Do Nothing

I wrote the below Facebook post a month ago about how to stay mentally and physically healthy during this time of social isolation -- it was a few days in and I was sure I knew how to manage what would surely be a temporary situation. A "situation" in what is so clearly a war for our survival - a war with no tangible enemy, no identifiable front, no way to make a difference to the outcome. As an Army brat, my entire childhood trained me for war. But, a war where I had to be strong, to contribute, to serve. To DO. I am good at DOING. But, now I am called to do nothing. As someone with no medical training, who doesn't perform an "essential service," all I can do is stay home. I help this fight by staying in my comfortable, newly-redecorated flat, snuggling with my two cats, working in my office/dining room while overlooking my garden, going for daily runs, socialising and exercising on video, enjoying the extra cash from not going out. 

Things that make me feel safe, but suffocated.  Grateful and guilty. Desperately sad and selfish for feeling it. The UK announced today another 3 weeks of "lock-down" as we call it, shelter in place as my American friends call it. Or, was it yesterday? The days bleed into one another. We are all suffering - if it's parenting and working, managing a challenging relationship in close proximity, trying to teach and entertain confused, scared and bored kids, struggling with mental/physical health issues or just staring down the barrel of another day of solo isolation, this is not what we intended or need.

I've just done a google search to try to find out what "normal" is for what an extrovert/optimist feels in this bizarre world and, funnily enough, nothing popped.  So, I thought I'd throw this out there to see if others felt the same.

I have a lot of good days.  Days where I run or cook. Where I feel connected to my friends and family or my boyfriend, all of whom are, or feel like they are, far away. But, on these days, I know this is temporary and I have great opportunities to run more, cook more, connect more.  I am grateful.

But, at least once a week, I find myself "spiraling" as my dear friend Mindy Klement coined the phrase for me.  One small thing sets me off and suddenly I can't stop crying for hours and I feel like the world is closing in on me and crashing down.  I don't know how to make it better.  And, when this happens, I have to have a life line. I can't do it on my own. 

Thankfully, I have great people in my life who have been there for me when this happens. But, equally, they are having their bad days along with their good days. So, I have to be sparing in my need. I have to remind myself to be understanding of their struggle, because that is who I want to be to my loved ones.

And, I am still sticking to what I wrote in that facebook post and the yoga, running, moderation and connection points are, particularly, helpful.  However, I have learned that, as a control-freak, I have to be mindful to not over-orchestrate this - to not launch into a frenzy of course-subscribing or app-downloading mania in a bid to stay productive and turn this into a positive.  (or exhaust my boyfriend who refuses to down load anymore apps or learn anymore new hobbies!)

I slipped into a practice of punctuating my days with coffee and wine. And, while I am OK with my hazelnut coffee addiction, 2 glasses of wine quickly turned into 3, which turned into a bottle even more quickly. I've now stopped that and while I am not sure if it is making a difference to my mood, how I sleep or how fast or far I can run, I know that I no longer enjoyed and appreciated that glass of wine. And, with so few joys in my day, I can't afford to turn one away, so I will parse out that experience to enable that moment of appreciation.

I don't know that I have learned much else in these weeks. I certainly don't know what "normal" looks like in a world that is anything but. But, normal for me is to always tell my truth, to wrap my arms around the soft underbelly of my fear, while still preserving the fragility and vulnerability that makes me rounder and whole. So, I write this. And I do this like I have done everything hard in my life - breath by breath, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I will do nothing. And, it will be the hardest thing I've never done. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As an extrovert and naturally optimistic person, I have really been struggling with everything I am seeing/hearing/reading and the need to be more isolated in work and social context.  So I decided to make a list of things to help me stay mentally and physically healthy -- maybe it will help someone else so I am posting it here:

1. Start each day with a run or yoga for the endorphins and joy of movement.  (I like Yoga with Adrienne on YouTube)

2. Limit your news to only 10 minutes in the morning; turn off alerts.  Balance the catastrophising with satire. (I love the Daily Show with Trevor Noah for just that!)

3. Eat one green vegetable at least per day.  Take vitamin C or another multivitamin.

4. Turn you conference calls into video calls.  Skype or Facetime with someone you love at least once per day.

5.Take a walk by yourself to get fresh air -even if it rainy and cold, it will remind you of the immutability, beauty and perseverance of nature.

