The oldies are back. If you could photograph relief, I should have taken a picture of both of their faces. If you could capture panic in a photo, I should've taken a self-portrait. How could I forget so much in nine days?
They were pampered and spoiled on their trip. The sister-in-law cooked elaborate meals and tried to tend to every need. She's a great cook. I think of the kitchen as that room I walk through to get to my office. Upon returning here, they announced they were hungry so I made soup (from a can) and grilled cheese. When they wanted a cup of coffee, I nuked some that was leftover from breakfast. (It was EXCELLENT! Best meal they've had in days.)
They couldn't wait to crawl into their bed but after a few hours, I was on call again. They are exhausted and there is difficulty with getting around. Plus, I had to personally inspect every bump, bruise, etc. She uses her cell phone to call our home phone. (I have asked her to do this so she doesn't fall but it makes Big Daddy insane.)
Like a blankie, I am one of their comfortable things.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Mentors
I hope you have had a mentor or two or twelve. If you are lucky enough to have had one, I hope you have returned the favor.
As you know, I am blessed with all kinds of role models. Parents, in-laws, Exes, Children, and most certainly friends. I get great satisfaction in learning from them all. I will never understand people who think they know it all. There are certain situations where I am sure that I am the smartest person in the room but yet, I'm still learning.
I've had lots of bosses. Weird and quirky ones, demented ones, professionally-driven ones, etc. I've been a boss and I'm pretty sure these same adjectives would've been used to describe me.
And then there was Syd ...
I can't describe his laugh. I worked for him about 12 years. My office was always around the corner and far away from his but I could hear it and it made me laugh. Plus, I knew he was headed my way. In the early days, everyone smoked. We used to sit at his conference table and calculate budgets or write business plans. When we moved into the new bank building (non-smoking,) we took a lot of walks.
The memories might bore you so I will only share a few:
An extremely bumpy flight (on Christmas Eve) with Syd. We were the only two people on the bank plane. We were facing each other and all 6'3" of him was flailing. He said to me, "This isn't really the way I planned to die."
A meeting with idiotic people where he stood up and announced, "I don't know what the @#**** you people are thinking. He left the room. I followed and we stood in the supply closet and laughed our a**** off.
For a while, he had the most bizarre assistant ever (inherited) and he would completely lose it. She bought him pink notepads and used to rearrange things in his office. Then she would deny it and you could hear him in Canada ... "Yes, you did!"
When the gossip chain let us know that the husband (my husband) was divorcing and I went into Syd's office and said, "Who would date him? He doesn't have a great track record." He reminded me of this when he received our wedding announcement.
When I realized that he was the only one who could show me the ropes while also making me feel smart and talented. He never hesitated to tell me, "You could've done it a little differently," but I always felt like I was learning.
He is retired now and I hope he is having the time of his life. His wife has an incredible sense of humor so I'm sure they laugh a lot. We get to see them a couple of times a year but it's not enough for me. I miss the days of him whipping around the corner and asking, "Want to go for a walk?"
As you know, I am blessed with all kinds of role models. Parents, in-laws, Exes, Children, and most certainly friends. I get great satisfaction in learning from them all. I will never understand people who think they know it all. There are certain situations where I am sure that I am the smartest person in the room but yet, I'm still learning.
I've had lots of bosses. Weird and quirky ones, demented ones, professionally-driven ones, etc. I've been a boss and I'm pretty sure these same adjectives would've been used to describe me.
And then there was Syd ...
I can't describe his laugh. I worked for him about 12 years. My office was always around the corner and far away from his but I could hear it and it made me laugh. Plus, I knew he was headed my way. In the early days, everyone smoked. We used to sit at his conference table and calculate budgets or write business plans. When we moved into the new bank building (non-smoking,) we took a lot of walks.
The memories might bore you so I will only share a few:
An extremely bumpy flight (on Christmas Eve) with Syd. We were the only two people on the bank plane. We were facing each other and all 6'3" of him was flailing. He said to me, "This isn't really the way I planned to die."
A meeting with idiotic people where he stood up and announced, "I don't know what the @#**** you people are thinking. He left the room. I followed and we stood in the supply closet and laughed our a**** off.
For a while, he had the most bizarre assistant ever (inherited) and he would completely lose it. She bought him pink notepads and used to rearrange things in his office. Then she would deny it and you could hear him in Canada ... "Yes, you did!"
When the gossip chain let us know that the husband (my husband) was divorcing and I went into Syd's office and said, "Who would date him? He doesn't have a great track record." He reminded me of this when he received our wedding announcement.
When I realized that he was the only one who could show me the ropes while also making me feel smart and talented. He never hesitated to tell me, "You could've done it a little differently," but I always felt like I was learning.
He is retired now and I hope he is having the time of his life. His wife has an incredible sense of humor so I'm sure they laugh a lot. We get to see them a couple of times a year but it's not enough for me. I miss the days of him whipping around the corner and asking, "Want to go for a walk?"
Lucky Number
Do you have a favorite or lucky number? Mine is three.
Except for today. Today, I am watching the clock and if all goes according to my carefully orchestrated travel schedule, the oldies will be back in three hours.
In order to preserve my sanity and restore my favorite number to its rightful place, I've made three new rules:
I'm feeling better but the oldies won't know what hit them.
That little declaration of independence felt so good, I made three more:
Welcome back oldies. It's a whole new day.
Except for today. Today, I am watching the clock and if all goes according to my carefully orchestrated travel schedule, the oldies will be back in three hours.
In order to preserve my sanity and restore my favorite number to its rightful place, I've made three new rules:
1. I am unavailable between the hours of 9am and 5pm. My work and my writing has to come first.
2. IF the car is repaired and IF the husband agrees to let her drive on occasion, I reserve the right to make the judgement call of instability and take the keys away.
3. Assisted-living decisions will be made and executed within three months.
I'm feeling better but the oldies won't know what hit them.
That little declaration of independence felt so good, I made three more:
1. If there's somewhere they need to go, they can call a cab or investigate senior transportation options.
2. Frying will be kept to a minimum.
3. Any new food added to the pantry is only allowed after they've eaten all the junk that's already in there. If not, I will follow the husband's lead and just throw stuff away.
Welcome back oldies. It's a whole new day.
Friday, December 28, 2007
What Choices Will She Make?
I spend a fair amount of time thinking about the daughter. She lives in another state and our communications are limited to email and phone. (Although, she and her father have mastered texting each other.) Still, there's nothing like the warm embrace and the familiar comfort of the hug. I took a million of them while she was home for Christmas. She probably felt a little smothered. I hope she felt the love.
She is happily in love and we are thrilled for her. Then I do the life comparison and realize that I had worn more than one wedding dress by the time I was in her stage of life. (Not a recommended path!) I did not birth children but I know she plans to do so. As if this was any of my business, I wonder when? Am I so conservative that I would expect her to be married? If there was a little grandbaby in the picture, would I care?
We embraced the decision for her to move away, have her adventures and get out of Dodge. The husband did it and I wish I had done it as a young person. Yet, I'm selfish and now I like it best when we're all in the same city.
The oldies do not understand. She is their eldest grandchild and they are a bit perplexed with her choices. Not married? What is she waiting for? No children yet?
Education has been a focal point. She has far surpassed her father, her mother and me with degrees in hand. So far, the best use of those degrees is something she struggles with and we less-educated people can only advise. Like all parents, we just want her to be happy.
She is happily in love and we are thrilled for her. Then I do the life comparison and realize that I had worn more than one wedding dress by the time I was in her stage of life. (Not a recommended path!) I did not birth children but I know she plans to do so. As if this was any of my business, I wonder when? Am I so conservative that I would expect her to be married? If there was a little grandbaby in the picture, would I care?
We embraced the decision for her to move away, have her adventures and get out of Dodge. The husband did it and I wish I had done it as a young person. Yet, I'm selfish and now I like it best when we're all in the same city.
The oldies do not understand. She is their eldest grandchild and they are a bit perplexed with her choices. Not married? What is she waiting for? No children yet?
Education has been a focal point. She has far surpassed her father, her mother and me with degrees in hand. So far, the best use of those degrees is something she struggles with and we less-educated people can only advise. Like all parents, we just want her to be happy.
I Didn't Raise Him
To borrow a phrase, the husband can be a little "out there."
I used to get uncomfortable or start a mean, big fat fight when he did or said something I disagreed with. Then, it was pointed out to me that he is an adult and I did not raise him. I have no responsibility for his words or actions. Nor should they reflect on me. Unlike the oldies (who in some bizarre way consider themselves the same person,) I want to be my own person who chooses to be with my fungi.
Occasionally the mother-in-law will say to me, "He didn't learn that from his childhood." I always counter back, "Well, I didn't raise him."
I used to get uncomfortable or start a mean, big fat fight when he did or said something I disagreed with. Then, it was pointed out to me that he is an adult and I did not raise him. I have no responsibility for his words or actions. Nor should they reflect on me. Unlike the oldies (who in some bizarre way consider themselves the same person,) I want to be my own person who chooses to be with my fungi.
Occasionally the mother-in-law will say to me, "He didn't learn that from his childhood." I always counter back, "Well, I didn't raise him."
Worrying and Stress
I'm all for safety. I wear my seat belt. I will never be on a motorcycle again but if I did, I would wear a helmet. The baby had a helmet for bicycling or in-line skating. I rode a bicycle, climbed trees and stood on people's shoulders -- never a helmet involved.
Now the entire country is up in arms about lead paint, especially in toys from China. Didn't we all sleep in cribs and grow up in homes with lead paint?
I have a friend who will not allow her dog to have rawhide bones. I know this because I made the mistake of giving one to the dog and she took it away. My dog would eat the sofa if I left her unsupervised so I'm not stressing about a little rawhide.
The husband grills a mean tenderloin. But, he cannot stand overcooked meat. So, if the pork is a tad pink in the middle and someone makes a comment, he asks for a moment of silence for all the friends we've lost to trichinosis. (None!)
I worry about all the normal things: oldies, my parents, kids, bills, health, business, the husband's stress level, etc.
Then, I worry about weird things: Did I leave the dog outside and might the oldies or the husband run over her? (She's not super smart and we all seem to be accident prone.) What is going on with my hair? Why can't I get my clocks in sync? (You know I have that obsession with numbers.) Did my sassy mouth get me in trouble? Do I owe someone/anyone an apology?
The oldies are headed back in two days. I'll give you one guess of what's on my stress radar today. So, I plan to go to Sheri's World and think about that tomorrow.
Now the entire country is up in arms about lead paint, especially in toys from China. Didn't we all sleep in cribs and grow up in homes with lead paint?
I have a friend who will not allow her dog to have rawhide bones. I know this because I made the mistake of giving one to the dog and she took it away. My dog would eat the sofa if I left her unsupervised so I'm not stressing about a little rawhide.
The husband grills a mean tenderloin. But, he cannot stand overcooked meat. So, if the pork is a tad pink in the middle and someone makes a comment, he asks for a moment of silence for all the friends we've lost to trichinosis. (None!)
I worry about all the normal things: oldies, my parents, kids, bills, health, business, the husband's stress level, etc.
Then, I worry about weird things: Did I leave the dog outside and might the oldies or the husband run over her? (She's not super smart and we all seem to be accident prone.) What is going on with my hair? Why can't I get my clocks in sync? (You know I have that obsession with numbers.) Did my sassy mouth get me in trouble? Do I owe someone/anyone an apology?
The oldies are headed back in two days. I'll give you one guess of what's on my stress radar today. So, I plan to go to Sheri's World and think about that tomorrow.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Watching Sibling Love
My life, although stressful, is pretty cushy. As an only child, I never realized the power of a sister or a brother watching out for you. (But now I do have my sister to boss around.) My childhood was damn cushy.
I wish the same could be said for my parents and their siblings. Reminiscing is fun and I love most of the stories. There are many that cause a belly laugh. Luckily, both of my parents and their sisters have amazing senses of humor.
They also all had different versions of bad childhoods. Sometimes I can't listen to those stories. I go into Sheri's World because it hurts my heart to hear them.
No one dwells on the negative. Each person has dealt with it in his or her own way. They've managed to go on and create stable and loving families. (The jury's still out on my stability.)
The oldies did their best raising four boys but in my uneducated opinion, the brothers aren't very close to the oldies or their siblings. It seems to me that it's more duty and obligation.
On the other hand, my parents have this close and bonded relationship with their siblings. My mother talks (or emails) with her sisters almost every day. They disagree, they get frustrated and yet, it's a lifeline.
My father and I went to the airport yesterday to pick up his sister. He was giddy with the anticipation of seeing her. And they both lit up like neon signs when they spotted each other.
They've survived their storms, although there are more to come. Seeing a face that looks a lot like yours and knowing this kind of love is precious. And heart warming.
I wish the same could be said for my parents and their siblings. Reminiscing is fun and I love most of the stories. There are many that cause a belly laugh. Luckily, both of my parents and their sisters have amazing senses of humor.
They also all had different versions of bad childhoods. Sometimes I can't listen to those stories. I go into Sheri's World because it hurts my heart to hear them.
No one dwells on the negative. Each person has dealt with it in his or her own way. They've managed to go on and create stable and loving families. (The jury's still out on my stability.)
The oldies did their best raising four boys but in my uneducated opinion, the brothers aren't very close to the oldies or their siblings. It seems to me that it's more duty and obligation.
On the other hand, my parents have this close and bonded relationship with their siblings. My mother talks (or emails) with her sisters almost every day. They disagree, they get frustrated and yet, it's a lifeline.
My father and I went to the airport yesterday to pick up his sister. He was giddy with the anticipation of seeing her. And they both lit up like neon signs when they spotted each other.
They've survived their storms, although there are more to come. Seeing a face that looks a lot like yours and knowing this kind of love is precious. And heart warming.
A Scavenger Hunt
I try very hard to respect the privacy of others in this house. The only exception was while the baby was in high school. I felt it was my duty and my right to do the occasional espionage sweep of his bedroom and backpack.
When the oldies got to Texas, she called a couple of times and asked me to go into the dungeon to look for a particular bill or other information she needed. I would never dig through drawers or closets without her permission.
Let me back up... Our can opener had been missing for days. (You can't make that green bean casserole with the french fried onions without a can opener.) Eventually, I had the husband and Houseboy looking in every possible kitchen drawer and cabinet. No one could find it.
My little voyage into the dungeon unearthed multiple missing items, including the can opener.
When the oldies got to Texas, she called a couple of times and asked me to go into the dungeon to look for a particular bill or other information she needed. I would never dig through drawers or closets without her permission.
Let me back up... Our can opener had been missing for days. (You can't make that green bean casserole with the french fried onions without a can opener.) Eventually, I had the husband and Houseboy looking in every possible kitchen drawer and cabinet. No one could find it.
My little voyage into the dungeon unearthed multiple missing items, including the can opener.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Airport Joy
My dad and I went to the airport today to pick up his sister. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. There's that moment when someone you love (and haven't seen in a while) comes into view ... it's bliss.
You always have to kill a little time wating for a plane. I'm anal so I kept checking on the flight and then when she called me, I started giving my dad little hand signals to start the car and get moving. I'm pretty sure he wanted to slap me back to reality but he didn't. (Seeing his sister was a great diversion.)
Tonight is their sibling time. Tomorrow her boyfriend will join us and the husband and I will dominate, even though we don't mean to do so.
With kisses and hugs, I sent my dad and his sister off to enjoy their evening. Then, I cried. But they were tears of great joy.
You always have to kill a little time wating for a plane. I'm anal so I kept checking on the flight and then when she called me, I started giving my dad little hand signals to start the car and get moving. I'm pretty sure he wanted to slap me back to reality but he didn't. (Seeing his sister was a great diversion.)
Tonight is their sibling time. Tomorrow her boyfriend will join us and the husband and I will dominate, even though we don't mean to do so.
With kisses and hugs, I sent my dad and his sister off to enjoy their evening. Then, I cried. But they were tears of great joy.
Wandering and Wondering
I'm wandering through the house -- picking up wrappings and trying my best to tidy up. While I'm wandering I'm also wondering.
The oldies are in Texas. I'm just enough of an egomaniac that I'm sure they need me. I'm wondering...
The daughter is on a plane. Beyond the prayers for a safe trip, I wonder about her life. She's happy and we're thrilled. But, there are lots of decisions in her future.
The baby is headed back to college in a few days. I wander through his bedroom and then I wonder ... Have we put too much pressure on this child?
The husband keeps me in the loop but he is stressed. I wonder if I'm making it better or worse.
I wonder about friends. Do they need my help? Am I failing them?
The oldies are in Texas. I'm just enough of an egomaniac that I'm sure they need me. I'm wondering...
The daughter is on a plane. Beyond the prayers for a safe trip, I wonder about her life. She's happy and we're thrilled. But, there are lots of decisions in her future.
The baby is headed back to college in a few days. I wander through his bedroom and then I wonder ... Have we put too much pressure on this child?
The husband keeps me in the loop but he is stressed. I wonder if I'm making it better or worse.
