Don't You Hate It When ...

I try very hard to never use the word "hate" toward people. I have no problem using it according to a situation or a dilemma.

I hate it when ...

An advertised product is out of stock.

Every traffic light turns red as I approach.

Someone I love is hurting.

I put my foot in my mouth.

I can't remember a person's name.

My checkbook doesn't jive with the bank.

I spend time on my hair only to get caught in a downpour.

My favorite glasses go AWOL.

I overhear someone make a disparaging comment about a person I care about.

The phone or the doorbell knocks out my train of thought.

I hurt someone's feelings or let them down.

The dog eats my favorite slippers.

The power goes out and I have to reset every clock.

My To Do List overwhelms me.

I can't track down my parents. They are supposed to be available to me 24/7.

Clothes I love don't fit.

A date night is interrupted by a screaming child. (I think if they are allowed to bring a bratty child, I should be allowed to bring my dog and her squeaky ball.

Clutter becomes acceptable.

People don't understand how beautiful and powerful they are.

People don't stand for the Star Spangled Banner, And for Heaven's sakes, take off your hat.

People wear sandals without bothering to groom their feet. Ick!

Grown men wear Speedos.

Men date and marry women younger than their daughters.

Looks are more valued than brains.

This could go on forever so I'll stop now. What do you hate?

Letting Go

I don't let go easily. It may be people or things but there's a reason they're in my life and I'm a clinger. Within the past few years, I've had to let go of:

The oldies -- shocking.
The daughter who moved to Texas. Expected, but hard.
The baby who grew up and moved to the college life.
Mentors and business associates who have retired or moved on.
Friends who died too soon.
A beloved pet.

I've also had to let go of some dreams and perceptions. That "slap-you-in-the-face" reality is a downer.

I need to let go of some clutter. I'm being swallowed by books and papers.

Mostly, I need to let go of some expectations and the load of guilt I can't seem to shake. I wish they made a magic pill for that.

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:

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!"

Side by Side

Marriage is work and people will go to extremes. Some people make it look easy but they're not fooling me.

We knew the cutest couple. They were in their 70s when we met them almost two decades ago. We played golf with them and enjoyed their company for many years. They used to come to the Meatball Band's gigs. She was kicky (she used to be a Rockette) and he was dapper. Money was not an issue for them so after their children left home, they bought side by side condos. They went out to lunch every day and had a date every evening.

Think about the positives: No poking when one or the other is snoring. No morning breath. No fighting about the dog. You can say, "It's time for you to go back to your condo now."

Think about the negatives: No curling up with the person you've made vows with. No middle of the night conversations.

The husband is very urban. He's lived in many cities. When we were renovating this house, we lived downtown for a few months. I liked it; he loved it. I still need to be able to walk outside and a balcony does not count. I need feet on the ground. I need trees and a yard. I need a dog running around -- the husband does not but at least he tolerates it.

We jokingly talk about this side by side condo idea. He could keep a clean and pristine place. I could live next door and move among my piles and clutter. We could get together in the morning for coffee and the crossword. We could meet for a drink in the evening and discuss our days. Oh wait, this is what we do now.

Side by side condos sound interesting but we could never live that way. We'd be breaking into each other's homes after an interesting dream or constantly calling. I'd rather be side by side in person.

Plus, I'm pretty sure I'd still end up living with the oldies.

One More Day

Tomorrow is D-Day.

The husband returns from his trip tomorrow. The baby will join us for brunch or lunch tomorrow before heading back to campus.

And, the oldies will be back.

I called the other day to wish the Unabomber a happy birthday. Then I talked to the mother-in-law. At the end of our conversation she said, "We'll see you on Sunday!" Thanks for the warning.

I'm anxious to see the husband although he will gripe about the piles and clutter. Even though he kicks me, I still sleep better when he's here. I can't wait to see the baby and give him a hug.

The kitchen is aired out -- it no longer smells like bacon or fried stuff. The refrigerator is clean. Bye bye herring in REAL sour cream and other foods that gag me. I've made a dent in the pantry.

I've had a good run. This time tomorrow, life will return to our version of normal. I should probably plan a meal but there's a very good chance that won't happen.

On Monday, it's guaranteed she will restock the frig and the pantry.