6. Use your extra free time to do things you’ve put off – learn German on DuoLingo, bake/cook and freeze new recipes, learn to sew, sign up to an online course (try EDX), clean out your closet etc.

7. Only listen to and watch upbeat music, TV and films – especially things that give you hope.  (I am working through the West Wing again and have all the Pitch Perfect series lined up.)

8. Moderate or eliminate social media and texting – it is a false sense of community and will leave you feeling more isolated and disconnected.

9. Limit alcohol to 2 glasses of wine and only with friends/in small groups.  Abstain on your own.

10. Meditate daily. (I use Headspace and am hooked)

11. Write in your journal.

Remember, this is not forever.  Our grandparents made it through World Wars, we've lived through the Cold War and the Y2K bug, 911 and political nastiness of today.  The human spirit is strong, our shared humanity is what strengthens us and seeks out joy and love.  We will endure and we will be stronger for it.

Birthday Hono(u)rs

So, if you’re someone who knows me (and, let’s face it, if you’re reading this, then chances are you do, as last time I checked (today), I didn’t have thousands of followers, eagerly anticipating the next instalment of the comedy that is my life.  (And, good, thing, too, as I haven’t written any posts in ages)), then you know that my mother loved this blog.  She was my biggest fan and always wanted to read it in advance, providing editorial feedback and commentary.  So, I've found it really hard to write much since she died.  But, I am compelled to do so today.  Lucky y’all!

See, today is her birthday.  And, it is also the day I close (or, complete, for our British readers) on my own flat (or, apartment, for our American readers (OK, I’m going to stop translating and just assume y’all are fluent in Texish now (if this confuses you, see earlier point about knowing me)). 

Anyway, this is not a coincidence.  I am someone who needs symbolism in her life – for example, I quit smoking on Independence Day. I quit my job as a private practice lawyer on Texas Independence Day.  I was enrolled as a solicitor on April Fools’ Day.  You get the drift.  So, when I was going through the process of buying a flat, I was desperate to find something symbolic in it, for a variety of reasons.  And, you probably need to know more about this whole flat buying shenanigans to really get that.

Let’s start from the beginning, when I was 8.  Yes, 8.  (I have long standing issues…)

So, yeah, 8.  That was a pivotal year for me and my future.  It was the year I discovered that there were shoes in this world for which I had a visceral need – that if I didn’t possess them, my life would be devoid of meaning. Now, the shoes in question: pink Miss Piggy tennis shoes, weren’t practical. They weren’t really comfortable. But I had to have them.  HAD. TO. HAVE.

(Until I didn’t.  Which, unfortunately for me, was after I’d worn them once.  Natch, these were the last shoes for which my parents suffered my indulgence)  Fast forward a few years, and here, I am, a slave to my designer shoes.  And, save for one pair of 5 inch stiletto pink satin Jimmy Choos, I do actually wear them more than once (note to self: stop buying pink shoes). 

As a matter of fact, if you take into account the number of years I have held on to my shoes, the number of times I have worn them and the vast quantities of cheap shoes I did NOT buy as a result, then we’re talking about a real return on invested capital.  I mean, come on, it’s almost like I saved that money, right? 

Which would be a good thing, because there is another thing that happened when I was 8 that has shaped my life.  I discovered that I had expensive taste.  This came about quite innocently enough over a lobster, as it does.  We were on a family holiday to Ireland when my dad ordered lobster from the tank at an elegant restaurant. So, of course, I had to have one, too.  My grandfather was adamant that I was not going to like or have that lobster.  But, I am nothing if not tenacious, so lobster I had.  And, lobster I loved.  And, thus began the tradition of what my mom used to call “ordering down the right hand side of the menu.”  But, come on, quality does come at a price, right?

Well, it turns out that price is your ability to save so much as fifty cents.  Now, I’ve been lucky enough to have some well paid jobs, so I could, in theory, have a great nest egg.  But, you guessed it, instead I have Choos, Louboutins, Mulberry bags, gold and diamonds, trips to Tanzania, Australia, Thailand and, yep, a lot of lobster. (and, expensive champagne, too...)

But, I’m single and debt dies with you, so all good, right?  Well, another thing my mother used to say was that I had no safety net - that I travelled through life on the edge. And, that would be right – my goal was to have the richest experiences, not bank accounts.  But, a funny thing happened a couple of years ago.  I had a few unexpected expenses arise and I didn’t have the ability to pay them or the humility to ask my parents for money.  So, I put on my big girl shoes (still Choos, of course.  Paying dividends again on that investment!), worked it out and decided I was not going to be in that place again.  So, I started to (gasp!) save money.