I wonder about friends. Do they need my help? Am I failing them?
Sprouting Tubers
This is a phrase my friend Deb made up. She is very creative and I'm a little jealous.
I'm trying to figure out why the oldies don't sprout tubers. Their life is eat/sleep/repeat.
Other than falling into my bed, I haven't spent much time off my feet. In a few days, I plan to grab a book, nestle in and sprout some tubers.
A definition: Sprouting tubers is taking the couch potato thing to a whole new level. You've been sitting there so long, you're sprouting tubers.
I'm trying to figure out why the oldies don't sprout tubers. Their life is eat/sleep/repeat.
Other than falling into my bed, I haven't spent much time off my feet. In a few days, I plan to grab a book, nestle in and sprout some tubers.
Have I Eaten Today?
I am not a foodie; I have other vices.
This topic freaks people out so I apologize.
This is the time of year that I cook a lot. And, I truly enjoy it. Then I realize that I'm cooking -- not eating. The other night I was elbow deep in food prep for Christmas Eve. The husband announced, "We haven't eaten since lunch yesterday." (He's not a foodie either.) So, although I was surrounded by food, I ordered a pizza.
I used to blame this on the oldies because their obsession with food kills any appetite I may have. But, it's unfair to them. They're not the only people who destroy my appetite. I avoid buffets like flies avoid swatters. People load up like they're storing calories for hibernation. My friend Jan and I have learned to find the table in the corner of the restaurant so we don't have to watch other people eat. It's a quirk that works for both of us.
My mother tells the story of me coming home from school or dance practice and I would sit with some lettuce and a salt shaker. Love it! The other night, I went to bed and then realized I was hungry. I got up and had a grapefruit.
Overwhelming food choices make me -- well, overwhelmed. Right now I have lots of leftovers so I'm grazing. But yes, I am eating.
This topic freaks people out so I apologize.
This is the time of year that I cook a lot. And, I truly enjoy it. Then I realize that I'm cooking -- not eating. The other night I was elbow deep in food prep for Christmas Eve. The husband announced, "We haven't eaten since lunch yesterday." (He's not a foodie either.) So, although I was surrounded by food, I ordered a pizza.
I used to blame this on the oldies because their obsession with food kills any appetite I may have. But, it's unfair to them. They're not the only people who destroy my appetite. I avoid buffets like flies avoid swatters. People load up like they're storing calories for hibernation. My friend Jan and I have learned to find the table in the corner of the restaurant so we don't have to watch other people eat. It's a quirk that works for both of us.
My mother tells the story of me coming home from school or dance practice and I would sit with some lettuce and a salt shaker. Love it! The other night, I went to bed and then realized I was hungry. I got up and had a grapefruit.
Overwhelming food choices make me -- well, overwhelmed. Right now I have lots of leftovers so I'm grazing. But yes, I am eating.
'Tis The Season
Maybe I should say, "Twas the season." Today is the day after Christmas. I still feel like a (rein)deer caught in the headlights. I survived and now I get to reflect. It's the:
The oldies will be back in a few days. That's my official sign that the season is over.
Season of miracles -- the baby and I made it to church last Sunday. My bonus gift was a surprise visit from my sister and sitting next to her during worship.
Season of grieving -- Our next door neighbor/friend/attorney lost his mother this week. (Why do we say lost?) She's not lost like the oldies get lost. We drove out of town and I saw her body in the casket. They are grieving and I am sad that this is something they've had to endure this holiday.
Season of short tempers -- sales people, cranky shoppers and Heaven forbid, in my own home!
Season of big money -- No matter how you try to scale back, you are guaranteed to spend more than you intended.
Season of tiredness -- There are not enough hours in the day. Any ache and pain is guaranteed to be multiplied.
Season of blessings -- The husband has spent father/daughter time and he is on Cloud Nine. Our Christmas Eve and Christmas day was blessed with both children and my parents here.
Season of forgetfulness -- I went to the grocery story three times in two days to prepare for entertaining.
Season of friends and visitors -- I can't wait to see our out-of-town guests.
Season of Rejoice -- For all my gripes, I still sing, pray and rejoice.
Season of Parties -- Our entertaining is mostly done. We will still enjoy the hospitality of others.
Season of Big, Fat Liars -- More than one person, including the husband, reneged on our agreement not to exchange gifts.
The oldies will be back in a few days. That's my official sign that the season is over.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Grandma Got Run Over by a Narcotic
There are certain Christmas songs I love and others I loathe.
I don't like:
I especially dislike "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." But I've found a way to make it tolerable. I've written new lyrics that I sing in my mind.
Feel free to sing along.
I don't like:
The Twelve Days of Christmas -- Don't like the birds.
The Little Drummer Boy -- All that "Rump a Pump Pump" gives me a headache.
All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth
That Alvin song with the rodents
Any song where the artist tries to hip hop or jazz up a traditional hymn.
I especially dislike "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." But I've found a way to make it tolerable. I've written new lyrics that I sing in my mind.
Grandma got run over by a narcotic, while she was being kicked out the door.
Grandpa took one or more too. We could hardly get him up off the floor.
Feel free to sing along.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
They're in Texas and as for me and my house, we believe.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Into the Madness
After dealing with two different appliance repairmen, the carpet cleaning people and at least twelve phone calls, I thought perhaps I should venture out and get a few gifts for Christmas. I have a few that I've purchased early but that's it. I've managed to pull it together for a couple of parties but my time is running out. (Although I avoid shopping, this is NOT me. I can't figure out when I became this person.)
Since I am always destined to run into someone who knows me or the husband, I decided to shower and slap on some make-up. I hate to give people a Halloween scare during the Christmas season.
I planned two stops. Shopping and the grocery.
On the way to shop, I realized I was hungry so I stopped for a sandwich. Do you think I was putting off my duties? Once inside the store, I started tailing people. They would say, "I think this is the best one." If they put it in their cart, I put one in mine. Then I got distracted with interesting conversations around me so I pulled out my notebook and jotted some writing thoughts. In the midst of this, I answered my cell phone at least three times. At one point, I considered sitting on the floor while I was making my notes and talking on the phone but I decided it might draw undue attention.
I was in the aisle with discounted Christmas decorations and an oldie came up to me with a wad of things in her hand. She thrust them upon me and explained that she has a gift exchange with ... pick one -- her bowling group, her card group, her living will club -- I didn't quite catch it. But, I gave my opinion and helped her pick some other things.
It's official. I am an oldies magnet.
I left the store and it was dark, drizzling and a little foggy. The grocery will have to be taken care of tomorrow. I came home and left everything in my trunk.
I'm having a little Scarlett moment -- Tomorrow is another day.
Since I am always destined to run into someone who knows me or the husband, I decided to shower and slap on some make-up. I hate to give people a Halloween scare during the Christmas season.
I planned two stops. Shopping and the grocery.
On the way to shop, I realized I was hungry so I stopped for a sandwich. Do you think I was putting off my duties? Once inside the store, I started tailing people. They would say, "I think this is the best one." If they put it in their cart, I put one in mine. Then I got distracted with interesting conversations around me so I pulled out my notebook and jotted some writing thoughts. In the midst of this, I answered my cell phone at least three times. At one point, I considered sitting on the floor while I was making my notes and talking on the phone but I decided it might draw undue attention.
I was in the aisle with discounted Christmas decorations and an oldie came up to me with a wad of things in her hand. She thrust them upon me and explained that she has a gift exchange with ... pick one -- her bowling group, her card group, her living will club -- I didn't quite catch it. But, I gave my opinion and helped her pick some other things.
It's official. I am an oldies magnet.
I left the store and it was dark, drizzling and a little foggy. The grocery will have to be taken care of tomorrow. I came home and left everything in my trunk.
I'm having a little Scarlett moment -- Tomorrow is another day.
Lady Webster (Again)
I must find a new title for my mother. We've always called her "Lady Webster" but I am becoming her so maybe she'll become "Queen Webster."
She has a command of the English language like no one you know (with the possible exception of English professors.) Just possible ...
I spent my entire childhood learning the proper way to say things, finding the proper words and being told, "Look it up." A habit that continues to this day.
My parents sent me to college. I earned a degree in journalism. Not bragging, just a life experience. My mother can run circles around me in the proper use of any comma, any hyphen or the difference between sit/set, lay/lie. Sometimes she will ask me, "Is that the word you really meant to use?" They could've saved a lot of money on college and I could've camped at her feet.
So here I go down that slippery slope. Girlfriends will be trying to tell an interesting or horrific story (usually about an oldie) and some look will cross my face. And they ask, "Is that the wrong word?" I'm surprised they don't just run. The baby often looks at me like I have a mental illness.
Often, I take a deep breath and let it go. To some, it's insulting to be corrected.
I love to be corrected. I am 44-years old and my mother still gives me little grammar and punctuation tips. She tells me to write it down and I do. Forget gifts -- this makes me giddy. We could probably spend endless days on a deserted island. We would take our dictionaries and diagram sentences and forget to make that "HELP" sign out of twigs.
She has a command of the English language like no one you know (with the possible exception of English professors.) Just possible ...
I spent my entire childhood learning the proper way to say things, finding the proper words and being told, "Look it up." A habit that continues to this day.
My parents sent me to college. I earned a degree in journalism. Not bragging, just a life experience. My mother can run circles around me in the proper use of any comma, any hyphen or the difference between sit/set, lay/lie. Sometimes she will ask me, "Is that the word you really meant to use?" They could've saved a lot of money on college and I could've camped at her feet.
So here I go down that slippery slope. Girlfriends will be trying to tell an interesting or horrific story (usually about an oldie) and some look will cross my face. And they ask, "Is that the wrong word?" I'm surprised they don't just run. The baby often looks at me like I have a mental illness.
Often, I take a deep breath and let it go. To some, it's insulting to be corrected.
I love to be corrected. I am 44-years old and my mother still gives me little grammar and punctuation tips. She tells me to write it down and I do. Forget gifts -- this makes me giddy. We could probably spend endless days on a deserted island. We would take our dictionaries and diagram sentences and forget to make that "HELP" sign out of twigs.
That Doggie in the Window
How much is that doggie in the window?
The one with the wagglely tail.
How much is that doggie in the window?
I do hope that doggie's for sale.
Do you remember this song?
Our home has multiple windows across the back of the house. Gabby (the dog) has learned to go from window to window until she finds me. She props up her little paws and moans. That's a cue -- "Let me in!"
I find it endearing. The mother-in-law laughs. The husband just wishes she was for sale.
You Can't Get Away From Me
The oldies are in Texas and she has called me three times in 36 hours. Each conversation begins with a giggle and, "You can't get away from me."
Thankfully, she sounds strong and lucid so she must be recovered from traveling.
This morning's call was about some bills and paperwork that need addressed. I can handle it. I asked her about the gash on her arm. She forgot to have her son look at it. Gangrene has probably set in. I made her promise to have it examined.
Also, she can't find the charger for the new cell phone. I told her exactly where I put it. It's in the big carry-on bag that I stuck stickers all over with the words "CARRY ON." She will look again but she's not convinced it's there. Later, I will call my sister-in-law and tell her where to look.
The mother-in-law is right. Out of sight, out of mind is not a remote possibility.
Thankfully, she sounds strong and lucid so she must be recovered from traveling.
This morning's call was about some bills and paperwork that need addressed. I can handle it. I asked her about the gash on her arm. She forgot to have her son look at it. Gangrene has probably set in. I made her promise to have it examined.
Also, she can't find the charger for the new cell phone. I told her exactly where I put it. It's in the big carry-on bag that I stuck stickers all over with the words "CARRY ON." She will look again but she's not convinced it's there. Later, I will call my sister-in-law and tell her where to look.
The mother-in-law is right. Out of sight, out of mind is not a remote possibility.
Rule Breakers
I am surrounded by rule breakers. It takes one to know one.
When my angel neighbor was kind enough to replace the mother-in-law's cell phone that had drowned in the sink, the company would not allow her to activate it. The only person authorized to do it is the account holder. They gave her an 800# for the oldies to call. I called and pretended to be her. Last four digits of Social Security Number? I rattled it off. Date of birth? I don't even have to think of these things. I know her relevant numbers as well as I know my own. This, of course, was on the morning I was trying to shove them out the door to Texas. It was not complicated but it did require some time and a few commands that would have thrown her off.
Is impersonating an oldie a misdemeanor or a felony? I'll have to ask the daughter.
This morning was the workout group's Christmas party. Our gift exchange has progressively gotten out of hand so this year we decided to draw names and put a $ limit on the gift. Several people broke the rules. (Okay, I did too but I just bought some dog toys and technically, they were from Gabby.) I only bought a gift for my person. Just looking around, I can tell that everyone went over the $ limit.
In my mind, breaking the rules is permissible if you are doing something kind or trying to help someone. Not everyone agrees.
When my angel neighbor was kind enough to replace the mother-in-law's cell phone that had drowned in the sink, the company would not allow her to activate it. The only person authorized to do it is the account holder. They gave her an 800# for the oldies to call. I called and pretended to be her. Last four digits of Social Security Number? I rattled it off. Date of birth? I don't even have to think of these things. I know her relevant numbers as well as I know my own. This, of course, was on the morning I was trying to shove them out the door to Texas. It was not complicated but it did require some time and a few commands that would have thrown her off.
Is impersonating an oldie a misdemeanor or a felony? I'll have to ask the daughter.
This morning was the workout group's Christmas party. Our gift exchange has progressively gotten out of hand so this year we decided to draw names and put a $ limit on the gift. Several people broke the rules. (Okay, I did too but I just bought some dog toys and technically, they were from Gabby.) I only bought a gift for my person. Just looking around, I can tell that everyone went over the $ limit.
In my mind, breaking the rules is permissible if you are doing something kind or trying to help someone. Not everyone agrees.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Humor
Humor is selective, don't you think? Lots of people (including some of my friends) do not understand when and/or why I find something hysterically funny.
"Mean" has been called more than once. I let it pass.
When there's some interesting story on the news about a man that survived a bowling ball crashing through his windshield, I will laugh. Once the oldies were safe and I thought about our neighbor saying, "Someone's grandpa is on the loose," I laughed a lot.
I don't like racist or ethnic jokes but crude jokes will make me laugh.
My mother and the husband can make me laugh more than anyone. I have actually fallen out of bed with both of them (not at the same time -- we're not that weird) from laughing too hard.
I often joke that the husband would bring a date to my funeral. No one likes this joke but me. I think he would be classy enough to leave her in the car.
If this situation should ever come to pass, I hope she can outrun my girlfriends and I hope she has a great sense of humor.
"Mean" has been called more than once. I let it pass.
When there's some interesting story on the news about a man that survived a bowling ball crashing through his windshield, I will laugh. Once the oldies were safe and I thought about our neighbor saying, "Someone's grandpa is on the loose," I laughed a lot.
I don't like racist or ethnic jokes but crude jokes will make me laugh.
My mother and the husband can make me laugh more than anyone. I have actually fallen out of bed with both of them (not at the same time -- we're not that weird) from laughing too hard.
I often joke that the husband would bring a date to my funeral. No one likes this joke but me. I think he would be classy enough to leave her in the car.
If this situation should ever come to pass, I hope she can outrun my girlfriends and I hope she has a great sense of humor.
In Good Company
Up, up and away! With my ever so subtle style, I practically shoved the oldies out the door yesterday. Now, I was kind for a while. I woke them to make sure they had plenty of time for bathing and final packing. I fried up a big ol' country breakfast. At one point, I was printing out their boarding passes and she came into my office and announced, "I don't think we can go." Super sensitive Sheri said, "Too late!"
I went through every single suitcase and coordinated the last minute packing. I clipped IDs to the appropriate documents and stuck a copy of the itinerary (IN HUGE TYPE) everywhere I could think to stick it. Well, not everywhere.
She read in the newspaper that everything has to be in plastic bags. I tried to explain that they are only talking about liquids in your carry-on. She gave me the look and then proceeded to wrap every single item in plastic bags.
About two hours before they were due to leave, she showed me a gaping gash on her arm. Any other day, I would've been speed dialing the doctor. Nope, I slapped some antibiotic ointment on it, patched it up and said, "Your son and his wife are medical people -- make sure they look at this when you get there."
I am in good company. I'm trying to think of one person I know (over a certain age,) who hasn't endured a version of this situation or isn't living with it right now. Complete strangers (friend of a friend of a friend) come up to me and tell me what's going on with their oldies. Girlfriends who used to discuss fashion and children now discuss falls/gashes/mental illness.
So, I had the last bag ready to close and I asked if there was anything else that needed to go. Hangdog said, "Could you fit in there?"
They got to Texas and I guess they were in quite a daze. (They're better today.) But, as predicted, I'm pretty sure the son in Texas (and family) was not prepared.
I am not making this up. They were confused and kept saying, "Sheri will fix it."
Hey, he finally remembers my name.
Millions of people are in the same boat. We'll sink or swim.
I went through every single suitcase and coordinated the last minute packing. I clipped IDs to the appropriate documents and stuck a copy of the itinerary (IN HUGE TYPE) everywhere I could think to stick it. Well, not everywhere.
