24 Hours And It’s Over

“24 Hours and it’s over” – C.A.S.

We’re a mere 15 days into the New Year and so far I’ve searched for a missing person, impacted by the tragic death of that sweet soul, took in another border into my home, and hopped a flight to the U.S. Virgin Islands.  Although I hope to provide a chuckle here and there, I hope this post will serve as a lesson of sorts for all; and no matter what happens in your 24 hours, the sun will rise and set each day.  It’s guaranteed unless of course you’re going by the Mayan calendar whereas we were supposed to be smoked out in 2012 and since that theory went down the shitter, the next prediction was an apocalypse in 2015.  I think I’m still here ….then again maybe it’s just a kick ass dream because…

I’m writing from the beautiful Island of St. Croix or Saint Crotch as I like to refer to it.  We state-siders thought we coined the term, “Can’t make this shit up” to describe our dysfunctional lives, but the Cruzan’s really do have the market cornered on this saying.  I was actually denied helping serve at the beach bar where my daughter works because I hadn’t shit in a cup.  In order to receive your health card to serve food here, you have to shit in a cup.  How appetizing.  Sadly, I can’t pitch in when the two cruise ships dock this weekend.  I’ll just have to sit back, relax, and refill my umbrella drinks.

Let me explain the 24 hours and it’s over.  After my Mom died over 17 years ago, my Dad looked upon any holiday, birthday or celebration with the thought that “24 hours and it’s over” all thanks to our parish Monsignor who shared that phrase with him soon after my Mother’s death.  The same Monsignor who embezzled $1.2 million from our parish, so I’d say his take was he made it through another 24 hours without getting caught – not yet anyway.  So, I would venture to say my Father deemed all celebrations empty without my Mother to share them with.  I couldn’t comprehend this pessimistic train of thought for many years since he was surrounded by a multitude of family and friends, yet now it’s completely understandable since we’ve all done a little delving into our family history.  Thanks also to some added information from Ancestry.com that led us to having him answer some pointed questions about his past and family tree.

By the second day of the New Year, I had a revelation that maybe my dear old Pop’s wasn’t so off his nut after all because it’s all about interpretation.  On January 1st, my family was frantically searching for a beloved family member who left home at odds.  24 hours later, she was found and 24 hours after that, funeral arrangements were being made.

So, as I sit here looking at the 12 aqua shades of the Caribbean with blue sky over head watching a horse go for a morning swim with his owner, I think to myself I’ve had an absolutely blissful 24 hours.   Therefore, I’m beginning to think along these lines now:  A horrific 24 hours will come to an end just as a blissful 24 hours will come to an end.  It’s all about living in the in between:  Making memories, spending time with people you love, and being conscious of what you give of yourself and the energy that surrounds you.

You’ll find this sign hanging or displayed in most or all of my extended family’s homes including mine.  Now that I’m successfully deleting overloaded brain files with sunshine and liquor, I’ve had time to process what happened in just the last 3 weeks.  I hosted a Christmas Eve dinner for approximately 35 or more people.  I had to stop counting because I ran out of chairs and cutlery, but I knew it would work out.  I continue to place complete faith in where kindness is extended, kindness is returned and I’ve stopped worrying about shit because I have devoted angels that have to constantly work overtime on my behalf (both divine spirits and mortal) and I didn’t so much as flinch when I spilled the 30 pound tray of chicken scarpiello all over my oven door 15 minutes prior to my guest’s arrival.  I stood there mute and frozen while 4 human angels sopped it up back into the pan. Yup, whomever ate it had oven door chicken scarp – 30 second rule….more like 5 minutes…..sorry.  The oven was on all damn day so I’m sure the door was at a sterilized stage.  Don’t worry, they didn’t put the shit that spilled onto the floor back in the pan.  The point is,  I would never turn anyone away that didn’t have a place to go as I know holidays can be the toughest time of the year for so many people.  Add to that, I suck ass in portion control as I’m constantly reminded by my children, and I make enough of each food to serve an entire homeless shelter just with the leftovers alone.

After all was said and done, my youngest daughter who did most of the clean up with her man, gave me some advice for next year’s Christmas Eve.  “Buy a ticket.  Go away.  That shit was crazy woman.”  Without even knowing what was coming down the pike, I reminded her of something my brother said as part of his speech at his daughter’s wedding a few years back, “This group of people will never be in the same place at the same time ever again,” and it had come to fruition once again.  Take nothing for granted.  It may have been mayhem, tight seating, and we may not have had it all together, but at least we were all together because another special soul will not be there to share the next Christmas Eve.  At least not in mortal form.

I haven’t sent Christmas cards out in quite a few years, so consider this a late holiday greeting with some reminders going forth for 2016:

May you find the time to reach out to those struggling during the holidays (and all through the year)

May you ALWAYS set an extra place setting even if you have to use plastic/paper (nobody gives a shit what their food is served on)

May you place your emphasis on the memories and not the gifts

As one of my daughter’s said to me today, she couldn’t tell me what she got as Christmas presents in past years, but she could tell me about the Christmases we forfeited gifts and I took them away.  One never to be forgotten memory was a trip to the Bob Marley compound in Jamaica. The “9-mile” rickety Rasta painted school bus (red, yellow, green) that vomited all Bob Marley quotes. Drinking rum punches through the rain forest, up a one lane mountain with no guard rails (the reason for rum punch – a valium would’ve been appreciated).  As we entered the gates of the Marley compound, they actually had their own McDonald-like take out window except the burgers & fries were actually ganja blunts the size of a bratwurst for sale by the little man in the window.  Aaah yes, and you could smoke ganja throughout the whole tour.  How delightful for three teenagers.

 Mother of the Year Award – FAIL, but a Christmas memory never to be forgotten.

24 hours have passed since I wrote this blog post without posting it, and I’m just happy I lived through the past 24 hours.  My dear daughter and her boyfriend took me on a 1/2 mile hike up a damn bluff in 90 degree weather to a lighthouse yesterday.  When you don’t perspire like normal people your body goes into heat stroke.  I was only minutes away.  I figured if they were going to off me it would be via paddle boarding.  Launch my ass into the ocean as shark bait or I’d turn into a human french fry trying to paddle back to shore against the current.

I’m still here and so are you if you’re reading this.  Be grateful.  Be kind. Be happy. Life can change in a split second and is only a split second.