And, here I am, finally able to purchase a flat!  So, now we’re past good and onto great, right?  Wellllllllll, except for that whole commitment thing.  Because another truth about me is that I don’t do that too well, either.  I moved every 3 years of my life growing up and I’ve held on to that belief that I need to be able up-sticks at any moment and go on the next adventure.  And, the thought of owning a flat felt like an anchor tethering me to Titanic.  And, I’m not going to lie, it still feels that way.  (Literally, I can feel an asthma attack coming on even as I type this.)

But, then, someone pointed out to me that property values in London go up on average of 4.5% every year.  EVERY year.  And, that means so do rents.  You know what doesn’t go up like that?  Yep, gold star for y’all -- mortgages.  And, I also woke up to the fact that London is not a city for renters – there are no apartment complexes or property management companies that are solely in the business of maintaining a rental market.  Nope, the rental market is supplied by individual owners of flats and these people are seeing their property values go up every year as well, and, guess what? They want to cash out on that.  So, they raise the rent or, more likely, sell.  And, when they sell, you gotta move.  Combine that with the fact that most people rent furnished flats and don’t take pets and you have a scenario where me, Sam and Pud could be out on our proverbials.  And, the new responsible Kristin doesn’t like the thought of homelessness.  Crazy, right?

But I do like the idea of more financial stability.  And, everyone I work with has incessantly reminded me that owning property in London is a solid investment – that I am not, in fact, stuck, but that I can be one of those people who actually make money on the flat as I can always sell or rent and reap my own little windfall.   One friend in particular, put it this way: it’s not your forever flat – just your first flat.   My American friends won’t probably get this, but they have this thing here called the property ladder and it works like this  -- you buy anything you can afford, sit back, watch the valuation increase, pay some principal, grow the equity and then sell up or rent.  Replace first flat with a better flat, a rung or two up the ladder.  Rinse, spit, repeat.  I’m sure you’re picking up what I’m putting down?

So, I decide, OK, let’s do this flat thing. I find one, we agree a price.  And then 5 months later. No, Americans, that is not a typo – 5 bloody months later, I am about to actually move. 

And, just as we are about to sign the contract, I panic.  I balk.  I decide I can’t do this.  I can’t commit.

And, another lawyer friend points out to me that I should think of it as a contract, not a commitment – hell, I am a lawyer, I am literally trained in how to get out of a contract.  So, a little more calmness ensues.  Then, it also dawns on me that even though I never actually committed to my current rental flat – I have inadvertently been there for 7 ½ years. Which is the longest I have ever lived anywhere.  And, as my dad says, not making a decision is making a decision.  Mmm, sounds like a commitment by stealth?  Or, more likely, apathy and denial. But, irrespective of how it came about, a commitment it has been.

(By the way, if you’re getting the impression that it takes a village to convince me to commit to something, you would be right.  We’re at 3 friends, my dad and the general populace of my work place so far.)

No matter, I am still about to pull out – I just can’t get across that final 5 feet. 

Until the seller proposes today, the date of my mother’s birthday, as the day for completion.  Ding, ding! Symbolism! I can do this, I have to do this; it’s a sign.  So I do what I always do when I have a big decision to make -- I take a deep breath, close my eyes and hold on. 

And, here we are.  No one would have been more happy for and proud of me for buying a flat than my mother.  She worried I had no assets (and, now, 4.5% YOY growth, people) and no stability in my life.   She worried that I hadn’t settled down and gotten married.  She wanted a lot for me, but I think that most of all, she wanted me to be taken care of, and in her frame of reference, that was what that looked like.  Well, I can’t magic up a husband and kids, but what is in my control is my ability to take care of myself.  And, I’m starting to get a handle on that.

So, I am pleased to be able to turn what would have been a really sad day for me into a day of triumph and tribute.  I am still terrified and panicked, but I am resolved.  (Plus, I already gave them all my money.)

And, as birthday presents go, I think I done good.  I honor her best when I am the daughter she raised me to be – generous, loving, gracious  -- and solvent.  I like to think she is somewhere having really expensive champagne in celebration with me today.   