She read in the newspaper that everything has to be in plastic bags. I tried to explain that they are only talking about liquids in your carry-on. She gave me the look and then proceeded to wrap every single item in plastic bags.
About two hours before they were due to leave, she showed me a gaping gash on her arm. Any other day, I would've been speed dialing the doctor. Nope, I slapped some antibiotic ointment on it, patched it up and said, "Your son and his wife are medical people -- make sure they look at this when you get there."
I am in good company. I'm trying to think of one person I know (over a certain age,) who hasn't endured a version of this situation or isn't living with it right now. Complete strangers (friend of a friend of a friend) come up to me and tell me what's going on with their oldies. Girlfriends who used to discuss fashion and children now discuss falls/gashes/mental illness.
So, I had the last bag ready to close and I asked if there was anything else that needed to go. Hangdog said, "Could you fit in there?"
They got to Texas and I guess they were in quite a daze. (They're better today.) But, as predicted, I'm pretty sure the son in Texas (and family) was not prepared.
I am not making this up. They were confused and kept saying, "Sheri will fix it."
Hey, he finally remembers my name.
Millions of people are in the same boat. We'll sink or swim.
Dreamland
Last night was the first night I've had alone in eons. No oldies prowling and no husband poking me.
I know people who cannot sleep when they are home alone. They hear every creak in the house and get nervous. I am the exact opposite. When I am home alone, I lock up, set the alarm and go to bed. When the oldies are here, I have one ear and one eye open listening for a fall or a fire. The oldies made it safely to Texas. I will write more about that later.
Sleep does not come easily to me. I guess my body is trying to tell me something because last night I slept for more than nine hours.
I know people who cannot sleep when they are home alone. They hear every creak in the house and get nervous. I am the exact opposite. When I am home alone, I lock up, set the alarm and go to bed. When the oldies are here, I have one ear and one eye open listening for a fall or a fire. The oldies made it safely to Texas. I will write more about that later.
Sleep does not come easily to me. I guess my body is trying to tell me something because last night I slept for more than nine hours.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Three People -- One Special Day
I'm very possessive so I like to use "my" a lot. My husband, my children, my parents, my oldies, my work, my friends, my dog. I try not to do that in this blog but here is an exception. Three of my favorite people share a birthday. And they are MY people.
I used to be good with cards but now people are lucky to get a phone call. Time gets away from me but I did wake up yesterday knowing it was a special day. (This was after I chased down oldies and dealt with the car in the mailbox.)
So, I wish greetings to these three people:
My Aunt Cess: I look like you and we share the little people syndrome. I have your passion for writing. I need the guidance you provide. I think we have the same wacky sense of humor. Plus, you provided me with some really great cousins.
My Emily: I held you when you were born. I will always be here for you as long as I live. I will hold you in my heart forever.
My Cary: You are a princess and I say, "Work it girl!" Let me know if I can help. I've had a few princess moments myself.
So, it's a day late but I salute these three amazing women. To borrow a phrase from my mother, I'm extremely grateful they were born.
I used to be good with cards but now people are lucky to get a phone call. Time gets away from me but I did wake up yesterday knowing it was a special day. (This was after I chased down oldies and dealt with the car in the mailbox.)
So, I wish greetings to these three people:
My Aunt Cess: I look like you and we share the little people syndrome. I have your passion for writing. I need the guidance you provide. I think we have the same wacky sense of humor. Plus, you provided me with some really great cousins.
My Emily: I held you when you were born. I will always be here for you as long as I live. I will hold you in my heart forever.
My Cary: You are a princess and I say, "Work it girl!" Let me know if I can help. I've had a few princess moments myself.
So, it's a day late but I salute these three amazing women. To borrow a phrase from my mother, I'm extremely grateful they were born.
To the Rescue
It took me almost two years to impress on the mother-in-law that she needs to take her cell phone when she leaves the house. Then many people started complaining that they couldn't reach her or they left a message on her cell phone which she didn't retrieve. So I suggested that she might want to keep it handy.
Me and my helpful tips!
They are leaving in four hours. She informed us last night that she dropped her cell phone in a sink full of water. Our attempts to dry it out have failed. It's toast. Her grandsons have to be able to reach her since they're all arriving on different flights. Well, I guess they could request a loud speaker announcement: Two young men looking for two oldies!
Once again, I have been rescued. My neighborhood angel is headed to the vicinity of the cell phone store so she offered to take it and see if they'll swap it out. Or just get a new one with the same number.
I realize I could've gone but I am on patrol. The packing will be completed. No one is going to fall on my watch today. They must get on that plane.
Me and my helpful tips!
They are leaving in four hours. She informed us last night that she dropped her cell phone in a sink full of water. Our attempts to dry it out have failed. It's toast. Her grandsons have to be able to reach her since they're all arriving on different flights. Well, I guess they could request a loud speaker announcement: Two young men looking for two oldies!
Once again, I have been rescued. My neighborhood angel is headed to the vicinity of the cell phone store so she offered to take it and see if they'll swap it out. Or just get a new one with the same number.
I realize I could've gone but I am on patrol. The packing will be completed. No one is going to fall on my watch today. They must get on that plane.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Everyone should have a Mr. Bradley
One more story about my childhood neighborhood ...
Mr. Bradley was the self-appointed neighborhood watchman. This was before the days of community coalitions or gated community councils. This was before people banded together to pay private patrol officers to guard the neighborhood. This was before living in a "secure" area was a goal.
Children creating mischief or strangers in the area were immediately on his screen. He knew eveyone's phone number and did not hesitate to call and ask, "Is everything ok?"
I do not live in a gated community. But, I do have a Mr. Bradley. She lives next door. I hope I return the favor. Good neighbors who look out for your safety and well being are becoming a thing of the past. If it weren't for good friends and neighbors, we would've never known of the fiasco this morning.
When Mr. Bradley passed away, they put his cordless phone in the casket with him. (Most of the numbers had been rubbed off due to years of use.) A fitting tribute to a man who truly understood the concept of neighbors.
Mr. Bradley was the self-appointed neighborhood watchman. This was before the days of community coalitions or gated community councils. This was before people banded together to pay private patrol officers to guard the neighborhood. This was before living in a "secure" area was a goal.
Children creating mischief or strangers in the area were immediately on his screen. He knew eveyone's phone number and did not hesitate to call and ask, "Is everything ok?"
I do not live in a gated community. But, I do have a Mr. Bradley. She lives next door. I hope I return the favor. Good neighbors who look out for your safety and well being are becoming a thing of the past. If it weren't for good friends and neighbors, we would've never known of the fiasco this morning.
When Mr. Bradley passed away, they put his cordless phone in the casket with him. (Most of the numbers had been rubbed off due to years of use.) A fitting tribute to a man who truly understood the concept of neighbors.
Hello God, it's Me
My next-door neighbor's daughter just informed us that the oldies' car was in the mailbox ditch when she came home at 1:00am. That means he spent the night outside in the freezing cold. Or, in their car.
The doctor just called and there's some concern. If she's running a temperature, she cannot fly. Shoot me now. So, the husband will fetch them from the VA and I will dutifully take her temperature and report back to the doctor.
I have no idea what kind of test I'm enduring but I'm pretty sure I'm failing miserably. Plus, I'm getting a little antsy about the husband. His stress level has reached gigantic levels.
I only have one bullet.
The old saying is that God never gives you more than you can handle. To that, I say, "Ha!"
The doctor just called and there's some concern. If she's running a temperature, she cannot fly. Shoot me now. So, the husband will fetch them from the VA and I will dutifully take her temperature and report back to the doctor.
I have no idea what kind of test I'm enduring but I'm pretty sure I'm failing miserably. Plus, I'm getting a little antsy about the husband. His stress level has reached gigantic levels.
I only have one bullet.
The old saying is that God never gives you more than you can handle. To that, I say, "Ha!"
Monday, December 17, 2007
It Can Always Get Worse
You know how some days end and as your head hits the pillow you think, tomorrow has to be a better day. Then you find out the joke's on you.
Yesterday was dismal.
The mother-in-law was determined to go for a hair appointment. In addition to the fact that she can barely walk, we are still dealing with icy side streets and somewhat treacherous conditions. I tried everything: pleading, guilt, bitchiness. Nope, she's going to go. At least I convinced her to leave Hangdog at home.
Their car was covered in ice and snow so I attempted to clean it off. All the while my back is rebelling. As I'm scraping and brushing snow, the Ice Man Cometh. The Unabomber came out to clean off the car. (Man with a cane, icy patches -- you get the picture.) Then I resort to ordering: Get back in the house!
She comes out marching. Well, as much marching as you can do on ice. Jaw on edge, the stubborn look in her eye. And I resigned myself to the fact that she's going to do what she wants to do. I saw the car headed out of the driveway so I went back to work. The next thing I know, I walked by a front window and I see their car in my front yard. Two very helpful gentlemen who happened to be working across the street immediately ran to her assistance. I ran out with a shovel and get this ... she was waiting for them to dig her out so she could still go!
I took her by the arm and she did the 5-year old arm wrench. Let go of me! As I pointed out every patch of ice, she said with annoyance, "I see it!" She was very angry with me so the happy family dinner I had planned was a little chilly. We had fun with the baby and a yummy meal but conversation was a little stilted.
Today, it became even more interesting.
We were awakened at 5:00am because our doorbell rang. It was a neighbor, out walking his dog, and he was concerned that somebody's grandpa is walking around in the street at the end of our driveway. The husband got him in the house and there was some confusion about where the mother-in-law was. I found her. She had gone back to bed.
Then I looked out the laundry room window and noticed their car wasn’t where I left it. So, I walked outside and found it in the ditch by our mailbox.
Apparently they were trying to go to an 8:00 VA appt. (unbeknownst to us). When the car went in the ditch, she left him outside to wait for the tow truck, put her nightgown back on and went back to bed. He was so disoriented, he was babbling (although making more sense than her.)
She swears she called her insurance company for a tow (????) but when we called they have no record of it. So, we don’t know if she called anyone at all. The husband got the car out of the ditch.
She orders him around and he follows orders. Maybe she did tell him to wait for the tow truck. I honestly don't know. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want him pacing the icy streets for hours. Without my neighbors' interception, he would've followed her orders and stayed. Or fallen. Or had frostbite. Or worse.
What would we do without kind neighbors? My friend and next-door neighbor happened to be outside with her dogs so she can attest that I am not embellishing. The neighbor who notified us came back to make sure we found her.
The oldies are supposed to go to Texas tomorrow. The relatives in Texas have no idea of what is headed their way.
Yesterday was dismal.
The mother-in-law was determined to go for a hair appointment. In addition to the fact that she can barely walk, we are still dealing with icy side streets and somewhat treacherous conditions. I tried everything: pleading, guilt, bitchiness. Nope, she's going to go. At least I convinced her to leave Hangdog at home.
Their car was covered in ice and snow so I attempted to clean it off. All the while my back is rebelling. As I'm scraping and brushing snow, the Ice Man Cometh. The Unabomber came out to clean off the car. (Man with a cane, icy patches -- you get the picture.) Then I resort to ordering: Get back in the house!
She comes out marching. Well, as much marching as you can do on ice. Jaw on edge, the stubborn look in her eye. And I resigned myself to the fact that she's going to do what she wants to do. I saw the car headed out of the driveway so I went back to work. The next thing I know, I walked by a front window and I see their car in my front yard. Two very helpful gentlemen who happened to be working across the street immediately ran to her assistance. I ran out with a shovel and get this ... she was waiting for them to dig her out so she could still go!
I took her by the arm and she did the 5-year old arm wrench. Let go of me! As I pointed out every patch of ice, she said with annoyance, "I see it!" She was very angry with me so the happy family dinner I had planned was a little chilly. We had fun with the baby and a yummy meal but conversation was a little stilted.
Today, it became even more interesting.
We were awakened at 5:00am because our doorbell rang. It was a neighbor, out walking his dog, and he was concerned that somebody's grandpa is walking around in the street at the end of our driveway. The husband got him in the house and there was some confusion about where the mother-in-law was. I found her. She had gone back to bed.
Then I looked out the laundry room window and noticed their car wasn’t where I left it. So, I walked outside and found it in the ditch by our mailbox.
Apparently they were trying to go to an 8:00 VA appt. (unbeknownst to us). When the car went in the ditch, she left him outside to wait for the tow truck, put her nightgown back on and went back to bed. He was so disoriented, he was babbling (although making more sense than her.)
She swears she called her insurance company for a tow (????) but when we called they have no record of it. So, we don’t know if she called anyone at all. The husband got the car out of the ditch.
She orders him around and he follows orders. Maybe she did tell him to wait for the tow truck. I honestly don't know. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want him pacing the icy streets for hours. Without my neighbors' interception, he would've followed her orders and stayed. Or fallen. Or had frostbite. Or worse.
What would we do without kind neighbors? My friend and next-door neighbor happened to be outside with her dogs so she can attest that I am not embellishing. The neighbor who notified us came back to make sure we found her.
The oldies are supposed to go to Texas tomorrow. The relatives in Texas have no idea of what is headed their way.
May Danny Come Out and Play?
As children, we ran like crazy around the neighborhood. The season or the weather didn't matter. Sometimes we were called home for some silly reason like dinner but we ran back outside as soon as that obligation was over. I remember friends at the door asking, "Can Sheri come out and play?" Unless I was in trouble, I bolted. I get a little crazy that most children seem to have lost that magical childhood experience.
The other day the husband was kind enough to run some errands for me. It was snowing/icing, etc. But, he must've lost track of time. I answered our home phone and a friend (and one of his card-playing buddies) said, "Mrs. Roman, may Danny come out and play?"
I still have my play dates so I can't tease him too much. Even our dog has play dates. The oldies will never get this about us.
The other day the husband was kind enough to run some errands for me. It was snowing/icing, etc. But, he must've lost track of time. I answered our home phone and a friend (and one of his card-playing buddies) said, "Mrs. Roman, may Danny come out and play?"
I still have my play dates so I can't tease him too much. Even our dog has play dates. The oldies will never get this about us.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Digging
My dog is a digger, although I am trying to cure her of this tendency. There's one spot in the back yard that I'm pretty sure she's digging to China. As you know, if she succeeds, I'm going with her. Now we have five or so inches of fresh snow on the ground so she's digging through that. She throws her whole head in it. When I'm having a hot flash, I'm tempted to do the same.
I'm a good digger. (Please forgive the ego stroke.) Growing up, I never realized that I was a nerdy person. Yes, I liked school and had an abnormal affection for libraries. But I liked other stuff too. I choose to believe I was well-rounded.
I am rarely without a dictionary. I LOVE research. If I'm curious about anything, I will dig it up. The Internet and many search engines make me giddy.
The other day a friend was looking for a particular speech. Her husband wants to share it with their grandson. With undue bravado, I said, "I can find it." (My mother gave me the "You are crazy" look.) She should know by now that I love a challenge.
I like digging for useful information because I spend most of my days digging a hole for myself with my sassy mouth. Usually with the oldies.
I'm a good digger. (Please forgive the ego stroke.) Growing up, I never realized that I was a nerdy person. Yes, I liked school and had an abnormal affection for libraries. But I liked other stuff too. I choose to believe I was well-rounded.
I am rarely without a dictionary. I LOVE research. If I'm curious about anything, I will dig it up. The Internet and many search engines make me giddy.
The other day a friend was looking for a particular speech. Her husband wants to share it with their grandson. With undue bravado, I said, "I can find it." (My mother gave me the "You are crazy" look.) She should know by now that I love a challenge.
I like digging for useful information because I spend most of my days digging a hole for myself with my sassy mouth. Usually with the oldies.
White or Colored
In my lifetime, the segregation of whites and blacks still existed, especially in the South. But, this is not a story about race. It's a story about Christmas lights.
My first Christmas with the husband resulted in a huge debate. He owned colored lights. I am a white lights person. We struggled and negotiated. In one of the few instances in our life together, I prevailed. We've only used white lights since that first year. I got rid of the colored ones so he wouldn't be tempted.
I'm reminded of this for two reasons:
Then I got to watch the husband have a freak-out moment.
My first Christmas with the husband resulted in a huge debate. He owned colored lights. I am a white lights person. We struggled and negotiated. In one of the few instances in our life together, I prevailed. We've only used white lights since that first year. I got rid of the colored ones so he wouldn't be tempted.
I'm reminded of this for two reasons:
I walk by our tree (Merry Impersonal Christmas) and I'm remembering every holiday, especially that first one where we mixed our stuff.
We took the oldies to dinner a few weeks ago and Hangdog said very loudly, "Would you ask that colored man to bring me some coffee?" (I guess race does come into play.)
Then I got to watch the husband have a freak-out moment.
Packing
My aunt, the most talented writer I know personally, is leaving on a three week journey with 10 stops. Weather will range from 80 degrees to below freezing. She is taking one small carry-on bag.
