La Dolce Vita
Last week I went to a Christmas party. I was standing in the living room when I felt a little tug on my pant leg. I looked down to find Jared, a fellow teacher’s four-year-old, staring up at me with sparkling doe eyes.
“Miss Alice, I want to sit with you in THIS chaiw,” he said emphatically, pointing to our host’s BARCO lounger.
Jared has a little trouble pronouncing his r’s, but he is the perfect example of a child’s warm, unabashed, totally disarming love. Recently, I ran into his family at a school wrestling match and within a matter of seconds Jared climbed into my lap, wrapped my scarf around his chest, and announced that we were “stuck together.” Then, with bursting excitement, he told me they had just come from dinner at Mandarin Garden where his parents bought him (brace yourselves) ice cream for dessert! “Really?” I exclaimed. “I eat ice cream in the dead of winter, too!” Jared could hardly contain himself. He threw his arms around my neck in a dramatic hug.
So, at this particular Christmas party Jared and I were rocking back and forth in the easy-chair talking about decorations, wildlife, pancakes and other random subjects that four-year-olds find important, when he asked me to tell him my favorite thing about Christmas. “I guess just being with my family,” I said. “What is your favorite thing about Christmas?”
“Well, I have two,” he replied. “Jesus’ birthday, and pwesents.”
We often forget how much children adore Christmas presents. It’s not because they’re greedy or materialistic - most of them can’t even tie their own shoes let alone make a killing off of the Vanguard 500. But there is something magic about coming down the stairs on Christmas morning and seeing all those shiny, wrapped boxes under the tree. For children, it doesn't really matter what's behind the wrapping or what it's worth. It's all about the moment.
The most memorable gift I received as a young child was actually a hunk of cardboard. At that time there was some kind of toy company that manufactured cardboard and painted it to look like various pieces of furniture. I already had a cardboard stove and the stove by itself was completely satisfying. I never knew anything else in this toy line existed, until one blessed Christmas morning I descended the stairs to find (brace yourselves) an entire cardboard house sitting in our living room. Granted, the “house” was only about five square feet in size, but next to my four-year-old frame it looked like a mansion in Beverly Hills.
I stood on the stairway for a moment, completely breathless, my pajama leg hiked up under my knee. I took in the scene: The house was white and had red shutters, windows, a door, and tiny tulips painted on the side intermixed with sprigs of grass. After a few seconds I finally regained enough feeling in my legs to move. I ran towards the house. When I peeked inside I found that my cardboard stove was already installed in the west wing. Somehow, my parents had snuck into my room during the night and moved it downstairs to be part of the house. I must have slept like I was in a coma. Or maybe they drugged me. (I wouldn’t have blamed them. I was a little high energy back then.)
To this day I remember that cardboard house because it was totally unexpected. I knew that a lot of wonderful toys existed. I had visited Santa. I had made a list. But never, in all my wildest dreams, could I have imagined my own house inside our house!
My only question, when I look back on it, is what happened between then and now? When we’re children, we never doubt that something totally spectacular is waiting just around the corner – something surprisingly wonderful and beyond what we could ever conceive of or imagine. Amidst the sparkling snow – the clear, star-filled night – children are positively certain that something magical is about to happen. This is especially true on Christmas, but little ones seem to carry a bit of that anticipation with them throughout the year.
Then somehow, in a matter of minutes, we go from this totally amazing childhood to an adult life in which “contentment” is just about as good as it gets. That’s what we adults tell each other, isn’t it? “Learn to be content with whatever you have.” That's the only way to avoid frustration. Be content with your tiny career, your tiny apartment, and your tiny cans of soup. At least you’re not getting beaten senseless by the Taliban. (At least, that's what I tell myself when things get rough.)
I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately, and a certain Bible verse keeps coming to mind. It’s in the gospel of Matthew just after Jesus’ famous “seek and ye shall find” speech. He says, "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”
The point is that God wants to give us good gifts and (unlike Santa) those gifts don't correlate to whether or not we've been “good” throughout the year. God wants to give us even more wonderful gifts than our earthly fathers do. (And for me, that’s a pretty tall order because my Dad would pull the stars down for me if he could.) God wants more for us than we could ever wish for or imagine. But for some reason we walk around uncertain and unaware.
Whenever things don’t work out and you’re having coffee with a friend and bending her ear, she usually responds with some cliché like, “Everything happens for a reason” or “You can’t have it all.” But what people fail to mention is that you don’t really need “it all.” You certainly don’t need “it all” to survive, and you don’t need “it all” to lead a meaningful life. Most people don’t even want it all. What most people are searching for, I think, is that magical Christmas feeling that anything is possible. People want to feel like wonderful surprises are bound to come their way. It’s the believing that we miss after we grow up. The sweet sense of believing.