I know I will be. 

Rule Britannia

Some of y’all know that I became a UK citizen last year – no, I can hear you asking, not a subject, a citizen.  Turns out only people in the colonies are subjects.  According to the BBC, the difference is that we citizens have rights, while the subjects are just “subjected” to sovereignty.  (Harkening back to my US history and the reasons for the Boston Tea Party, that sounds about right.) 

But, after living in London for years, I did the opposite of my tea-bailing forefathers and re-joined the Empire.  Now, this may not sound like a big deal to some of y’all (particularly as I get to keep my US citizenship so am now dual), but this was the first time I have ever committed to anything in my life. (Except maybe that little tattoo I got in San Diego when I was 25, but come to think of it, I don’t think I realized that was a permanent decision at the time.  And, no, I wasn’t drunk, but I was 25 which is almost the same thing, right?)

So, yeah, not so much on the long term commitment thing – I’ve never owned a home or a flat, never been married, no kids.  Nope, the only permanent thing in my life is my on-off  relationship with 20 lbs.  Which after 40 seems to become more of a permanent thing, sadly…

Hence, swearing an allegiance to something forever was quite a big deal for me.  In deference to my commitment, I pre-selected my mood music (Jerusalem and Rule Britannia, natch) to accompany me into the ceremony  (which, was really just me and my iPod on the 277 bus heading to the council office),  practiced my vows (oops, I mean oath) and wore a pretty new dress (No, not white.  And no veil.  Though, truth be told, there was a certain Union Flag satin head piece thingy that my friend Ruth brought me.  (new and blue!))  I sang a song, got teary eyed and walked out of the council office with a new legal status. (but, sorely lacking in a rice, rose petals or bubble cascade, sadly.)

I was now a British citizen.  (Or am I supposed to now spell it citisen??)  Honestly, this is going to cause some confusion and stress for me, as I can’t un-learn the right way to spell things  - without the superfluous “u” (what value does it bring to “color” or “neighbour,” I ask?) using a “z” where there is, in fact, a z sound.  ZZZZZ – not ssssssss. Imagine if we realissssed, organissssed or advertisssse?  Ludicrous.  (oh shoot, does that mean I should be spelling that ludicros?)

But, I digress.

As a new citizen of the UK, I get rights and one of those rights is that I get to vote. (Arguably, that is the best right, but I actually think the short immigration line at Heathrow tops that one pretty handily.)  In any event, this last week saw the most exciting election build-up – tightly contested, narrowly predicted and closer than ever according the media. (more on THAT later)  So, natch, I took my new right seriously and sought out to become an informed voter.  And, the first thing to realize is that color is important.  Conservatives are blue, liberals are red, liberal democrats are orange.  So, pretty much the opposite from the US.  (Oh and no option to do an Obama and wear purple as a compromise – that is the color of the UK Independence Party.  They have one position, which is to get out of the EU and hate any form of immigration.  Immigrant AND born in Germany --clearly, I am not their demographic.))

Now that I had the colors down pat, it was time to understand the issues.  And, before you ask, don’t be silly.  Of course I didn’t read their published policy statements (oddly called a manifesto, which is a term I’ve only seen used in reference to the crazy ramblings of serial killers. Hmmm. Coincidence?).  No, I decided to ask some of my friends who hold strong views about politics.  Which, in my circle, seems to be Labour only.  But, to a person, their reasons for voting Labour always began with, “so, back when Margaret Thatcher…”.

I feel like I am failing in my first Britishy-ness test as I don’t understand how a politician who hasn’t been in office for 25 years and died two year ago can still dictate how you vote.  Imagine if you asked an American why they voted Democrat and they told you Ronald Reagan??  (But, then again, in the scheme of things, 25 years for a country that has only been around for a couple hundred years does seem like ancient history, where it is but merely a drop in the bucket for a nation that was formed in the 10^th Century.  Hmm.  Must rethink.) 

Regardless, no one could convince me logically which way to vote, so I had to read the manifestos after all.  Or, at least, I thought I would, but then realized (realised??) that each one was about 100 pages.  So, I just skipped to the headlines on the BBC website.   Well, actually, just the first one for Labour, which stated that they wanted to guarantee jobs for young people on welfare, which would be paid for by taxing bankers’ bonuses.  So, creating fake jobs and paying for this by taking money away from people who did real jobs?

Yeah, there’s a word for that. 