The oldies are packing for nine days in one location. (If they go.) One large suitcase is dedicated entirely to medications, mostly unnecessary. We have hauled three additional big suitcases up from the basement and she's fretting that they won't be able to fit everything in. Plus, canes and at least one walker. Guess who gets to coordinate all of this with the airlines.
I can pack for almost any destination in about 10 minutes. I cannot do it all in one carry-on bag. Neither could the husband -- his golf clubs don't fit in the overhead compartment. But, if I ever get to the point where an entire suitcase is needed to tote medicine, I'm staying home.
The oldies are packing for nine days in one location. (If they go.) One large suitcase is dedicated entirely to medications, mostly unnecessary. We have hauled three additional big suitcases up from the basement and she's fretting that they won't be able to fit everything in. Plus, canes and at least one walker. Guess who gets to coordinate all of this with the airlines.
I can pack for almost any destination in about 10 minutes. I cannot do it all in one carry-on bag. Neither could the husband -- his golf clubs don't fit in the overhead compartment. But, if I ever get to the point where an entire suitcase is needed to tote medicine, I'm staying home.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Twelve Days of Christmas
I'm having a real problem with this song. I've sort of always hated it.
It's on the holiday list on my iPod but every time it comes on, I leap for the remote. I understand the symbolism because I'm a geek and I looked it up. In case you don't know, I'll share it with you.
I can't enjoy the symbolism and the religious meaning. I can't get beyond the birds:
I'll just take the five golden rings and skip the birds.
It's on the holiday list on my iPod but every time it comes on, I leap for the remote. I understand the symbolism because I'm a geek and I looked it up. In case you don't know, I'll share it with you.
One ... Refers to God.
Two ... Refers to the Old and New Testaments.
Three ... Refers to Faith, Hope and Charity, the Theological Virtues.
Four ... Refers to the Four Gospels and/or the Four Evangelists.
Five ... Refers to the first Five books of the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch," which gives the history of man's fall from grace.
Six ... Refers to the Six days of creation.
Seven ... Refers to the Seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the seven sacraments.
Eight ... Refers to the Eight beatitudes.
Nine ... Refers to the Nine fruits of the Holy Spirit.
Ten ... Refers to the Ten commandments.
Eleven ... Refers to the Eleven faithful apostles.
Twelve ... Refers to the Twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed.
I can't enjoy the symbolism and the religious meaning. I can't get beyond the birds:
Partridge
Turtle Doves
French Hens
Calling Birds
Geese
Swans
I'll just take the five golden rings and skip the birds.
Fungi
Last night was the husband's office holiday party. He is the ultimate host. I do my best to tag along and be gracious to all the wonderful people who keep the company humming along.
I left around midnight, knowing he would stay until the bitter end. (I'm still a little sore from picking up oldies and being hit by the shopping cart.) When he came home, he wanted to chat, sing and discuss the evening.
I resorted to, "It's quiet time Fungus. Let me sleep."
He responded, "You've got to admit, I am a Fun Guy."
His ability to make me laugh is one of the reasons why we're still married.
I left around midnight, knowing he would stay until the bitter end. (I'm still a little sore from picking up oldies and being hit by the shopping cart.) When he came home, he wanted to chat, sing and discuss the evening.
I resorted to, "It's quiet time Fungus. Let me sleep."
He responded, "You've got to admit, I am a Fun Guy."
His ability to make me laugh is one of the reasons why we're still married.
Screw Your Neighbor
I made the mistake of saying to the oldies, "We're going out to play Screw Your Neighbor." With the look on her face, I quickly explained that Screw Your Neighbor is a card game, not a lifestyle.
One of our favorite holiday parties started from our ladies euchre group. We decided to include the husbands -- only once a year. And we decided to play Screw Your Neighbor.
It's an extremely simple game. You only get one card and the King is the top card. You can't sit next to your spouse because people start to get testy, but in a fun way. Through process of elimination, the last person is the winner and they get some money. We sing a little song to the person who is eliminated. (The slight downside of winning is the responsibility to plan the party for next year but it's not that tough. We always go to the same place and the menu falls together easily.)
This is the most relaxing party of the season. There is no pressure to socialize with employees or coworkers. No one is trying to make a business deal. There are no politics -- governmental or the social kind. Just lots of laughs and good food shared among friends.
This year we played our game, had a lovely dinner and then (you guessed it!) wound up around the piano. And I left knowing that all of these friends are Kings.
One of our favorite holiday parties started from our ladies euchre group. We decided to include the husbands -- only once a year. And we decided to play Screw Your Neighbor.
It's an extremely simple game. You only get one card and the King is the top card. You can't sit next to your spouse because people start to get testy, but in a fun way. Through process of elimination, the last person is the winner and they get some money. We sing a little song to the person who is eliminated. (The slight downside of winning is the responsibility to plan the party for next year but it's not that tough. We always go to the same place and the menu falls together easily.)
This is the most relaxing party of the season. There is no pressure to socialize with employees or coworkers. No one is trying to make a business deal. There are no politics -- governmental or the social kind. Just lots of laughs and good food shared among friends.
This year we played our game, had a lovely dinner and then (you guessed it!) wound up around the piano. And I left knowing that all of these friends are Kings.
Friday, December 14, 2007
The Little Moments
Do you stop and appreciate the little moments? I'm not very good at it but I'm trying to get better.
Don't worry. This is a momentary spell. I'll be cranky again later.
When the baby says, "I brought the C to an A-, and I'm headed home."
When the daughter says, "I'm not really mad at you." It's code for "I love you and I miss you."
When someone asks you what you want for Christmas and you realize you want for nothing.
When you sit on the floor with the dog, exchanging kisses, and realize that other than the comfort of the husband's kisses, there is something magical about dog kisses.
When you open your mailbox to find wonderful cards from people sending holiday wishes.
When you walk through your home and look at the tree. (Merry Impersonal Christmas.)
When you look around, acknowledge the turmoil, aches and pains, and still find gratitude.
Don't worry. This is a momentary spell. I'll be cranky again later.
On the Fast Track
I am not old. In many ways, I still feel and act like a teenager.
But, I am on the fast track to Oldieville.
I can't see without reading glasses and often when I go searching for them, I realize I am wearing three pairs atop my head. I have big hair so there's usually a pencil or pen stuck in there too.
Since my little run-in with the car (Or, as the husband likes to point out, "You weren't hit by a car, you were hit by a shopping cart.") I am constantly icing and rubbing my knee.
Due to picking up the mother-in-law repeatedly, I am still walking a little crooked. And Pamming every time I have to sit.
Tonight is the husband's office holiday party. I'll do my best to get dolled up but I'm choosing comfort over glamour.
There's a snow/sleet/ice storm approaching. The baby once told me that only oldies have an obsession with the weather. Pretty soon, I'll be calling him "That young whippersnapper."
Forget aging gracefully. I'm on the express lane.
But, I am on the fast track to Oldieville.
I can't see without reading glasses and often when I go searching for them, I realize I am wearing three pairs atop my head. I have big hair so there's usually a pencil or pen stuck in there too.
Since my little run-in with the car (Or, as the husband likes to point out, "You weren't hit by a car, you were hit by a shopping cart.") I am constantly icing and rubbing my knee.
Due to picking up the mother-in-law repeatedly, I am still walking a little crooked. And Pamming every time I have to sit.
Tonight is the husband's office holiday party. I'll do my best to get dolled up but I'm choosing comfort over glamour.
There's a snow/sleet/ice storm approaching. The baby once told me that only oldies have an obsession with the weather. Pretty soon, I'll be calling him "That young whippersnapper."
Forget aging gracefully. I'm on the express lane.
Eavesdropping
Yep, I'm in my little office and the oldies are in the kitchen having their breakfast. The Today Show is on in both rooms. On the television, someone is skating on the Rockefeller Center rink. I just heard the mother-in-law say, "I wish I could skate like that."
Hello! You're still bouncing off walls. By the way, this is not a creative expression. It is an entirely accurate and scary description.
The oldies are supposed to see the doctor today and the husband is coming home mid-day to take them. She doesn't want to go. There was some discussion/disagreement this morning about whether or not she will go. I left the room thinking, Leave Me Out of It. Now I heard her say to her husband, "I know Sheri talked to the doctor but he hasn't called ME. That's not my kind of doctor."
Hello! You went three days without the ability to put together a coherent sentence. I have talked to the doctor. The husband has talked to the doctor repeatedly.
If I had to make a bet, I'd say the odds are 50-50. The husband can be pretty forceful but she can dig in her heels with the best of them.
She'll get over being miffed with the doctor; she adores him.
I'm skating a line here too. I try to balance honesty with humane treatment. There is no reason to tell her every detail of the last few days because she would only be hurt and humiliated. On the other hand, her irrational irritation with the doctor (or the husband) makes me want to sit her down and give her the blow-by-blow.
I know why she's avoiding the doctor. She's afraid he'll want to admit her into the hospital. I should go in her place. I could ask to be committed to a mental hospital. Instead, I'll stick it out. I don't think they'd let me take the husband or my dog.
Hello! You're still bouncing off walls. By the way, this is not a creative expression. It is an entirely accurate and scary description.
The oldies are supposed to see the doctor today and the husband is coming home mid-day to take them. She doesn't want to go. There was some discussion/disagreement this morning about whether or not she will go. I left the room thinking, Leave Me Out of It. Now I heard her say to her husband, "I know Sheri talked to the doctor but he hasn't called ME. That's not my kind of doctor."
Hello! You went three days without the ability to put together a coherent sentence. I have talked to the doctor. The husband has talked to the doctor repeatedly.
If I had to make a bet, I'd say the odds are 50-50. The husband can be pretty forceful but she can dig in her heels with the best of them.
She'll get over being miffed with the doctor; she adores him.
I'm skating a line here too. I try to balance honesty with humane treatment. There is no reason to tell her every detail of the last few days because she would only be hurt and humiliated. On the other hand, her irrational irritation with the doctor (or the husband) makes me want to sit her down and give her the blow-by-blow.
I know why she's avoiding the doctor. She's afraid he'll want to admit her into the hospital. I should go in her place. I could ask to be committed to a mental hospital. Instead, I'll stick it out. I don't think they'd let me take the husband or my dog.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
What I Hate about Christmas
I prop little books on my kitchen window sills. I've swapped out my normal ones for Christmas ones. One is Christmas Joy by Susan Branch. One is Christmas Miracles by Jamie C. Miller, Laura Lewis and Jennifer Basye Sander. They're both lovely and inspiring books.
But my personal favorite and the one that gets the center spot is: Ethel Burke's What I hate about Christmas. It's a little odd that it's a man (Ed Strnad) writing as a woman but once you flip through it, you tend to forget that bizarre fact.
It's filled with hundreds of little things to hate about Christmas. I'll just give you a random sampling:
Here's what I hate about this Christmas:
I can get wrapped up in the stress and silliness of the season. Yes, it's over-commercialized. But I rally myself and I still enjoy (most of) it. When I get a little frustrated or gloomy, I browse through this book and have a chuckle.
The other day, the mother-in-law said about the book on the window sill, "This doesn't seem very nice." I said, "Don't touch it."
Since I'm starting to speak to them like the dog, I should've said, "Paws on the ground!"
But my personal favorite and the one that gets the center spot is: Ethel Burke's What I hate about Christmas. It's a little odd that it's a man (Ed Strnad) writing as a woman but once you flip through it, you tend to forget that bizarre fact.
It's filled with hundreds of little things to hate about Christmas. I'll just give you a random sampling:
Puzzling over a card with no return address and a first name only signature.
When your tree resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
People who send cheap gifts in Tiffany boxes.
Trying to locate the one dead bulb that knocks out the whole string of Christmas lights.
When you tell a religious person that, technically, December 25th was not Jesus' birthday and they get really upset.
The song, All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.
People who drive around while wearing a Santa hat.
Nostalgia for the days when children were overjoyed to get an orange.
Here's what I hate about this Christmas:
Oldies are still falling like acorns off the oak tree. I'm terrified they won't take their trip to Texas.
Our impersonal tree. (I love the tree; I just miss the ornaments. I'm attracted to clutter.)
I can get wrapped up in the stress and silliness of the season. Yes, it's over-commercialized. But I rally myself and I still enjoy (most of) it. When I get a little frustrated or gloomy, I browse through this book and have a chuckle.
The other day, the mother-in-law said about the book on the window sill, "This doesn't seem very nice." I said, "Don't touch it."
Since I'm starting to speak to them like the dog, I should've said, "Paws on the ground!"
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Empty Nest -- Empty Tree
We finally got lights and the most basic decorations on our tree. I use the term "we" loosely because the husband did most of it while I was addressing Christmas cards. Like those old Shake 'n Bake commercials: "I helped." I got the tree. I had all the lights and decorations hauled up and ready to go, thanks to Houseboy.
There's a reason we could not bring ourselves to decorate the tree (although the house decorations look very nice.) Every ornament is a memory. It's one of my favorites the daughter bought me. It's the one the baby made in preschool. It's nine million of them with our names on them. It's a party we attended or a memento from a fun trip.
Still, the tree had to be dressed. I had people coming over. Plus, I like to throw one more obstacle for the oldies in the path between the dungeon and the kitchen.
So, the husband was kind enough to do it. Lights, red balls, gold balls and some tinsel. (I know no one uses tinsel any more but we're throw backs.) There is not a single personal item on this tree. It could go anywhere. It's very pretty but it's not us. We have decided to wait until the children of this home are home.
One of our rituals during the holiday is whoever gets up first has certain duties: Start the coffee, get the paper, turn on the tree and the wreaths.
The husband coined the phrase but now we're both using it. We look at the tree and say to each other, "Merry Impersonal Christmas."
There's a reason we could not bring ourselves to decorate the tree (although the house decorations look very nice.) Every ornament is a memory. It's one of my favorites the daughter bought me. It's the one the baby made in preschool. It's nine million of them with our names on them. It's a party we attended or a memento from a fun trip.
Still, the tree had to be dressed. I had people coming over. Plus, I like to throw one more obstacle for the oldies in the path between the dungeon and the kitchen.
So, the husband was kind enough to do it. Lights, red balls, gold balls and some tinsel. (I know no one uses tinsel any more but we're throw backs.) There is not a single personal item on this tree. It could go anywhere. It's very pretty but it's not us. We have decided to wait until the children of this home are home.
One of our rituals during the holiday is whoever gets up first has certain duties: Start the coffee, get the paper, turn on the tree and the wreaths.
The husband coined the phrase but now we're both using it. We look at the tree and say to each other, "Merry Impersonal Christmas."
On the Prayer Chain
I once inherited an administrative assistant who did not like me at all. She was used to a different kind of manager -- gushy ... honey, sweetie, etc. This is not me in a business situation.
I pray a lot. Sometimes, it's on the floor. I've either chosen to be on my knees or I've fallen over an oldie. I like being on someone's prayer list. When the baby was little, his prayer list got so long I had to change it to groupings, i.e. my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my pets, my friends. My Uncle Ken used to pray for everyone and everything. I thought that was pretty cool. I especially liked it that he included my dog.
One day in my corporate life, I came out to check the fax machine. Everyone was at lunch. My assistant's church group sent her a prayer and tips on how to deal with working with me.
I pray a lot. Sometimes, it's on the floor. I've either chosen to be on my knees or I've fallen over an oldie. I like being on someone's prayer list. When the baby was little, his prayer list got so long I had to change it to groupings, i.e. my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my pets, my friends. My Uncle Ken used to pray for everyone and everything. I thought that was pretty cool. I especially liked it that he included my dog.
One day in my corporate life, I came out to check the fax machine. Everyone was at lunch. My assistant's church group sent her a prayer and tips on how to deal with working with me.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Pamming
Years ago I worked in the corporate world and I had a very eclectic staff over the years. At one point, I was managing creative people (always interesting,) a print shop and bindery (very blue-collar mentality -- not that there's anything wrong with that) and several executives on the career path. I learned to change gears very quickly.
One woman who worked for me was slow and methodical. She clearly did not like her job but she did it. Every assignment or request involved taking a huge breath and letting it out as a humongous and audible sigh. My friend Abby (who does a great impression) coined this "Pamming."
I'm Pamming a lot today.
One woman who worked for me was slow and methodical. She clearly did not like her job but she did it. Every assignment or request involved taking a huge breath and letting it out as a humongous and audible sigh. My friend Abby (who does a great impression) coined this "Pamming."
I'm Pamming a lot today.
A Fall Day
There's something magical about the perfect Fall day: brightly colored leaves and a crispness in the air.
Yesterday was a Fall day around here but it wasn't the good kind.
I stopped counting after the fourth fall. As I watched the mother-in-law weave, bounce off walls and whack her head on the way down, I almost lost it. Instead of picking her up AGAIN, I truly considered just falling down myself. When I finally got her back in bed for the umpteenth time, I started speaking to her like the dog: "Lie down and stay!"
There were people here for the first fall and I know she will be horribly embarrassed when she remembers this fact. (I haven't talked to her yet today but I did go into the dungeon to make sure she's breathing.)