The Italians have a phrase – “La dolce vita” or “the sweet life.” I think it's the perfect phrase to describe that childish, Christmas feeling that warms the heart and delights the soul. I heard the phrase in a movie recently called Under the Tuscan Sun. Basically, a woman named Francis gets divorced and (just when she’s getting ready to die of despair) she takes a vacation to Tuscany and ends up buying a house there. Several new friends appear in her life and help her heal. One woman in particular (whose name I can’t remember, so I’ll just call her Crazy Hat Lady) is eating an ice cream cone when she befriends Francis.
“How do you do all this?” Francis asks. “How do you stay so happy?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Crazy Hat Lady replies. “I love hats and I love ice cream.”
Later in the movie she gives Francis some invaluable advice. “Never lose your childish enthusiasm,” she says. “It’s the most important thing.”
So, I want to end this blog by listing, with thankfulness, some of the things that contributed to my "dolce vita" this year. They are somewhat childish, but here they are anyway:
- the dogs that played fetch with me.
- the children who climbed into my lap.
- the music that happened to be playing when I walked by.
- the work colleagues who took care of me.
- the homemade spaghetti sauce.
- the friends who traveled in and out of my life.
- my family –especially my mother (who still lets me put my head in her lap).
- my life by itself, which is unpredictable, doesn’t really belong to me, and isn’t within my control. But a gift, nonetheless.
Happy Holidays – to you and yours.
HAPPENINGS – 2007 (in lieu of a Christmas Letter)
January – I start the year off fine.
February – Still don’t have a Valentine.
March – I march off to the CLAS conference and deliver my “Student Whisperer” presentation (which is loosely based on using Cesar Milan’s dog psychology as a classroom management technique – yes, that’s what I’ve been reduced to.) Then I march off to Chicago to visit Allison, Kirk and Libby.
April – the Easter Bunny still comes (even though I’m 30).
May – I turn 31. It is rather uneventful.
June – start my fellowship with the Denver Writing Project, which requires me to be agonizingly creative all day, every day, for four weeks.
July – Cousin Sarah stops through on her way to Berkeley.
August – Cousin Jenny comes to visit from Arizona. Teacher retreat in Breckenridge gets us all jazzed for the coming school year.
September – I start teaching two new preps. (Multicultural Literature and World Literature) and one old prep. (American Literature).
October – Mom and I walk the “Race for the Cure” with some of my work friends.
November – a positively wonderful Thanksgiving (but it came with an ulcer).
December – looking forward to Winter Break, and hoping to make it through the next week of school without the need for combat training!
“Miss Alice, I want to sit with you in THIS chaiw,” he said emphatically, pointing to our host’s BARCO lounger.
Jared has a little trouble pronouncing his r’s, but he is the perfect example of a child’s warm, unabashed, totally disarming love. Recently, I ran into his family at a school wrestling match and within a matter of seconds Jared climbed into my lap, wrapped my scarf around his chest, and announced that we were “stuck together.” Then, with bursting excitement, he told me they had just come from dinner at Mandarin Garden where his parents bought him (brace yourselves) ice cream for dessert! “Really?” I exclaimed. “I eat ice cream in the dead of winter, too!” Jared could hardly contain himself. He threw his arms around my neck in a dramatic hug.
So, at this particular Christmas party Jared and I were rocking back and forth in the easy-chair talking about decorations, wildlife, pancakes and other random subjects that four-year-olds find important, when he asked me to tell him my favorite thing about Christmas. “I guess just being with my family,” I said. “What is your favorite thing about Christmas?”
“Well, I have two,” he replied. “Jesus’ birthday, and pwesents.”
We often forget how much children adore Christmas presents. It’s not because they’re greedy or materialistic - most of them can’t even tie their own shoes let alone make a killing off of the Vanguard 500. But there is something magic about coming down the stairs on Christmas morning and seeing all those shiny, wrapped boxes under the tree. For children, it doesn't really matter what's behind the wrapping or what it's worth. It's all about the moment.
The most memorable gift I received as a young child was actually a hunk of cardboard. At that time there was some kind of toy company that manufactured cardboard and painted it to look like various pieces of furniture. I already had a cardboard stove and the stove by itself was completely satisfying. I never knew anything else in this toy line existed, until one blessed Christmas morning I descended the stairs to find (brace yourselves) an entire cardboard house sitting in our living room. Granted, the “house” was only about five square feet in size, but next to my four-year-old frame it looked like a mansion in Beverly Hills.
I stood on the stairway for a moment, completely breathless, my pajama leg hiked up under my knee. I took in the scene: The house was white and had red shutters, windows, a door, and tiny tulips painted on the side intermixed with sprigs of grass. After a few seconds I finally regained enough feeling in my legs to move. I ran towards the house. When I peeked inside I found that my cardboard stove was already installed in the west wing. Somehow, my parents had snuck into my room during the night and moved it downstairs to be part of the house. I must have slept like I was in a coma. Or maybe they drugged me. (I wouldn’t have blamed them. I was a little high energy back then.)