It’s called COMMUNISM.

So, maybe these policy snippets weren’t the most reflective of the manifestos or the best basis for deciding which way to vote.  This left me no choice.    

I had to take the online quiz.

The results of which were a huge surprise to me.  Well, maybe not so much. I still came out as Conservative, but I did have strong Labour (see, now I want to write Labor.  Ugh.) leanings.  One would have thought being a Longhorn, I may have shown some preferences for the Orange.  But, no, so, I decided to vote Conservative blue. 

I got up early to get to the polls at 7:30 am so I could have enough time to wait to vote and then get to work by 9:30 am.  Only, I didn’t have to wait, so I was in and out in 5 minutes.  And there was only one choice – made with a pencil and an “X” – no machines, no chads, no long complicated ballots.  Just a piece of paper and a pencil, which I then folded and put in a shoe box thing with a slot.  I felt like I was voting for 8^th grade Student Council president.

But, I was going to exercise my voice in this hotly contested election.  I was going to speak for my views and participate in this democratic process, which we all knew was going to be neck and neck.

Except that it wasn’t. And, my constituency (unbeknownst to me thanks to my poor research) is a Labour stronghold, taking 65% of the vote, so my vote was the equivalent of spitting into an ocean.  The Red Sea, if you will.  (But, given that one of the choices was “Cannabis is safer than Alcohol” party, I think you get the demographic).  

And, they don’t even give out “I voted” stickers. (which, to be fair, you don’t really need since you don’t need any actual proof to show why you were late to work because you weren’t late to work.  Because it takes 5 minutes to vote. Because you only have one choice.)

Yes, everyone was surprised by the results.  Which we had pretty speedily (not too hard, given we only have one time zone and 20% of the population of the US and I may have mentioned this, but only one choice) and without any recounts or the intervention of the Supreme Court.

I honestly don’t know if I chose correctly, but turns out it doesn’t matter.  I consummated my citizenship.   

And, at least now we know who will Rule Britannia. 

(queue tears and music) :)

Christmas Presence

This was always going to be a hard Christmas, so I decided to give a different kind of presents.  Here is what I read aloud to my family this morning:

When we were all last together and here in Sugar Land, we were dealing with the shock and devastation of losing mom.  I said at the time that I didn’t want to celebrate Christmas; that it would have no meaning without her and it would be too hard to pretend to feel joy and to participate in all our traditions that she created.  Wisely, Dot rejected that idea outright and so here we are, tree decorated, presents unwrapped, feast preparations waiting to be assembled into the meal that she lovingly made every year for us and for dad’s birthday.

There have been a lot of tears, and even more whisky, but plenty of laughs and giggles, too.  Dot was right.  We need to acknowledge and celebrate those around us even while we mourn for mom.  Dad and I have commented several times that mom’s way of showing us love was in giving of gifts – she loved nothing more than to find that perfect present for each of us.  Whether it was a shearling coat for Adriane her sophomore year of college, her diamond pendant for me on my 22^nd birthday to replace the one that had been stolen, all the purple pink and sparkly you could find for Dot or the fancy camera that still entertains (read: confounds) Dad that Christmas in London. 

But, her best present to us was one that we too rarely acknowledged. And, that was her time.  The time she spent making all of these wonderful Christmas decorations on and under the tree and around the house; the time she invested teaching me how to cook and helping Adriane and I both with culinary challenges (read: disasters!), the time she spent listening to us all, and worrying long after the conversations ended, about our woes and struggles. The hours she invested meticulously “doing the money” as she called it, so that she and dad could afford the Hawaiis, Balis, Stockholms and Londons we all enjoyed together.

And, if I could have anything this Christmas, it would be a little more time with her.

So, my present to each of you this year is TIME.  My time – doing something with and for you.  I can’t buy you anything you don’t already have the ability to purchase yourself, so I wanted to give you something only I can give.  So, you can each open your gifts now.

You will see that you each have a small silver desk clock.  And you each have a unique engraving that reflects my gift of time to you.  A gift that I will be giving you each week in the coming year – it starts today.  And every week, I will be doing something for and with you that will keep you close to my heart and in my thoughts.