You know those moments when you think -- I just need to sit down for a moment. I was headed there when I heard the Unabomber in the hallway asking, "Any way a good-looking man can get a sandwich and a cup of coffee?" This is why I do not own firearms.
Today I can barely walk. It's not due to being hit by a car on Sunday; it's due to lifting her repeatedly yesterday. She is not a big woman but she's bigger than I am. I can't do it.
When my uncle was very ill, my aunt (who is tiny) dealt with many falls. He was a big man and there was no way she could lift him. She became very chummy with the 911 EMTs. This is my future.
The oldies are supposed to travel to Texas in 8 days. I can't imagine but I'm still hoping beyond hope that the trip will happen. We're supposed to go to the doctor today. That's a really good idea except I don't have a clue how to make it happen. I am in pain and there is no way I can maneuver both of them. Plus, if one of them falls, I'll just have to step over him or her. I couldn't pick up a potato, let alone one of them.
Yesterday was a Fall day around here but it wasn't the good kind.
I stopped counting after the fourth fall. As I watched the mother-in-law weave, bounce off walls and whack her head on the way down, I almost lost it. Instead of picking her up AGAIN, I truly considered just falling down myself. When I finally got her back in bed for the umpteenth time, I started speaking to her like the dog: "Lie down and stay!"
There were people here for the first fall and I know she will be horribly embarrassed when she remembers this fact. (I haven't talked to her yet today but I did go into the dungeon to make sure she's breathing.)
You know those moments when you think -- I just need to sit down for a moment. I was headed there when I heard the Unabomber in the hallway asking, "Any way a good-looking man can get a sandwich and a cup of coffee?" This is why I do not own firearms.
Today I can barely walk. It's not due to being hit by a car on Sunday; it's due to lifting her repeatedly yesterday. She is not a big woman but she's bigger than I am. I can't do it.
When my uncle was very ill, my aunt (who is tiny) dealt with many falls. He was a big man and there was no way she could lift him. She became very chummy with the 911 EMTs. This is my future.
The oldies are supposed to travel to Texas in 8 days. I can't imagine but I'm still hoping beyond hope that the trip will happen. We're supposed to go to the doctor today. That's a really good idea except I don't have a clue how to make it happen. I am in pain and there is no way I can maneuver both of them. Plus, if one of them falls, I'll just have to step over him or her. I couldn't pick up a potato, let alone one of them.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Hit By an Oldie
God decided to throw an extra adventure my way. Today, I got hit by a car. (I am fine.)
I'll spare you all of the miscellaneous details but here's the gist: I had a packed grocery cart and was making my way to unload. A car stopped at the stop sign and I thought she gave me the universal hand signal for "Go ahead." It was raining so maybe both of our lines of sight were obscured. As I walked through, she plowed on (thankfully at a very slow speed) and hit my cart, which hit me and knocked me down.
It took her longer to get her seat belt off than it did for me to get myself up and rescue my runaway grocery cart. She was startled and shaking.
Did I tell you that I think she was older than my oldies?
I spent a few minutes with her to make sure she was able to drive. I assured her that no harm was done.
Then I came home to find the oldies' car is gone. They're out and about. I'm staying in. I've already been hit by an oldie once today.
I'll spare you all of the miscellaneous details but here's the gist: I had a packed grocery cart and was making my way to unload. A car stopped at the stop sign and I thought she gave me the universal hand signal for "Go ahead." It was raining so maybe both of our lines of sight were obscured. As I walked through, she plowed on (thankfully at a very slow speed) and hit my cart, which hit me and knocked me down.
It took her longer to get her seat belt off than it did for me to get myself up and rescue my runaway grocery cart. She was startled and shaking.
Did I tell you that I think she was older than my oldies?
I spent a few minutes with her to make sure she was able to drive. I assured her that no harm was done.
Then I came home to find the oldies' car is gone. They're out and about. I'm staying in. I've already been hit by an oldie once today.
General Messiness
My house is a mess. It's a good match with my mind.
Decorations are still strewn about. The tree is still naked. The husband is procrastinating (and I'm letting it go) because this is the first year neither child has been at home while we decorate the tree. He's promised to do the lights this evening.
I really wouldn't care except I'm having some ladies over for lunch tomorrow. Will they overlook the unadorned tree?
The oldies are a mess. There's a stomach virus or something going around. She got it with a vengeance. I was informed of its onset by Hangdog standing in the kitchen, screaming my name and then yelling, "Emergency!" I'm far from Superwoman but I think I leapt a couple of things to get to the other end of the house. While I was tending to her messiness AND trying to make her comfortable, he poked me and said, "There's a knot in one of my shoelaces."
There's a trail of toast crumbs plus cinnamon and sugar on my kitchen floor. I know that because I just crunched through it. It's one thing I don't have to clean up. Gabby will handle it.
My nails are a mess. I meant to do a manicure yesterday but instead, I spent that time curled up with the mother-in-law trying to comfort her. Call me crazy but I thought that seemed a little more important.
There's a mountain of office paperwork waiting for attention. I keep digging a tunnel through it and ignoring it. There's also a mountain of laundry. It will wait.
If you are on my Christmas card list and the envelope you receive is splattered, I have an explanation. I left them on the kitchen island and bacon grease got a little out of control. I'm sending them anyway.
The husband hates clutter and mess. I have no idea why he's still speaking to me.
Decorations are still strewn about. The tree is still naked. The husband is procrastinating (and I'm letting it go) because this is the first year neither child has been at home while we decorate the tree. He's promised to do the lights this evening.
I really wouldn't care except I'm having some ladies over for lunch tomorrow. Will they overlook the unadorned tree?
The oldies are a mess. There's a stomach virus or something going around. She got it with a vengeance. I was informed of its onset by Hangdog standing in the kitchen, screaming my name and then yelling, "Emergency!" I'm far from Superwoman but I think I leapt a couple of things to get to the other end of the house. While I was tending to her messiness AND trying to make her comfortable, he poked me and said, "There's a knot in one of my shoelaces."
There's a trail of toast crumbs plus cinnamon and sugar on my kitchen floor. I know that because I just crunched through it. It's one thing I don't have to clean up. Gabby will handle it.
My nails are a mess. I meant to do a manicure yesterday but instead, I spent that time curled up with the mother-in-law trying to comfort her. Call me crazy but I thought that seemed a little more important.
There's a mountain of office paperwork waiting for attention. I keep digging a tunnel through it and ignoring it. There's also a mountain of laundry. It will wait.
If you are on my Christmas card list and the envelope you receive is splattered, I have an explanation. I left them on the kitchen island and bacon grease got a little out of control. I'm sending them anyway.
The husband hates clutter and mess. I have no idea why he's still speaking to me.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
We're The Oldies
I want to set the record straight about this blog. It is not a secret from the oldies.
I print out many of these posts for them. She knows the web address and there are enough computers around for her to go and check it any time. There are no secrets in this house.
Hangdog is legally blind but the mother-in-law reads to him. Yesterday, she was reading the one about us all around the piano and the one about one more day. He asked, "Who are the oldies?"
She whacked him (lightly) and said, "We are the oldies." She cracks me up.
I print out many of these posts for them. She knows the web address and there are enough computers around for her to go and check it any time. There are no secrets in this house.
Hangdog is legally blind but the mother-in-law reads to him. Yesterday, she was reading the one about us all around the piano and the one about one more day. He asked, "Who are the oldies?"
She whacked him (lightly) and said, "We are the oldies." She cracks me up.
Numbers
I love numbers. (Self-diagnosis: Mildly autistic.) I count constantly, especially when I'm trying to get my brain to stop spinning so I can go to sleep.
Newspaper headlines or magazine cover lines immediately get my attention if they include a number:
I'm thinking about writing my own series. Here are some of the headlines I'm considering:
I'm not sure to whom I'll pitch this. I'll have to get my sources in order. Lucky for me, they're all around me.
Newspaper headlines or magazine cover lines immediately get my attention if they include a number:
10 Steps to a Healthier You.
One Out of 12 Live in Poverty.
Five Legal Documents You Should Complete.
20 Simple Ways to De clutter Your Life.
Six Sex Tips No One Ever Told You.
Eight Ways to Update Your Little Black Dress.
Seven Dinners in Seven Minutes or Less.
I'm thinking about writing my own series. Here are some of the headlines I'm considering:
Fifteen things the Dog Ate or Destroyed.
Only Six random pills discovered on the Floor -- When You know it's a Good Day.
Disaster Alert! When You Get Down to Five Pounds of Butter.
Ten Fun Ways to Celebrate Your 10th Fire.
18 Things You Never Knew You Could Bleach.
25 Things You Never Considered Frying.
150 Things You Forgot to Worry About.
Four Ways to Wear the Unabomber Hood.
Five Different Ways to Fall.
Seven New Guilt Trips You've Never Tried.
I'm not sure to whom I'll pitch this. I'll have to get my sources in order. Lucky for me, they're all around me.
Friday, December 7, 2007
The Piano
We have our piano tuned four times a year. I am not a musician, nor do I have a musical ear. I couldn't tell you if it's in or out of tune. It all sounds good to me.
We've had the same man come to our house for 10-plus years to tune it. There's lots of banging and adjusting which you think would get on your nerves but it doesn't. Then, he plays a few songs to test different tones and chords. It's like having a private concert in your home. He brings songs/arrangements for the husband to try.
Yesterday was our winter tuning. The husband was headed to the office but I said, "Wait! In a minute, he'll start playing and you have to hear it." So, he did.
Maybe it's the magic of the Christmas decorations. Maybe it's the undecorated tree plopped in the living room. Maybe it's the tuning. All I know is last night turned into a concert in my living room with the husband and the mother-in-law alternating songs and teaching each other. Even Hangdog stayed up until almost midnight. The dog planted herself underneath the piano and camped for the performance.
Singing around the piano is a lost art. I do it with the oldies and often with friends. The husband at the piano can cure a bad day or end a disagreement. I don't think the generations behind us do this, with the exception of the children of this house. I wonder if they will someday have a piano in their homes. I hope so.
We've had the same man come to our house for 10-plus years to tune it. There's lots of banging and adjusting which you think would get on your nerves but it doesn't. Then, he plays a few songs to test different tones and chords. It's like having a private concert in your home. He brings songs/arrangements for the husband to try.
Yesterday was our winter tuning. The husband was headed to the office but I said, "Wait! In a minute, he'll start playing and you have to hear it." So, he did.
Maybe it's the magic of the Christmas decorations. Maybe it's the undecorated tree plopped in the living room. Maybe it's the tuning. All I know is last night turned into a concert in my living room with the husband and the mother-in-law alternating songs and teaching each other. Even Hangdog stayed up until almost midnight. The dog planted herself underneath the piano and camped for the performance.
Singing around the piano is a lost art. I do it with the oldies and often with friends. The husband at the piano can cure a bad day or end a disagreement. I don't think the generations behind us do this, with the exception of the children of this house. I wonder if they will someday have a piano in their homes. I hope so.
In the Zone
When I am writing or trying to be creative, I go to a different place in my brain. I do not hear the phone. I do not pay attention to television or music, even if they're on full blast. I am thinking ... I am writing ... I am editing ... I am zoning. It can be personal writing, a blog post or projects for a client. I am totally immersed.
In my little office, my back is to the doorway while I'm on the computer. The oldies sneak up on me. Someone touching me can send me screeching and jumping out of my skin.
My nose is programmed for fire alerts. I guess I'd better work on my hearing or someone is going to cause a stroke.
In my little office, my back is to the doorway while I'm on the computer. The oldies sneak up on me. Someone touching me can send me screeching and jumping out of my skin.
My nose is programmed for fire alerts. I guess I'd better work on my hearing or someone is going to cause a stroke.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
The Last One at the Party
We attended a holiday party last weekend -- the first of many. It's the kick-off of the season. We will host a couple ourselves. We will attend oodles more. It's always fun but at some point, I'm ready to go home.
As the crowds start to dwindle and I'm itching to get my coat, the husband will find a piano. Or, he will start a conversation that could result in a new business opportunity. I should be better at networking but it's not my strong suit.
So, I've learned to drive myself so I have an escape or beg someone for a ride home.
I am married to Mr. Last Man at the Party.
As the crowds start to dwindle and I'm itching to get my coat, the husband will find a piano. Or, he will start a conversation that could result in a new business opportunity. I should be better at networking but it's not my strong suit.
So, I've learned to drive myself so I have an escape or beg someone for a ride home.
I am married to Mr. Last Man at the Party.
One More Day
Yes, I watched Oprah yesterday and yes, her show is the inspiration for this post.
If I had one more day:
Oh wait, I do all of this almost every day.
Mitch Albrom's book, For One More Day, was the topic of the show. It's about a man who receives the gift of one more day with his deceased mother. They've made it into a television movie.
So, I started to think about this. If I had to pick one person who is no longer with us and I received the gift of one more day, who would I choose?
I've got to be honest. I want one more day with my friend, Patsy.
Who would you choose?
If I had one more day:
I'd work out with the girlfriends.
I'd drink coffee and compete with the husband on the crossword puzzle.
I'd turn off the alarm clock and snuggle up.
I'd talk to my mother ten times and my father once or twice. (He's not as talkative.)
I'd do at least one thing to help the oldies.
I'd listen to my favorite music.
I'd put peanut butter in the maniac dog's Kong and crack up while she digs it out.
I'd call or email my girlfriends and my aunts.
I'd fall on my knees in prayers of gratitude.
I'd touch photos of the children and send them silent wishes.
I'd curl up with the husband after listening to him play the piano.
Oh wait, I do all of this almost every day.
Mitch Albrom's book, For One More Day, was the topic of the show. It's about a man who receives the gift of one more day with his deceased mother. They've made it into a television movie.
So, I started to think about this. If I had to pick one person who is no longer with us and I received the gift of one more day, who would I choose?
I'd love one more day with any and all of my grandparents.
I'd love one more day with my Uncle Ken.
I'd love one more day with all the pets I've lost.
I've got to be honest. I want one more day with my friend, Patsy.
Who would you choose?
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Photos of the Dead Dog
I'm sure Gabby, our maniac dog, is having an inferiority complex. Decorations are everywhere around here. I haven't even dealt with the tree but I must say it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. (I just made that up!)
We've done many years of holiday family photos -- some for Christmas cards and some for the pure fun of the memories. I have them in red and sparkly frames. They come out once a year.
The other day, I spent quite a bit of time decorating and that included putting these cherished photos on display. The husband walked in, complimented the decorations and then said, "Lots of photos with our dead dog!"
Before you think I've gone over the edge, let me say that I know she doesn't know or care. But ... I went downstairs, found her little elf hat and put it atop the box that contains her ashes.
Ok, maybe I have gone a little over the edge.
We've done many years of holiday family photos -- some for Christmas cards and some for the pure fun of the memories. I have them in red and sparkly frames. They come out once a year.
The other day, I spent quite a bit of time decorating and that included putting these cherished photos on display. The husband walked in, complimented the decorations and then said, "Lots of photos with our dead dog!"
Before you think I've gone over the edge, let me say that I know she doesn't know or care. But ... I went downstairs, found her little elf hat and put it atop the box that contains her ashes.
Ok, maybe I have gone a little over the edge.
Another Crisis Averted
We woke up this morning to a snow covered world. Somewhere between two and four inches, depending on where you live. I love the snowy view, especially when I don't have to go anywhere and I can just look out the window.
Then the mother-in-law informed me that Hangdog has a doctor's appointment and they're going to venture out. She prefaced it by saying, "I know this will upset you but ..." Here's a news flash -- "upset" doesn't begin to describe it. I said, "No!" I considered, "Go to your room and stay there until I tell you it's ok to come out." I also considered stealing and hiding her keys.
This is not a necessary appointment. He is legally blind and it's an eye appointment. He is not going to regain his sight by this routine appointment. Nor is his progress (or lack thereof) going to be affected by rescheduling this appointment.
So, I decided to go with begging and a little guilt. "What if someone crashes into you?" and "What if you hit an icy patch in the parking lot and one of you falls?" and "Why do you want me to worry all day?"
They had to discuss it but thankfully, he was the voice of reason.
There was also some slight worry about not having anything for breakfast but once I proved that we had sausage, eggs, bread, milk, biscuits and juice, she relaxed. For once, I'm thrilled that she's frying up breakfast. At least she's not on the road.
An addendum: She did catch the package of sausage on fire.
Then the mother-in-law informed me that Hangdog has a doctor's appointment and they're going to venture out. She prefaced it by saying, "I know this will upset you but ..." Here's a news flash -- "upset" doesn't begin to describe it. I said, "No!" I considered, "Go to your room and stay there until I tell you it's ok to come out." I also considered stealing and hiding her keys.
This is not a necessary appointment. He is legally blind and it's an eye appointment. He is not going to regain his sight by this routine appointment. Nor is his progress (or lack thereof) going to be affected by rescheduling this appointment.
So, I decided to go with begging and a little guilt. "What if someone crashes into you?" and "What if you hit an icy patch in the parking lot and one of you falls?" and "Why do you want me to worry all day?"