To this day I remember that cardboard house because it was totally unexpected. I knew that a lot of wonderful toys existed. I had visited Santa. I had made a list. But never, in all my wildest dreams, could I have imagined my own house inside our house!
My only question, when I look back on it, is what happened between then and now? When we’re children, we never doubt that something totally spectacular is waiting just around the corner – something surprisingly wonderful and beyond what we could ever conceive of or imagine. Amidst the sparkling snow – the clear, star-filled night – children are positively certain that something magical is about to happen. This is especially true on Christmas, but little ones seem to carry a bit of that anticipation with them throughout the year.
Then somehow, in a matter of minutes, we go from this totally amazing childhood to an adult life in which “contentment” is just about as good as it gets. That’s what we adults tell each other, isn’t it? “Learn to be content with whatever you have.” That's the only way to avoid frustration. Be content with your tiny career, your tiny apartment, and your tiny cans of soup. At least you’re not getting beaten senseless by the Taliban. (At least, that's what I tell myself when things get rough.)
I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately, and a certain Bible verse keeps coming to mind. It’s in the gospel of Matthew just after Jesus’ famous “seek and ye shall find” speech. He says, "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”
The point is that God wants to give us good gifts and (unlike Santa) those gifts don't correlate to whether or not we've been “good” throughout the year. God wants to give us even more wonderful gifts than our earthly fathers do. (And for me, that’s a pretty tall order because my Dad would pull the stars down for me if he could.) God wants more for us than we could ever wish for or imagine. But for some reason we walk around uncertain and unaware.
Whenever things don’t work out and you’re having coffee with a friend and bending her ear, she usually responds with some cliché like, “Everything happens for a reason” or “You can’t have it all.” But what people fail to mention is that you don’t really need “it all.” You certainly don’t need “it all” to survive, and you don’t need “it all” to lead a meaningful life. Most people don’t even want it all. What most people are searching for, I think, is that magical Christmas feeling that anything is possible. People want to feel like wonderful surprises are bound to come their way. It’s the believing that we miss after we grow up. The sweet sense of believing.
The Italians have a phrase – “La dolce vita” or “the sweet life.” I think it's the perfect phrase to describe that childish, Christmas feeling that warms the heart and delights the soul. I heard the phrase in a movie recently called Under the Tuscan Sun. Basically, a woman named Francis gets divorced and (just when she’s getting ready to die of despair) she takes a vacation to Tuscany and ends up buying a house there. Several new friends appear in her life and help her heal. One woman in particular (whose name I can’t remember, so I’ll just call her Crazy Hat Lady) is eating an ice cream cone when she befriends Francis.
“How do you do all this?” Francis asks. “How do you stay so happy?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Crazy Hat Lady replies. “I love hats and I love ice cream.”
Later in the movie she gives Francis some invaluable advice. “Never lose your childish enthusiasm,” she says. “It’s the most important thing.”
So, I want to end this blog by listing, with thankfulness, some of the things that contributed to my "dolce vita" this year. They are somewhat childish, but here they are anyway:
- the dogs that played fetch with me.
- the children who climbed into my lap.
- the music that happened to be playing when I walked by.
- the work colleagues who took care of me.
- the homemade spaghetti sauce.
- the friends who traveled in and out of my life.
- my family –especially my mother (who still lets me put my head in her lap).
- my life by itself, which is unpredictable, doesn’t really belong to me, and isn’t within my control. But a gift, nonetheless.
Happy Holidays – to you and yours.
HAPPENINGS – 2007 (in lieu of a Christmas Letter)
January – I start the year off fine.
February – Still don’t have a Valentine.
March – I march off to the CLAS conference and deliver my “Student Whisperer” presentation (which is loosely based on using Cesar Milan’s dog psychology as a classroom management technique – yes, that’s what I’ve been reduced to.) Then I march off to Chicago to visit Allison, Kirk and Libby.
April – the Easter Bunny still comes (even though I’m 30).
May – I turn 31. It is rather uneventful.
June – start my fellowship with the Denver Writing Project, which requires me to be agonizingly creative all day, every day, for four weeks.
July – Cousin Sarah stops through on her way to Berkeley.
August – Cousin Jenny comes to visit from Arizona. Teacher retreat in Breckenridge gets us all jazzed for the coming school year.
September – I start teaching two new preps. (Multicultural Literature and World Literature) and one old prep. (American Literature).
October – Mom and I walk the “Race for the Cure” with some of my work friends.
November – a positively wonderful Thanksgiving (but it came with an ulcer).
December – looking forward to Winter Break, and hoping to make it through the next week of school without the need for combat training!
posted by Alice | 1:16 PM
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