the spell of the same magic. Nostalgic, even sad, we might have been, how blessed we were, I thought, to have been the Christmas ghosts in a city so beautiful and a past so glorious….

Time Will Tell

6:17AM and here came J, ready for the morning walk. I raised my eyebrow: “But it’s not 6:30 yet!”, ceremoniously protesting about his offensive violation. For a month thus far, he has become my “tag-along” walk partner. Initially, that “tag-along” itself was a violation for this rigid scrooge, but after weeks of practice, I have finally come to accept the intrusion. Though not quite in the category of “prenuptial agreement”, two ground rules were laid open before my reluctant conceding: no talking and no slowing me down. Thus far, J has been a law abiding citizen in my sacred, private domain. Today was his first ever offense – changing the hour. He replied quickly enough: people were annoying him already. It takes one scrooge to know another, and his pain. No need for further explanation, I packed up my gear and was all ready to make an exception.

It was a walking heaven when we stepped out of the building. After 3 days of intense heat and humidity, we were more than grateful to walk in a picture of perfection with a pale blue sky and golden hue of morning sun. The temperature was just about 70. Our temperamental friend, the breeze, was already in the weekend mood, dancing and frolicking everywhere. Her infectious joy was so potent that it unlocked this guarded churl instantly. My iPod forgotten in my left hand, I walked on with my +1, incredulously merry and chatty. From the cause of our 6:30 violation, the annoying people, we started talking about work, what he does and who he works with. 3 years of working on the same floor under the same roof and weeks of walking together, we were actually finding out what each other does the first time ever. From work to life, our small talks carried on all the way from Huntington to Washington, 40 blocks altogether. Once or twice I felt the iPod in my hand. I hesitated but a little and eventually put it back into my pocket.

I blame it on the fair day, all that glorious sun and breeze that betrayed the better sense of me. I could feel the guard retreating as our steps moving forward. Was it the beguiling wind or the ease of my friend that made that forbidden mix, walk and talk, not so unpardonable? Our conversation was but some idle talks such as what gardenias looked like and how to grow them. Not exactly a home-run hit, but neither was it a total defeat. My lone wolf coworker seemed to be at ease with this awkward social reject. I had wondered when J popped in my cube once in a while how the others might have thought -- a strange pair like us, so seemingly unthinkable but somehow it worked. The two recluses, quiet yet explosive, find each other’s presence almost comfortable – with or without words.

In comparison, all other “flings” at work are grinding to a halt, regardless of how promising they might have started. A few chit-chats at the kitchen or IM were all it took when the fun disappeared as if nothing ever happened. When it comes to me and relationship, the saying “time will tell” should be replaced with “time will kill”. For the past 3 years at work, I have yet not proven to succeed in any relationship while the rest of my coworkers stay with their “clicks” effortlessly. My 30-minute walk with J seems to be working thus far apparently for 2 safeguards: short and silent. Could today’s deviation ruin it all again just like the rest of them?

Yes, time will tell if I did kill again. As much as I find my new budded “relationship” non-intruding, I’d confess shamefully that its death wouldn’t injure me that much. If there’d be any casualty, it would be more for the sake of pride. Then again, I have had plenty of experiences of wounded pride. I am, after all, proven to be more resilient than any of my failed relationship. I’d continue to practice my golden rule, for both life and plants, live and let die. No more and no less.