Greenville

On most days, if you ask me what my favorite colors is, I'll say green. Sometimes, I say yellow. Sometimes, red or black. Green, in all of its shades, has a sweeping sense of being grounded. It stands high in trees and low in the yards of families with or without picket fences. It feels the souls of runners in long paths of parks. It is nature. It is war. It is reptile. It is Christmas.

It may seem like a trivial topic but colors help define the way we relate to the world. We all have our own definitions for everything. Our unique experiences create our likes and dislikes. Maybe you love the rusty reds because it reminds you of your childhood home. Maybe you love navy because it represents a well worn sweater from your grandfather.

What does Green mean to me?

* It's a food:  Rylee is officially, a professional eater. We have successfully tried sweet potato, banana, oatmeal and rice. A few days ago, I mushed up some Avocado confident she would enjoy it as much as I do. Please glance at the picture. You can see that her reaction was not of satisfaction; her tongue shot back out, her eyes closed and a frown emerged. If she could have, she would have said, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" We tried avocado three days in a row and got the same exact reaction each time.

Today, I propped Rylee up in her feeding chair and steamed fresh peas. The green brightened in the pot and when I pureed them, the substance reminded me of a substance from Rufio's food fight in Peter Pan. I stood in front of her with a grin that was intended to hide my fear. "Please like this," I whispered between my wide flat grin. One spoonful and she stopped, swallowed and giggled. "HURRAY!" I flew my arms in the air, danced around the kitchen and prepared the next spoonful.

Green is nourishment. 

* It is a frog: Where would life be without kermit? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpiIWMWWVco

Green is important like a mountain. 

* It's hearing a too intimate conversation: "My dad told your dad, that you were a pistol. Not only is that true but you are beautiful too." That is extremly cute and hey, who wouldn't want to be called a pistol? As a outsider, however, I cringe and turn green and get a little bit ... Okay. Okay. OKAY. we get it. She is ammmmazing.

* Sunday Night Football: Let's be honest, until I met Doug I barely knew what "fumble" meant. There wasn't a color in the world that related to football. I barely knew it existed. When we were first living together, Doug pulled out two jerseys on a Sunday night and smiled "J.E.T.S." I raised my eyebrows, made some guacamole, put on the XXL Jersey as a dress, pulled a book from the shelf (just in case I got really bored) and listened to the man of my dreams decode a foreign language. 

Colors evolve.

* A Crap Hole: We are officially house hunting. This is a huge and intimidating and freaky step. As a writer and an electrician with an infant, saving for that "perfect" home has been a wonderful but grueling process. We drove around looking at vacant homes, their neighbors and the town. Rylee was sleeping. We took turns jumping out of the car, walking around the house and popping back in the car. It sorta went like this:

1. Shut Car Door. 

2. Peer In House.

3. Walk Back.

4. Try To Talk With Eyes. 

5. Shut Car Door. 

6. "Nope."

7. "You look."

8. Repeat steps 1-6. 

Then we saw this little green house. The mailbox stuffed with garbage, the stones on the pathway lifting up, an air conditioner built into the wall...

We repeated steps 1-5 but instead of "nope" we both said "maybe." While this might not be the home we end up buying, it was the first house that we both could imagine turning into our home.

Pale green = Hope.  

*** 

Find the color of your day, 

A

P.S. To quote Kermie... Stand out like "flashy sparkles in the water." 

The Tiny Christmas Town

The second you carve a Turkey, an Elf begins laying out his reds and greens. His wife begins pressing the pointy hat, so it points straight up signifying North: his residence and place of work. The world prepares in all of its trimmings for a month of purchasing.

Part of me has always rejected America's Big Industry preying on the individual's sense of sparkled tradition— old and new. As a result, you'll know you have received a gift from me; it will be wrapped in construction paper or the Family Circus or an article about the new exhibit in the MOMA or People's magazine. Yet, on a Christmas where my daughter will be 6-months, I can't help but wander the stores picking up little elf ornaments and figurines to decorate the house.

Despite my turbulent childhood, my mother put up a tree. She sat us down with a box of Kix to string for garland while she sprayed fake snow along the edges of our basement apartment windows. She bought popsicle sticks for us to transform into snowflake ornaments. A big stuffed Santa sat on a dusty arm chair in the living room while we ran around the cramped quarters.

As my step-father mounted himself on the couch with his traditional line of Budweiser cans, Mom lined up tiny porcelain houses with tiny porcelain families on top of our small entertainment center. Before the S-Dad came home from work, I'd set up in front of that little town. Two friends played in a mound of fake snow. A light lit up a Ma and Pop Grocer. I imagined the Father inside the open windowed home to be fixing hot cocoa. Maybe, I thought, he was helping with homework. Maybe he was just hugging his children. Maybe he was just...there. This world, which only surfaced during holiday cheer represented the wholesome world many of us crave.

I probably don't have to explain how it's media and the marketer's job to exploit nostalgia and the need for a glistening tradition. This is —I'm sure— something we are all aware of. Yet, it may not matter.

Tradition isn't a made up theory contrived from the MAN (Marketers And Networks). It exists because the tie to family is real. I want my daughter to associate the smell of pine to stringing cereal decorations or wearing big fuzzy mittens.

We deserve it.

This little month in the collection of twelve, helps define the meaning of family in a life. This is not to say it has to mimic the traditions of the porcelain family atop my childhood entertainment center. Hell, I hope this Christmas creates a tradition of eating dessert for lunch or making snow cones from the front lawn.

As long as Rylee sees the investment of Christmas not as a collection of toys but of quirks that make her holiday season unique to this family... as well as universal, to share the joy with others.

With a big ribbon,
A