They had to discuss it but thankfully, he was the voice of reason.
There was also some slight worry about not having anything for breakfast but once I proved that we had sausage, eggs, bread, milk, biscuits and juice, she relaxed. For once, I'm thrilled that she's frying up breakfast. At least she's not on the road.
An addendum: She did catch the package of sausage on fire.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Peanut Butter Kisses
Baking is not my thing. I leave that to my mother. Thankfully, she shares her goodies with us and the oldies. But, I used to occasionally make those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey's Kiss in the middle. I don't know if they have an official name but I always call them, "Peanut Butter Kisses."
Gabby, the dog in our house, has a Kong. If you're not familiar with this toy, you probably don't own a big dog. You can stuff it with anything but the manufacturer would prefer you buy their specific treats for it. I do that sometimes. Other times, I cram generic puppy biscuits in it just to keep her occupied.
Her favorite is when I put some peanut butter in it. After the Kong is empty, 65 pounds of sloppy fur plops on my lap and attempts to thank me for the treat.
It's peanut butter kisses on an entirely different level. This is the kind of stuff that makes the husband crazy.
Gabby, the dog in our house, has a Kong. If you're not familiar with this toy, you probably don't own a big dog. You can stuff it with anything but the manufacturer would prefer you buy their specific treats for it. I do that sometimes. Other times, I cram generic puppy biscuits in it just to keep her occupied.
Her favorite is when I put some peanut butter in it. After the Kong is empty, 65 pounds of sloppy fur plops on my lap and attempts to thank me for the treat.
It's peanut butter kisses on an entirely different level. This is the kind of stuff that makes the husband crazy.
A Different Kind of Ant
Just like the song, High Hopes, talked about ants, I want to do it too. Only in this case, it's my aunts. My father had two sisters who adored him. One has passed away but the other is very influential in my life. I'll get to her in a minute.
My mother is the oldest of three girls. Her sisters have seen me through thick and thin. They probably get very sick of me calling or emailing them. (One is high tech; one is no tech.)
I was taught that you're not supposed to express envy or covet things but if you'll give me a little wiggle room, I'll try not to be blasphemous.
I can be jealous of my aunts. They are these incredibly talented, funny, interesting people. Then, I realize I'm grateful -- in a weird and honorable way, I get to say, "Mine!" It's possessive. I'm possessive. These are my aunts.
One of my aunts lived with us periodically during my childhood. She taught me this lesson: When someone else pulls your hair, grab theirs and yank hard. By the way, she's the most talented artist I've had the pleasure to know. She has more talent in the tip of her pinkie than I have in my entire body.
One of my aunts used to take my infant self on dates with her (now) husband. She is far and away the funniest woman I know. I refer to her as a combination of Lucille Ball and Wild Bill. Who taught me to roll my eyes? Plus, she cooks all the time. She shares cookbooks and recipes. Do you think she's trying to tell me to kick it up a notch?
One of my aunts is a writer, speaker, community activist and has dedicated her life to family and social reform. Her influence is unending and she planted the seed for my writing passion. She's also been in the position of dealing with illness and in-home care. I can turn to her for advice or a pick-me-up talk when I'm freaking about the oldies. Plus, she's the strongest woman in the world.
My other aunt is deceased. I did not know her well. That makes me sad.
I have two great aunts on my mother's side. One showers me with soaps, lotions, candles and potions. She has dealt with her own health issues and frankly, I am stunned that she makes such an effort. (Maybe she remembers that I was the good eater.)
My other great Aunt has the most contagious laugh you've ever heard. If I'm lucky, I see her a few times a year. I always leave her presence with my heart full and my stomach hurting from too many belly laughs.
Aunts get the short end of the stick. They're not your parents and usually, their children are your generational equals so you tend to spend more time with the cousins. If you're lucky, you know and love your cousins. But it's the aunts who remember your birthday or helped pick out your baptism outfit or babysat so your parents could get a moment to themselves.
The husband had a million aunts. His mother came from a family of a jillion. (I stop counting after five.) He loved them and is in contact with some of his cousins but it's not like the relationships I have with my aunts.
As adults, we forget. So, I raise my coffee mug in a toast to aunts.
I have three aunts and two great-aunts. I am honored to also call them my friends.
My mother is the oldest of three girls. Her sisters have seen me through thick and thin. They probably get very sick of me calling or emailing them. (One is high tech; one is no tech.)
I was taught that you're not supposed to express envy or covet things but if you'll give me a little wiggle room, I'll try not to be blasphemous.
I can be jealous of my aunts. They are these incredibly talented, funny, interesting people. Then, I realize I'm grateful -- in a weird and honorable way, I get to say, "Mine!" It's possessive. I'm possessive. These are my aunts.
One of my aunts lived with us periodically during my childhood. She taught me this lesson: When someone else pulls your hair, grab theirs and yank hard. By the way, she's the most talented artist I've had the pleasure to know. She has more talent in the tip of her pinkie than I have in my entire body.
One of my aunts used to take my infant self on dates with her (now) husband. She is far and away the funniest woman I know. I refer to her as a combination of Lucille Ball and Wild Bill. Who taught me to roll my eyes? Plus, she cooks all the time. She shares cookbooks and recipes. Do you think she's trying to tell me to kick it up a notch?
One of my aunts is a writer, speaker, community activist and has dedicated her life to family and social reform. Her influence is unending and she planted the seed for my writing passion. She's also been in the position of dealing with illness and in-home care. I can turn to her for advice or a pick-me-up talk when I'm freaking about the oldies. Plus, she's the strongest woman in the world.
My other aunt is deceased. I did not know her well. That makes me sad.
I have two great aunts on my mother's side. One showers me with soaps, lotions, candles and potions. She has dealt with her own health issues and frankly, I am stunned that she makes such an effort. (Maybe she remembers that I was the good eater.)
My other great Aunt has the most contagious laugh you've ever heard. If I'm lucky, I see her a few times a year. I always leave her presence with my heart full and my stomach hurting from too many belly laughs.
Aunts get the short end of the stick. They're not your parents and usually, their children are your generational equals so you tend to spend more time with the cousins. If you're lucky, you know and love your cousins. But it's the aunts who remember your birthday or helped pick out your baptism outfit or babysat so your parents could get a moment to themselves.
The husband had a million aunts. His mother came from a family of a jillion. (I stop counting after five.) He loved them and is in contact with some of his cousins but it's not like the relationships I have with my aunts.
As adults, we forget. So, I raise my coffee mug in a toast to aunts.
I have three aunts and two great-aunts. I am honored to also call them my friends.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Lucky Ducks
We made an impromptu run to the doctor today. (All is fine.) It's a beautiful day so I took the longer, more scenic route home.
As we drove by the canal, the mother-in-law commented to me, "I've noticed that your ducks are not nearly as sexually active as the ones at The Peabody in Memphis."
I almost wrecked the car. I'm going to have to ponder this for a while.
As we drove by the canal, the mother-in-law commented to me, "I've noticed that your ducks are not nearly as sexually active as the ones at The Peabody in Memphis."
I almost wrecked the car. I'm going to have to ponder this for a while.
Smart People
I was one of those geeky students. College was my heyday. Name a topic and you could probably find a class about it. It's a good thing my parents were adamant about the four-year plan or I would probably still be in college.
Some people are afraid of hiring or hanging out with smart people. I do not understand this, even a little bit.
I am surrounded (and sometimes overwhelmed) by smart people. I was raised by smart people who continue to advise me. I am married to an extremely smart man. Even when we disagree, I'm learning.
When I worked in the corporate world, my goal was to hire the smartest and most creative people. I may have trained them but they also taught me. Many have gone on to successful and lucrative careers.
Now that the baby has moved on to college, the occasional political/religious debates in this house are more interesting. His opinion comes from a completely different perspective and I pay attention.
My extended family is filled with talented and creative people. I do not hesitate to ask for their advice. My circle of friends includes opinionated, educated and warm-hearted people. The oldies are a wealth of information. Even when I'm frustrated, I get it that they have something to say. They're not dummies and their life experiences are history lessons living in my home.
I know some stupid people but not very many.
One of my favorite things to say is, "I don't understand that. Please explain it to me." My first father-in-law (one of the smartest people I know) is my "go to" person on a number of topics. He gives me books and magazines. He "dumbs it down" with complicated issues to help me understand. I'm not calling myself dumb; just acknowledging that really complicated things like the Middle East take me a while to comprehend. Plus, he doesn't push his opinions on me. He lets me figure out my own opinion.
I'm never afraid to say, "I don't understand." I'm terribly afraid of people who think they know it all and can't admit they don't get it.
Some people are afraid of hiring or hanging out with smart people. I do not understand this, even a little bit.
I am surrounded (and sometimes overwhelmed) by smart people. I was raised by smart people who continue to advise me. I am married to an extremely smart man. Even when we disagree, I'm learning.
When I worked in the corporate world, my goal was to hire the smartest and most creative people. I may have trained them but they also taught me. Many have gone on to successful and lucrative careers.
Now that the baby has moved on to college, the occasional political/religious debates in this house are more interesting. His opinion comes from a completely different perspective and I pay attention.
My extended family is filled with talented and creative people. I do not hesitate to ask for their advice. My circle of friends includes opinionated, educated and warm-hearted people. The oldies are a wealth of information. Even when I'm frustrated, I get it that they have something to say. They're not dummies and their life experiences are history lessons living in my home.
I know some stupid people but not very many.
One of my favorite things to say is, "I don't understand that. Please explain it to me." My first father-in-law (one of the smartest people I know) is my "go to" person on a number of topics. He gives me books and magazines. He "dumbs it down" with complicated issues to help me understand. I'm not calling myself dumb; just acknowledging that really complicated things like the Middle East take me a while to comprehend. Plus, he doesn't push his opinions on me. He lets me figure out my own opinion.
I'm never afraid to say, "I don't understand." I'm terribly afraid of people who think they know it all and can't admit they don't get it.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Christmas Music -- The Hunt
Technology changed at a frightening pace in my childhood and early adulthood ... microwaves, VCRs, etc. One of the biggest changes was music. We went from 45s to 8-tracks to albums and cassettes to CDs. Today, you can download anything you want on the Internet.
We played a lot of Christmas music in my childhood home. When CDs became the norm, smart music companies released old, old tracks and albums on CD. My mother and I went on the hunt. We had to find all of our old favorites on CD.
Don't underestimate us. We did it. And we continue to call each other and ask, "Do you have (name an artist) version of (name a song.) There are only so many holiday songs and carols but we all have our opinion of the singer who sings it best.
My parents have CD players in their home and CD capabilities in their car. I have these things too. But, I also have my iPod which allows me to download and program. (When did I become this geek?) I've made this extremely elaborate holiday play list. The great thing is I can plug it in the household sound system or I can keep it just for me when everyone else gets sick of it.
I'm a successful hunter too. Just not for the same things that my animal hunter friends and family do. I can't shoot a deer but if you need some holiday music, come to my house.
I love everything from the hymns to the current (last 20 or so years.) Here's a sampling of my faves:
I have a ton more but I suspect you do too.
We played a lot of Christmas music in my childhood home. When CDs became the norm, smart music companies released old, old tracks and albums on CD. My mother and I went on the hunt. We had to find all of our old favorites on CD.
Don't underestimate us. We did it. And we continue to call each other and ask, "Do you have (name an artist) version of (name a song.) There are only so many holiday songs and carols but we all have our opinion of the singer who sings it best.
My parents have CD players in their home and CD capabilities in their car. I have these things too. But, I also have my iPod which allows me to download and program. (When did I become this geek?) I've made this extremely elaborate holiday play list. The great thing is I can plug it in the household sound system or I can keep it just for me when everyone else gets sick of it.
I'm a successful hunter too. Just not for the same things that my animal hunter friends and family do. I can't shoot a deer but if you need some holiday music, come to my house.
I love everything from the hymns to the current (last 20 or so years.) Here's a sampling of my faves:
My Grown-Up Christmas List, Amy Grant
Blue Christmas, Elvis
Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, Brenda Lee
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, Tony Bennett
White Christmas, Bing Crosby
Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer, Gene Autry
Santa Baby, Eartha Kitt
O Holy Night, Johnny Mathis
Silent Night, Barbra Streisand
I have a ton more but I suspect you do too.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Problem Solving
The oldies have figured out that if there is a problem and if there is a computer and/or a phone in my vicinity, I will try to solve it. I do this with a pure heart -- it gives me great pleasure to solve a problem or save them money.
Don't get me started on how this society preys on old people. You would run screaming. I could spend hours on this topic. Until you've handled an oldie, dealt with health care, social security and other government things, you have no clue. And here's the thing that blows me away -- my oldies are in the lucky category! Veteran's coverage, social security, people who love them, etc.
Today it was a garbled receipt. The mother-in-law needed to enter the amount spent in her checkbook but it was the end of the roll and the bottom was illegible. I could read the bar code and the relevant information, i.e. transaction number, clerk number. When I called the store, the 9-year old I spoke with said I would have to bring the receipt to the store and they would be happy to give me the information. I (calmly) explained that I had the necessary information in front of me and if she had a computer in front of her, there is no reason for me or two 80+ year old people to drive back to the store.
Shocking! I was transferred to a supervisor who managed to complete my request in less than 60 seconds. (Yes, I realize any teenager in the world could do it.)
The mother-in-law thinks it's magic. Hey, I need all the points I can get.
Don't get me started on how this society preys on old people. You would run screaming. I could spend hours on this topic. Until you've handled an oldie, dealt with health care, social security and other government things, you have no clue. And here's the thing that blows me away -- my oldies are in the lucky category! Veteran's coverage, social security, people who love them, etc.
Today it was a garbled receipt. The mother-in-law needed to enter the amount spent in her checkbook but it was the end of the roll and the bottom was illegible. I could read the bar code and the relevant information, i.e. transaction number, clerk number. When I called the store, the 9-year old I spoke with said I would have to bring the receipt to the store and they would be happy to give me the information. I (calmly) explained that I had the necessary information in front of me and if she had a computer in front of her, there is no reason for me or two 80+ year old people to drive back to the store.
Shocking! I was transferred to a supervisor who managed to complete my request in less than 60 seconds. (Yes, I realize any teenager in the world could do it.)
The mother-in-law thinks it's magic. Hey, I need all the points I can get.
The Ant Song
I have no idea how this tradition started (or why) but a jillion years ago when I was about 12 or 13-years old, my girlfriends (the Golden Girls) and I used to sing it to each other in a crisis.
A crisis at age 13 is usually being rebuffed by a boy, getting a bad grade, having a pimple, someone being mean to you. It doesn't matter; it's still a crisis. During those times, having a girlfriend sing it could make you smile, make you feel loved and change your day.
You know the rest.
This morning I received an email. The gist of it was: I need the ant song.
So, I called and sang it to her. I don't know if she feels any better but I definitely do.
The song title is actually, High Hopes but in our world it's The Ant Song. We're alllowed to request it from each other at any time. It's also mandatory anytime we all get together.
A crisis at age 13 is usually being rebuffed by a boy, getting a bad grade, having a pimple, someone being mean to you. It doesn't matter; it's still a crisis. During those times, having a girlfriend sing it could make you smile, make you feel loved and change your day.
Just what makes that little ol' ant think he can move that rubber tree plant?
Everyone knows an ant can't move a rubber tree plant.
But, he's got high hopes.
When you're feeling low, 'stead of letting go, just remember that ant.
You know the rest.
This morning I received an email. The gist of it was: I need the ant song.
So, I called and sang it to her. I don't know if she feels any better but I definitely do.
The song title is actually, High Hopes but in our world it's The Ant Song. We're alllowed to request it from each other at any time. It's also mandatory anytime we all get together.
Real or Artificial?
My childhood Christmas trees were artificial. If my parents ever had a real tree, I don't remember it. The perks are obvious: no fire hazard, no dropping needles, you can put it up any time, you don't have to water it, etc.
The husband is a purist. We have had a real tree for every holiday that we've shared. He's adamant about it. And, there is something special about picking out your annual tree. Plus, they smell so darn good.
The debate continues. I'm ready to move to an artificial tree -- just because it's easier. So far, no dice. I've lost the battle (again!) this year but I haven't completely thrown in the towel.
Christmas isn't the only time I have the real versus artificial debate. Sometimes I do it in my mind when I'm on vacation and looking at strangers on the beach or around a pool. But I'm not thinking about trees.
The husband is a purist. We have had a real tree for every holiday that we've shared. He's adamant about it. And, there is something special about picking out your annual tree. Plus, they smell so darn good.
The debate continues. I'm ready to move to an artificial tree -- just because it's easier. So far, no dice. I've lost the battle (again!) this year but I haven't completely thrown in the towel.
Christmas isn't the only time I have the real versus artificial debate. Sometimes I do it in my mind when I'm on vacation and looking at strangers on the beach or around a pool. But I'm not thinking about trees.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Holiday Pleasures
I didn't just get up on the wrong side of the bed today; I was cannon blasted into the dark side.
