Christmas Eve

Those who have husbands or fathers–is it not a tradition that men will be out shopping on Christmas Eve? When I worked retail, Christmas Eve was almost all male customers, and Christmas Eve shopping has generally been true of the men in my life. It cracks me up. Tom and I agreed not to buy each other anything big this year, since our home improvements are the gifts we are giving ourselves. But of course, I’m always picking up things here and there for him. So he decided to look at my Amazon wish list and get an idea or two of things he could get me while he’s out running errands (and trust me, running errands is already a HUGE gift to me because he’s doing some of mine).

Now knowing what he was up to, when I got a box from my Secret Santa from his family, I thought I’d best open it, just in case… And sure enough, almost everything on my wish list was in the box. So I called Tom and began naming items. Somehow, he missed hearing me say the ONE item that he was holding in his hand as he stood in line to pay. Only later, during our second or third phone call, did I go through the list again because I’d found something else in the box. This time, he heard what he’d already bought. BACK TO BORDERS. (I can think of far worse fates than another trip to a bookstore, though maybe not on Christmas Eve…)

Meanwhile, one of the errands he ran early this morning was picking up a gift card for our mail carrier. You’re not supposed to gift them with cash, so we go the gift card route. When the aforementioned package was delivered, a DIFFERENT mail carrier snagged the envelope off the mailbox. I was all distressed, wondering if our mail carrier would get his gift. The dogs alerted me later that he was walking by–why do dogs hate mail men?–so I dashed out faster than a reindeer FLIES and he hollered at me from the house next door, “THANK YOU!” Apparently, the other mail carrier gave him the card. That made me so happy–not only that he got his gift, but that his coworker was honorable.

When I watched Elizabeth II’s 1957 Christmas address last night, I was struck by her mention of the age of cynicism. Who knew this was a topic fifty years ago, just as it is today. I remember watching Carol Burnett’s interview on Inside the Actor’s Studio years ago when she said her least favorite word is “cynicism.” I immediately adopted it as my least favorite word, too. I think cynicism is demoralizing and crippling. The reason that I do often sound Pollyanna-ish is because I don’t want to ever become cynical. I like believing in things like the magic of the universe and the goodness of people and that in time, all things will come out the way they should and will be okay.

So what I wish for all the people I care about is that this season, and the coming year, brings them a little less cynicism and a little more hope. And I also wish redleatherbound a happy birthday!


In green velvet, 1991 Holiday Barbie with Jamal

Belated Saturday post

I’m a bad LJer, hardly posting and barely able to comment on anyone’s blogs or journals, though I am reading you (other than anyone’s fiction, because I usually can’t/won’t/don’t read other people’s unpublished fiction, but especially not when I’m writing). If you think I’m being a slacker online, you should see my unanswered e-mail, my pile of unpaid bills, and my house.

Today they started pulling up the various layers of flooring that have gone down in the kitchen over the past 80 years. And then they stopped, because way down underneath it all are materials that could be asbestos. So now they’ll do the floor a different way. I don’t care as long as the workmanship is good and it looks good. But because they’ve gotten down to some old wood, I think the house has a funky smell. No one else seems to smell it, but I do. I’ll be very glad when this part is done.

They also pulled off all my cabinet doors and–sorry, Lindsey–my cabinets do NOT look like the Container Store Fairy came in and organized them.

You know, there was a time that I was a really good housekeeper.

And then I wasn’t.

I’m starting to wonder what I AM good at.

To divert us all from my flaws…

Hey! Look!

AAAAIIIIIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHH

Life needs to SIMMER DOWN around here. Today I had so many errands to run and I just turned off the phones and the computer and did them. On the way, I treated myself to the one indulgence that always, always lifts my spirits.


Guinness ignores my newly pedicured toes.

When I finally got back home to stay, I saw a box on the porch and…well, I BLAME ALL OF YOU. I haven’t bought one of these things in years. YEARS! Probably twelve years! But when doing posts about them to get accurate information, I happened to see this on eBay and I bid on it. Okay, I didn’t. I paid the BUY IT NOW price because it was cheaper than its original retail price. And today, it came.

any purchase can be rationalized by the words ‘on sale’

Heroes and Villains

My second grade teacher was my first villain.

Because I was often sick as a child, I grew comfortable in the quieter company of adults–my parents, older relatives, my doctors and nurses–and preferred their world to the noise and messiness of children. I was shy and timid, and my parents worried about how I’d be when I started school. They were able to entice me out of my shell by bringing a dog, our mixed breed Dopey Dan, into my life. Dopey was born to a dachshund whose owner tried to drown the puppies when he found out they weren’t purebred. My parents told me that as a result, Dopey was shy and afraid. I had to be brave so that I could teach him that it was okay to be around kids.

I had smart parents, and I was also fortunate to have other good adults in my life. Like the sweetest kindergarten teacher, Miss Harris, who acted like she didn’t know I once replaced my broken Crayons with Linda Bishop’s perfect ones. (Sorry, Linda.) Then I had a lovely first grade teacher, Mrs. Griffin, one of those ancient Southern ladies who smelled faintly of talcum powder and who had ample breasts that translated into smothering hugs in the most comforting way.

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