To Grandma -- John Donne wrote that “letters mingle souls; for, thus friends absent speak.”  You and I have always had a letter writing tradition and we have gotten so much closer in the last few months that I look forward to sharing news with you and hearing all about your new life in the Sugar Land.  Neither of us likes to talk on the phone and we both love getting letters in the mail, so my gift to you this year is to write you a letter every week.  You don’t have to write me back except when you have time and feel like it, but you will hear about my life every week, no matter how mundane or boring it may be. 

I want us to build on the closeness that we have so late discovered and I think Donne described it perfectly, for, thus absent friends speak. It may be short, it may even be a post card, but I promise that with those few words, you will be a part of my life every week and, hopefully,  I yours.

 To Bobby – Bernard Hinault, five time winner of the Tour de France, said, “As long as I breathe, I attack;” this quote so reminds me of your passion for life and your relentless commitment to the things that matter to you.  Your singular focus and enthusiasm will be a part of my gift to you and Adriane.

To Adriane – You are probably wondering if I am trying to tell you something with the engraving on your clock – "Exercise, you don’t have time not to." :)  Fear not….

I know you worry about my health and fitness, particularly after mom’s health issues.  It’s true, I have gained a lot of weight and I have stopped doing anything that remotely resembles exercise.  I no longer run, I quit my gym and I take the bus when I could easily walk. And, I feel old, my knees hurt, my feet ache, I struggle to catch my breath.  I am headed down the wrong road.

You have always been the inspiration behind any exercise I have ever undertaken.  As teenagers, you were always sporty, while I lived in fear of gym class and anything that would cause a sweat.  But, as I grew older I started to realize that physical activity was rewarding and when I saw you cycle, swim, run, hike and play tennis, I was motivated to join in – probably a little of that old competitive spirit helped too!

So my gift to both of you is to train for a bike ride with you.  Anywhere in the world, any distance, anytime – BUT, I need your help, Bobby, in coming up with a training plan and both of you to stay focused with me week in and week out while I struggle to get in shape and to train.  One of my most proud moments was finishing that 10K with you, Adriane, in London and I want that shared feeling with both of you.  I can think of nothing that would give me more satisfaction than to work hard at this for you and with you and then do it together. (not to mention how good a cold beer will taste after!) 

 

And, finally, to Dad.  A classic Churchill  quote, meaningful without even knowing the quote, as we started our healing over  WWII classics and whisky, experienced his war rooms in London with mom and quoted him on mom’s death announcements.  But, the words mean something, too.  "Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."  And it always has been for us.

From the Cold War when we couldn’t go, to the time you and mom and I tried to go in 2003, only to be foiled at the last minute by visa challenges, we have always talked of going to Moscow and St. Petersburg.  But, there were always other places that were higher on mom’s list and we all thought it would be too much of an ordeal language-wise.  My trip to Kiev proved that as I had an amazing time, thanks to my two Russian speaking friends.  But, the Chernobyl museum, the catacombs and the Soviet statues and museums, not to mention the menus (take note: that isn’t butter you are slathering on your bread, it is lard!) would have been insurmountable without a translator.  So, we never made the journey to Mother Russia.

But, now the time has come.  We have all talked about it – maybe a cruise along the Volga waterways, maybe another June 22^nd invasion in honor of Bobby’s birthday (with more success than Napoleon and Hitler, of course!).  Maybe a trip to Kiev.  Regardless, we will need some language skills, so my gift to you is that I am starting Russian classes in January.  I have always loved languages and mom taught Adriane and I both to speak several from birth so we have had the ability to adopt accents well.  I am looking forward to learning a new one and being able to help us navigate and translate on our big adventure.

Now, when I first devised these Christmas gifts, I didn’t know that Adriane was also taking Russian.  And, at first, I was a little deflated – I wanted this to be my gift to you and I felt like it had a lot less meaning and impact if I wasn’t solely doing this.  But, I think this is even better because now Adriane and I can practice with each other, you will have two translators, and once again, that sibling competitive spirit will kick in and propel us forward.  Next month, Russian for Beginners; next year, Dostoyevsky in the original!! :)

Game on, McFetridge, game on!

So, I hope you will each enjoy your presents from me, that will see that clock on your desk and you will be reminded how precious time is. If we have gotten nothing out of mom’s death, I think it is that.

And, that is why I am giving it to you this year, of all years – I want the hours of my life to matter to you – to keep you present in my daily life, to build the foundation for and to create future memories, to constantly show you how much I love you and to help me be the sister, daughter and granddaughter you deserve.