Then I went to get my roots touched up and was informed that my eyebrows are also sprouting gray hairs. Thankfully, I had not signed up for a bikini wax.
So, I decided to take a little time for myself. It's time to decorate for the holidays and my house is a jumble of boxes because I'm doing it in stages. The magic kicked in and my mood improved immensely.
I put my iPod on the holiday shuffle (lots of old favorites like Brenda Lee and Elvis) and started arranging decorations. Every item I unearthed is a memory. Many of my decorations were passed along from my parents so they were part of my childhood Christmas celebrations. Many others are gifts from aunts and friends. I know which ones are my favorites and the family's favorites.
I realized that the oldies have given away most, if not all, of their Christmas decorations.
All of a sudden, the mother-in-law (who felt crummy all day) is singing. Hangdog is talking about his childhood Christmas memories and songs he used to play on the accordion. I caught him singing too.
I'm a little too "good enough, it'll pass" kind of person. The mother-in-law is the extreme opposite. (You should watch us cook together.) I have this very dorky reindeer made out of some kind of fake plant. She insisted that he needed a red nose and some button eyes. Yes, we did it... using the glue gun, searching for buttons, making a red nose. No one will notice but it made her happy and it does look better.
Every year, I make a vow to decorate less. Every year, I break it.
Here's why. Those items I unpack and display represent everything I hold dear: the honor of celebrating Christmas, the memories of Christmas' past and the great pleasure I get in having people in this home. It may not be church but it's definitely fellowship. I packed my bad mood away and relished the time.
And we haven't even gotten to the tree.
Then I went to get my roots touched up and was informed that my eyebrows are also sprouting gray hairs. Thankfully, I had not signed up for a bikini wax.
So, I decided to take a little time for myself. It's time to decorate for the holidays and my house is a jumble of boxes because I'm doing it in stages. The magic kicked in and my mood improved immensely.
I put my iPod on the holiday shuffle (lots of old favorites like Brenda Lee and Elvis) and started arranging decorations. Every item I unearthed is a memory. Many of my decorations were passed along from my parents so they were part of my childhood Christmas celebrations. Many others are gifts from aunts and friends. I know which ones are my favorites and the family's favorites.
I realized that the oldies have given away most, if not all, of their Christmas decorations.
All of a sudden, the mother-in-law (who felt crummy all day) is singing. Hangdog is talking about his childhood Christmas memories and songs he used to play on the accordion. I caught him singing too.
I'm a little too "good enough, it'll pass" kind of person. The mother-in-law is the extreme opposite. (You should watch us cook together.) I have this very dorky reindeer made out of some kind of fake plant. She insisted that he needed a red nose and some button eyes. Yes, we did it... using the glue gun, searching for buttons, making a red nose. No one will notice but it made her happy and it does look better.
Every year, I make a vow to decorate less. Every year, I break it.
Here's why. Those items I unpack and display represent everything I hold dear: the honor of celebrating Christmas, the memories of Christmas' past and the great pleasure I get in having people in this home. It may not be church but it's definitely fellowship. I packed my bad mood away and relished the time.
And we haven't even gotten to the tree.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Living Out Loud
Anna Quindlen, one of my favorite writers, had a column with the New York Times. Not just a little column... she won the Pulitzer Prize for writing about her life and her opinions.
Instead of resting on her laurels, she went on to write several fabulous (and haunting) novels. She also seems to be a pretty impressive mother of three children, politically active, supportive spouse of a busy man, etc. It's a good thing I'm a fan because it exhausts me to think about her life.
Her New York Times column, Life in the 30s, was "out there" for the time. It was raw and honest. It covered everything from her desire to have another baby to her feelings about religion to the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. That takes guts.
So I sit here in my little office, spouting memories and opinions to the world. I annoy people and they let me know. Some think I'm sugar-coating everything. Others think I'm harsh. I wish Anna Quindlen was my friend so I could call her and ask, "What about this?"
I'm guessing but here's what I think she would say: Write. Write with integrity and let the chips fall where they may.
Instead of resting on her laurels, she went on to write several fabulous (and haunting) novels. She also seems to be a pretty impressive mother of three children, politically active, supportive spouse of a busy man, etc. It's a good thing I'm a fan because it exhausts me to think about her life.
Her New York Times column, Life in the 30s, was "out there" for the time. It was raw and honest. It covered everything from her desire to have another baby to her feelings about religion to the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. That takes guts.
So I sit here in my little office, spouting memories and opinions to the world. I annoy people and they let me know. Some think I'm sugar-coating everything. Others think I'm harsh. I wish Anna Quindlen was my friend so I could call her and ask, "What about this?"
I'm guessing but here's what I think she would say: Write. Write with integrity and let the chips fall where they may.
The Kid's Table
Although my holiday memories are mostly warm and fuzzy, my mother reminded me recently of one thing I hated: the kid's table. As the oldest grandchild (on my mother's side of the family,) I was convinced I belonged at the adult table long before I was an adult. I have no idea why I considered the kid's table such an insult, but I did. It's a little like being told you're a second-class citizen.
And yet, I've done it myself with dinner parties, holidays, etc. Our next-door neighbors have one daughter the same age as the baby and an older daughter. Many, many dinners have involved the adults in the dining room and the kids at a separate table.
Several years ago, we were in Mississippi visiting the oldies. I have photos of the tow-headed boys (the grandsons) sitting around their kitchen table. The granddaughters got their own kid's table in the living room.
When the baby graduated from high school earlier this year, we had a gathering in our back yard. In an attempt to create enough seating for everyone, I scattered tables throughout our patio and yard. No one had assigned seats.
I looked up at one point and realized that the baby, our neighbors' children and several of our friends' children had created their own kid's table.
At this point in my life, there are many times I wish I would be invited to sit at the kid's table.
And yet, I've done it myself with dinner parties, holidays, etc. Our next-door neighbors have one daughter the same age as the baby and an older daughter. Many, many dinners have involved the adults in the dining room and the kids at a separate table.
Several years ago, we were in Mississippi visiting the oldies. I have photos of the tow-headed boys (the grandsons) sitting around their kitchen table. The granddaughters got their own kid's table in the living room.
When the baby graduated from high school earlier this year, we had a gathering in our back yard. In an attempt to create enough seating for everyone, I scattered tables throughout our patio and yard. No one had assigned seats.
I looked up at one point and realized that the baby, our neighbors' children and several of our friends' children had created their own kid's table.
At this point in my life, there are many times I wish I would be invited to sit at the kid's table.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Ho Ho Ho
I laughed out loud when I read a recent story from The Hartford Courant about an Australian company training Santa Clauses. The Santas are to avoid the phrase "ho, ho, ho" because it has a negative American slang connotation: whore.
Sometimes the girlfriends and I will attempt to be hip and use this language. It's usually commentary on a young person in the entertainment news. "She's a 'ho." My mother-in-law and I were having a conversation last night and she made the comment, "She's a 'ho." I'm having way too much influence on her vocabulary.
When I was in my mid 20s, I had a girlfriend who had an impressive job, lots of money and extensive life experiences. She was a 'ho and sort of proud of it. I had no desire to live her lifestyle but I was like a kindergartner in the reading circle: "Tell me the story."
My dog, Gabby, is a 'ho. Her vacation and play date friends -- all retrievers -- are male. She rolls on her back and invites attention.
Westaff, the Australian Santa training company, provides trained Santas to retail centers around the world. Their suggestion is "Ha Ha Ha." I think this is political correctness gone awry.
But, I will laugh every time a mall Santa or a Salvation Army volunteer barks out, "Ho, Ho, Ho." Just so they know I'm not a 'ho, I'll shout back, "Ha, Ha, Ha!"
Sometimes the girlfriends and I will attempt to be hip and use this language. It's usually commentary on a young person in the entertainment news. "She's a 'ho." My mother-in-law and I were having a conversation last night and she made the comment, "She's a 'ho." I'm having way too much influence on her vocabulary.
When I was in my mid 20s, I had a girlfriend who had an impressive job, lots of money and extensive life experiences. She was a 'ho and sort of proud of it. I had no desire to live her lifestyle but I was like a kindergartner in the reading circle: "Tell me the story."
My dog, Gabby, is a 'ho. Her vacation and play date friends -- all retrievers -- are male. She rolls on her back and invites attention.
Westaff, the Australian Santa training company, provides trained Santas to retail centers around the world. Their suggestion is "Ha Ha Ha." I think this is political correctness gone awry.
But, I will laugh every time a mall Santa or a Salvation Army volunteer barks out, "Ho, Ho, Ho." Just so they know I'm not a 'ho, I'll shout back, "Ha, Ha, Ha!"
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
An Oldies Thing
There are certain things that I am convinced simply happen due to aging. I call them, "Oldies Things." Oldies things are not possessions; they are quirks and bizarre behaviors. I am comfortably settled in middle age but I watch and notice. I am developing some of these tics. Are you?
Here are a few I've noticed lately. And no, I will not tell you which ones I am also experiencing.
Just as I clamp my tongue between my teeth like Wild Bill, I catch myself wondering, "Is this my future?"
Here are a few I've noticed lately. And no, I will not tell you which ones I am also experiencing.
Wrapping everything in tissues, rubber bands, Ziploc bags or all of the above.
Repeating the same stories.
The daily diatribe about aches and pains.
Spending days on end without leaving home.
An insane focus on medications.
Constant discussions of bodily functions (and applause when the plumbing is working.)
A complete lack of interest in technological changes.
Routine. Routine. Routine.
The inability to remember your children, grandchildren, in-laws or siblings' names.
The inability to remember that a cell phone works differently than a land line.
Everyone and everything is involved in a conspiracy.
Food is the sole focus of the day.
Kids, dogs, drop-in guests make you crazy.
The weather channel and the Game Show Network are your favorites.
A never-ending compulsion with, "What's the date today AND what time is it?"
It's always cold.
Entitlements from everyone are expected: The government, children and more.
Just as I clamp my tongue between my teeth like Wild Bill, I catch myself wondering, "Is this my future?"
Furs
Okay, I admit it. I own and wear furs.
The first one I acquired came about as kind of an expensive joke. I had a date planned with the man I am now married to. We had met for drinks once but this was to be our first official date. I happened to be in the same restaurant with a girlfriend while he was dining with a woman and some other friends. At that moment, I knew the scheduled date for the following evening was not going to happen. I was furious. (I was also 27.) I draped my girlfriend's fur around me and made the parade lap -- just to be sure he saw me and headed out to get something out of my car. He chased me into the parking lot. We did keep our date for the next evening.
About 10 or 11 months later, he gave me a fur. He couldn't afford it but it came with a wink and a smile.
A few years later, we were at a charity auction. He bought me a jacket that I adore. (I think there was wine involved.)
Many, many years ago we were in Chicago. We threw our luggage in the hotel room and headed out to a restaurant in Old Town. After ribs, fries and drinks, we decided to walk a bit and took a wrong turn. I am wearing jeans and a fur. The husband looks like he just fell out of GQ magazine. A gang of hooligans came out of no where. (I'm old enough -- they looked like hooligans to me.) and I remember grabbing his arm and thinking, "This is it. We deserve to die. We're walking down an alley in an iffy part of town. We may as well have: Kick me, Rape me, Kill me signs taped to us.
It was January and the streets were icy. A car and a taxi both tried to stop but ended up colliding in the alley. The gang scattered like pixie sticks. So, by the hand of God, we escaped that disaster.
As if I didn't own enough, I discovered that there are great deals to be found in warm climate towns. Lots of people move to Arizona, California or Florida and they unload their furs. So, I bought a gorgeous mink stole for about $25 and another year I bought a kicky jacket that I wear constantly. I think I paid $20.
Last year, I found a great fur jacket for the mother-in-law. It was a serious bargain.
The southern belle is still in me. They're all monogrammed. I have them cleaned and stored for the season. Of course, I can't afford to get them out of storage.
This week, I'm going to sacrifice elsewhere and pick up our furs. It's my favorite part of cold weather.
The first one I acquired came about as kind of an expensive joke. I had a date planned with the man I am now married to. We had met for drinks once but this was to be our first official date. I happened to be in the same restaurant with a girlfriend while he was dining with a woman and some other friends. At that moment, I knew the scheduled date for the following evening was not going to happen. I was furious. (I was also 27.) I draped my girlfriend's fur around me and made the parade lap -- just to be sure he saw me and headed out to get something out of my car. He chased me into the parking lot. We did keep our date for the next evening.
About 10 or 11 months later, he gave me a fur. He couldn't afford it but it came with a wink and a smile.
A few years later, we were at a charity auction. He bought me a jacket that I adore. (I think there was wine involved.)
Many, many years ago we were in Chicago. We threw our luggage in the hotel room and headed out to a restaurant in Old Town. After ribs, fries and drinks, we decided to walk a bit and took a wrong turn. I am wearing jeans and a fur. The husband looks like he just fell out of GQ magazine. A gang of hooligans came out of no where. (I'm old enough -- they looked like hooligans to me.) and I remember grabbing his arm and thinking, "This is it. We deserve to die. We're walking down an alley in an iffy part of town. We may as well have: Kick me, Rape me, Kill me signs taped to us.
It was January and the streets were icy. A car and a taxi both tried to stop but ended up colliding in the alley. The gang scattered like pixie sticks. So, by the hand of God, we escaped that disaster.
As if I didn't own enough, I discovered that there are great deals to be found in warm climate towns. Lots of people move to Arizona, California or Florida and they unload their furs. So, I bought a gorgeous mink stole for about $25 and another year I bought a kicky jacket that I wear constantly. I think I paid $20.
Last year, I found a great fur jacket for the mother-in-law. It was a serious bargain.
The southern belle is still in me. They're all monogrammed. I have them cleaned and stored for the season. Of course, I can't afford to get them out of storage.
This week, I'm going to sacrifice elsewhere and pick up our furs. It's my favorite part of cold weather.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Mean to My Mom
I've saluted Mean Moms. This is a different subject. I can be mean to my mom.
When she wants to talk about my bad habits, I can quickly change the subject to her bad habits. When we're going to meet, I send her mean emails listing topics that I do not wish to discuss. When she hangs up on me (usually accidental,) I hunt her down and give her a hard time. When I can't reach her at home or on her cell phone, I leave extremely obnoxious messages: "HELLO! HELLO! Why do you have this phone?" Yet, she always calls back.
I come by this honestly. I am 44-years old and she almost always knows where I am. If she calls my cell phone, the first question is usually, "Where are you?"
My personal favorite is her driving. (I used to only worry about the mother-in-law driving.) My mother has taken safe driving to the level that it's unsafe. If I'm in the car with her or in the car behind her, I'm singing the carol, Winter Wonderland. "Getty Up, Getty Up, Let's Go."
I was following her today. As we both hit the intersection where we would go opposite directions, I rolled down my window and said, "Hello! Do you realize that you were in the wrong lane for the last two blocks or so?" I was hyperventilating -- watching for oncoming traffic or cars that might turn.
We both found this funny and yes, she called me later. "I can get away with nothing!" The husband does not understand how we can be in the same room and go through the same experience and yet, we hit the car and call each other. Then we get home and one must call the other to dissect the experience. Then, I must check my email before bed because Mom might have thought of something else.
We make each other crazy occasionally but in reality we keep each other sane.
When she wants to talk about my bad habits, I can quickly change the subject to her bad habits. When we're going to meet, I send her mean emails listing topics that I do not wish to discuss. When she hangs up on me (usually accidental,) I hunt her down and give her a hard time. When I can't reach her at home or on her cell phone, I leave extremely obnoxious messages: "HELLO! HELLO! Why do you have this phone?" Yet, she always calls back.
I come by this honestly. I am 44-years old and she almost always knows where I am. If she calls my cell phone, the first question is usually, "Where are you?"
My personal favorite is her driving. (I used to only worry about the mother-in-law driving.) My mother has taken safe driving to the level that it's unsafe. If I'm in the car with her or in the car behind her, I'm singing the carol, Winter Wonderland. "Getty Up, Getty Up, Let's Go."
I was following her today. As we both hit the intersection where we would go opposite directions, I rolled down my window and said, "Hello! Do you realize that you were in the wrong lane for the last two blocks or so?" I was hyperventilating -- watching for oncoming traffic or cars that might turn.
We both found this funny and yes, she called me later. "I can get away with nothing!" The husband does not understand how we can be in the same room and go through the same experience and yet, we hit the car and call each other. Then we get home and one must call the other to dissect the experience. Then, I must check my email before bed because Mom might have thought of something else.
We make each other crazy occasionally but in reality we keep each other sane.
The Only White People
I rarely take time to go out to the movies. I prefer watching something at home, on my own timetable, usually wearing my bathrobe and a glass of wine at hand.
This is a banner year. I've seen two movies in the theater, both times with my mother and Aunt Judy. Several weeks ago, we saw "Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married?" Then, we saw, "This Christmas." Both are very funny yet also heartwarming. Both have universal appeal. Both have predominant or entire African American casts.
In both cases, we were the only Caucasian people in the theater.
The marketing people are on to this. Every movie trailer was African American casts. (Yes, I understand target marketing.) None of the mainstream blockbusters scheduled for holiday release were even previewed. Didn't segregation end?
I may or may not find time for another movie this year but if I do, it will be one of the ones I saw previewed during these showings.
This is a banner year. I've seen two movies in the theater, both times with my mother and Aunt Judy. Several weeks ago, we saw "Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married?" Then, we saw, "This Christmas." Both are very funny yet also heartwarming. Both have universal appeal. Both have predominant or entire African American casts.
In both cases, we were the only Caucasian people in the theater.
The marketing people are on to this. Every movie trailer was African American casts. (Yes, I understand target marketing.) None of the mainstream blockbusters scheduled for holiday release were even previewed. Didn't segregation end?
I may or may not find time for another movie this year but if I do, it will be one of the ones I saw previewed during these showings.
How Clean is Your Remote?
One of our remotes is very clean.
We have a plethora of remotes for various stereos, video games, televisions, cable access, DVD, and the dinosaur VCRs. I know in which room they all belong and I can work 95 percent of them.
Trying to be helpful, I moved her sheets from the washer to the dryer. Well, there's a remote control at the bottom of the washer, along with two batteries. I can't find the back piece and although I've searched it repeatedly, I'm terrified it's melting in my dryer.
We're all guilty of tissues or coins inadvertently left in a pocket. But a remote control? It's a pretty hefty object.
Maybe it's the weather but I'm sort of prickly today. I came home this afternoon and was informed that something is wrong with the washer. She sort of implied it must have been Houseboy.
I've declined this argument for a few reasons:
So, one more service call. One more schedule to coordinate. One more check to write. Maybe when the service people are here they will find the back piece.
We have a plethora of remotes for various stereos, video games, televisions, cable access, DVD, and the dinosaur VCRs. I know in which room they all belong and I can work 95 percent of them.
Trying to be helpful, I moved her sheets from the washer to the dryer. Well, there's a remote control at the bottom of the washer, along with two batteries. I can't find the back piece and although I've searched it repeatedly, I'm terrified it's melting in my dryer.
We're all guilty of tissues or coins inadvertently left in a pocket. But a remote control? It's a pretty hefty object.
Maybe it's the weather but I'm sort of prickly today. I came home this afternoon and was informed that something is wrong with the washer. She sort of implied it must have been Houseboy.
I've declined this argument for a few reasons:
She was the one doing laundry today.
Houseboy does a lot of things around here but he has never done laundry.
Since the remote has been washed and rinsed, Heaven only knows what else has gone through this machine.
So, one more service call. One more schedule to coordinate. One more check to write. Maybe when the service people are here they will find the back piece.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Walk the Walk
My mother and her sisters had two sets of parents. The first were their birth parents (Wild Bill and my Wacky Grandmother.) The second were their aunt and uncle (Bobbie and Pa.) Have I told you that Pa and Wild Bill were brothers AND Wacky Grandmother and Bobbie were sisters? Is this something that just happens in the hills? Having no siblings, I have escaped this fate.
It's the holiday season and I am flooded with memories of my grandparents. This is mostly about my mother's side of the family but I actually spend a teensy bit of time thinking about my dad's father and his wife. Then I get the willies and move on. (That's probably not fair. I do have some fond memories but they are overshadowed by the way my father and his sisters were treated.)
So, this is about Bobbie. Technically, my great-aunt but really and truly my grandmother. (The sane and stable one.)
In my childhood, holidays meant we went to Bobbie and Pa's... Christmas, Easter, etc. Farm living instilled in her that there had to be five kinds of meat and at least twelve side dishes.
As she aged, we were more likely to find something forgotten in the oven.
Forgetfulness also came in other visits. One year she gave my father and both of my uncles beautifully wrapped nightgowns. Some years she couldn't remember where she stashed the presents so we got them later.
Pa was in charge of the tree. As he grew older (and more creative) he could find the most interesting way to erect his version of a tree. My personal favorite is the year he found a gnarled tree limb, painted it and hung various ornaments on it. We have an absurd amount of ornaments and Christmas decorations in this house -- nothing will replace my memory of the gnarled, painted tree.
Bobbie and Pa lived in a house that was originally purchased by her father. As time went by, urban issues (like theft and murder) came to visit and my mother was often concerned about her safety, especially after Pa died. She was not fazed.
She was not only my grandmother -- she was the neighborhood mother and grandmother. She didn't just read the bible every day. She lived the lessons every day.
When my mother tried to explain that she shouldn't open the door for unknown people or let the errant neighbors in, she was adamant:
"It might be Jesus at the door."
At my house, it's more likely to be Elvis at the door but I still remember the lessons she instilled and modeled for me.
It's the holiday season and I am flooded with memories of my grandparents. This is mostly about my mother's side of the family but I actually spend a teensy bit of time thinking about my dad's father and his wife. Then I get the willies and move on. (That's probably not fair. I do have some fond memories but they are overshadowed by the way my father and his sisters were treated.)
So, this is about Bobbie. Technically, my great-aunt but really and truly my grandmother. (The sane and stable one.)
In my childhood, holidays meant we went to Bobbie and Pa's... Christmas, Easter, etc. Farm living instilled in her that there had to be five kinds of meat and at least twelve side dishes.
As she aged, we were more likely to find something forgotten in the oven.
Forgetfulness also came in other visits. One year she gave my father and both of my uncles beautifully wrapped nightgowns. Some years she couldn't remember where she stashed the presents so we got them later.
Pa was in charge of the tree. As he grew older (and more creative) he could find the most interesting way to erect his version of a tree. My personal favorite is the year he found a gnarled tree limb, painted it and hung various ornaments on it. We have an absurd amount of ornaments and Christmas decorations in this house -- nothing will replace my memory of the gnarled, painted tree.
Bobbie and Pa lived in a house that was originally purchased by her father. As time went by, urban issues (like theft and murder) came to visit and my mother was often concerned about her safety, especially after Pa died. She was not fazed.
She was not only my grandmother -- she was the neighborhood mother and grandmother. She didn't just read the bible every day. She lived the lessons every day.
When my mother tried to explain that she shouldn't open the door for unknown people or let the errant neighbors in, she was adamant:
"It might be Jesus at the door."
At my house, it's more likely to be Elvis at the door but I still remember the lessons she instilled and modeled for me.
The Gabby Greeting
I am often reprimanded for my inability to control my dog. I'm learning to keep my mouth shut and let the husband have his say. He doesn't realize it but we're actually a good mix when it comes to training her. He would prefer a robotic, brain-washed dog. If he weren't around, I'm afraid I would become even more lax. I find humor and fun in her maniacal personality. Plus, as we know, I will never be her Alpha Leader. I am a litter mate.
Gabby's preferred greeting with me (I can be gone 30 seconds or 8 days) is to plant both front paws on me and shove hard. As I'm reeling, she jumps all over me. Usually, this sends the husband over the edge. While I'm quietly saying, "No Baby, paws on the ground," he's using the firm voice and giving me the evil eye.
Yesterday, I said to him, "You need to chill a little bit. She's just happy to see me."
So last night he came home, planted both hands on my shoulders and shoved me. (Not hard but I did reel back a bit.) I said, "What in the **** are you doing?'
He said, "I'm just happy to see you."
Gabby's preferred greeting with me (I can be gone 30 seconds or 8 days) is to plant both front paws on me and shove hard. As I'm reeling, she jumps all over me. Usually, this sends the husband over the edge. While I'm quietly saying, "No Baby, paws on the ground," he's using the firm voice and giving me the evil eye.
Yesterday, I said to him, "You need to chill a little bit. She's just happy to see me."
So last night he came home, planted both hands on my shoulders and shoved me. (Not hard but I did reel back a bit.) I said, "What in the **** are you doing?'
He said, "I'm just happy to see you."
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Slip Sliding Away
Our constant fear with the oldies is another fall. He's broken both hips. She's had a hip replacement and bashed her head in over the piano. So guess what I did today? Oiled the hardwoods in the kitchen!
Now before you think I am cruel or wicked, let me explain myself. My hardwood floors are destroyed. I have warned them repeatedly that this needs to be done. I have kept a clear, dry path for them to get to the refrigerator. I have gone into the dungeon to warn them about the slippery spot. I have put a big sign up that says, "WARNING!" I'm considering flares. What's one more fire?
They haven't come out to fry up lunch yet but it should be soon. I'm on stand-by to call 911.
Now before you think I am cruel or wicked, let me explain myself. My hardwood floors are destroyed. I have warned them repeatedly that this needs to be done. I have kept a clear, dry path for them to get to the refrigerator. I have gone into the dungeon to warn them about the slippery spot. I have put a big sign up that says, "WARNING!" I'm considering flares. What's one more fire?
They haven't come out to fry up lunch yet but it should be soon. I'm on stand-by to call 911.
Travel Agent
I am not a travel agent but if I have to get a real job, I think I may have the qualifications.
Booking a trip for myself is easy. Coordinate with travel mates, get on the computer and book it. Print out the itinerary and on the day before leaving, print out the boarding pass. The most complicated part is heaving my suitcase on the scale to make sure I won't be charged for it being too heavy.
I am the travel agent for the oldies.
One of the husband's brothers has invited them to Texas during the Christmas holiday. (Time out for my happy dance!) She wrote the dates on a slip of paper and gave it to me. There was finagling that needed to be done because their arrival time has to somewhat coincide with their grandsons arrival times. And, they all need to leave at roughly the same time so only one airport trip is necessary. Plus, it has to be as cheap as possible.
Okay, doable.
I researched it and was quite proud of myself that I met all of the criteria. I emailed my brother-in-law with the schedule. I called the airline to go over in extreme detail the kind of special services they will require. I gave her a copy and of course, kept one for myself.
Guess what? She wrote down the wrong dates.
I spent several hours trying to unravel the booked trip without them incurring $200 worth of fees. Once I got that accomplished, I started over from square one but the flights are filling up and the pickings are getting slim. I had the phone at my ear while I sat at the computer.
A massive headache came to visit. She poked her head in my office and said, "Don't forget to rent a car. The boys (her grandchildren) will meet us and drive us. (Neither boy is 25 yet so they can't rent a car.) At this point, a rental car was the least of my worries.
So, it's booked. The rental car is reserved. New itineraries are in the hands of all interested parties. When I handed her the revised schedule, she actually said, "I hope we feel up to traveling. We might not go."
In that case, I will spend Christmas at the nearest mental health facility. I hope the daughter, the baby, the dog, my parents, my friends and the husband will visit me. Or, I might throw my bullet at someone.
Booking a trip for myself is easy. Coordinate with travel mates, get on the computer and book it. Print out the itinerary and on the day before leaving, print out the boarding pass. The most complicated part is heaving my suitcase on the scale to make sure I won't be charged for it being too heavy.
I am the travel agent for the oldies.
One of the husband's brothers has invited them to Texas during the Christmas holiday. (Time out for my happy dance!) She wrote the dates on a slip of paper and gave it to me. There was finagling that needed to be done because their arrival time has to somewhat coincide with their grandsons arrival times. And, they all need to leave at roughly the same time so only one airport trip is necessary. Plus, it has to be as cheap as possible.
Okay, doable.
I researched it and was quite proud of myself that I met all of the criteria. I emailed my brother-in-law with the schedule. I called the airline to go over in extreme detail the kind of special services they will require. I gave her a copy and of course, kept one for myself.
Guess what? She wrote down the wrong dates.
I spent several hours trying to unravel the booked trip without them incurring $200 worth of fees. Once I got that accomplished, I started over from square one but the flights are filling up and the pickings are getting slim. I had the phone at my ear while I sat at the computer.
A massive headache came to visit. She poked her head in my office and said, "Don't forget to rent a car. The boys (her grandchildren) will meet us and drive us. (Neither boy is 25 yet so they can't rent a car.) At this point, a rental car was the least of my worries.
So, it's booked. The rental car is reserved. New itineraries are in the hands of all interested parties. When I handed her the revised schedule, she actually said, "I hope we feel up to traveling. We might not go."
In that case, I will spend Christmas at the nearest mental health facility. I hope the daughter, the baby, the dog, my parents, my friends and the husband will visit me. Or, I might throw my bullet at someone.
Friday, November 23, 2007
The Circus
We were invited to a friend's home the evening of Thanksgiving to watch our local team play football. The invitation came with a warning: There will be an infant here. Since all of our children are grown, they felt the need to point that out.
This is not a judgement, just an observation. I'm amazed at how many middle-aged people are willing to birth/adopt/go through surrogacy. This friend's brother is in his 50s and has some lingering health issues. The wife is in her 40s and also had some scares. They now have an infant.
I knew I would be thrilled to play with the baby. And, he was oh so cute and endearing. I'm far too old to raise a child but I could've stuck him in my bag and taken him home.
But during this phone conversation about the invitation, my wacky sense of humor got ahead of my brain. I said, "Yes, we'd love to come over. Since you already have two dogs and multiple houseguests, why don't we bring our maniac dog and the oldies? We could tape it all for Barnum and Bailey."
As it turned out, they have it down to a science. The dogs were well behaved. The baby was precious. One houseguest had already gone to bed before we arrived. They even served hor d'oerves. Get out! Didn't she just make a huge meal a few hours ago? Now, she's feeding us. Of course, we all dug in.
On the way home, I was reflecting. I'm jealous. Their home seems to work like a well-oiled machine. My house is the circus.
This is not a judgement, just an observation. I'm amazed at how many middle-aged people are willing to birth/adopt/go through surrogacy. This friend's brother is in his 50s and has some lingering health issues. The wife is in her 40s and also had some scares. They now have an infant.
I knew I would be thrilled to play with the baby. And, he was oh so cute and endearing. I'm far too old to raise a child but I could've stuck him in my bag and taken him home.
But during this phone conversation about the invitation, my wacky sense of humor got ahead of my brain. I said, "Yes, we'd love to come over. Since you already have two dogs and multiple houseguests, why don't we bring our maniac dog and the oldies? We could tape it all for Barnum and Bailey."
As it turned out, they have it down to a science. The dogs were well behaved. The baby was precious. One houseguest had already gone to bed before we arrived. They even served hor d'oerves. Get out! Didn't she just make a huge meal a few hours ago? Now, she's feeding us. Of course, we all dug in.
On the way home, I was reflecting. I'm jealous. Their home seems to work like a well-oiled machine. My house is the circus.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Christmas Card
I am a card addict. Although I mess up, I try to remember birthdays and anniversaries. It's fun and people seem to appreciate it. It's always kind of jarring when someone says to me, "Yours was the only birthday card I received."
The oldies love to go to the mailbox. I hate them sorting through my mail but I let it go. It's all junk and bills. I like the mailbox around my birthday (Yeah! Cards for me!) and the holidays.
Lots of people have given up sending Christmas cards due to the hassle, postage costs, etc. Not us! This is my favorite ritual of the holidays and I have every holiday card received for the last 10 years, at least. Many years ago, the husband and I decided to venture away from Hallmark and do an original card for the holidays. We're marketing people -- easy enough!
We forgot a few things. We forgot that we're both Type A and think we can out-concept each other. We still forget that shooting for the perfect photo is like the proverbial needle in a haystack.
He forgets that I hand address every card and at last count, we send out at least 350 of them. (You have to die or be put on the Roman Do Not Mail List to fall off of our holiday card list.) He forgets that it must be printed and some years, art directed. (We know people.)
I love coming up with the concept. I love the debate while he puts his spin on it and we have to defend our own ideas. I love it that he cares about this.
One year, we were not in a good place in our marriage. We had a beautiful card and I struggled with whether or not to send it. In the end, we decided it represented the best of us. Plus, we wanted to extend joyous wishes. By the time those cards hit the mailbox, we were healing.
Don't tell me Christmas cards aren't important.
The oldies love to go to the mailbox. I hate them sorting through my mail but I let it go. It's all junk and bills. I like the mailbox around my birthday (Yeah! Cards for me!) and the holidays.
Lots of people have given up sending Christmas cards due to the hassle, postage costs, etc. Not us! This is my favorite ritual of the holidays and I have every holiday card received for the last 10 years, at least. Many years ago, the husband and I decided to venture away from Hallmark and do an original card for the holidays. We're marketing people -- easy enough!
We forgot a few things. We forgot that we're both Type A and think we can out-concept each other. We still forget that shooting for the perfect photo is like the proverbial needle in a haystack.
He forgets that I hand address every card and at last count, we send out at least 350 of them. (You have to die or be put on the Roman Do Not Mail List to fall off of our holiday card list.) He forgets that it must be printed and some years, art directed. (We know people.)
I love coming up with the concept. I love the debate while he puts his spin on it and we have to defend our own ideas. I love it that he cares about this.
One year, we were not in a good place in our marriage. We had a beautiful card and I struggled with whether or not to send it. In the end, we decided it represented the best of us. Plus, we wanted to extend joyous wishes. By the time those cards hit the mailbox, we were healing.
Don't tell me Christmas cards aren't important.
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