We always decorated our tree a couple of weeks before Christmas when I was still in school and had those nice long breaks, but this year, the tree had to wait until all the kids were home from their working lives to help, until December 23. Decorating the tree in our house always has to be accompanied by appropriate cheery music of the season, and the only Christmas music we have in the house is a Time-Life collection of records. We bought it when I was young, and it seemed definitive to me - all the classics done by (and I know nothing about music here) the best singers (who could argue with Dolly Parton's, Elvis's, and The Jackson Five's legendary statuses?) But the record player has to be at least 20 years old, and the speakers gave out every once in awhile, so I had to run and tinker with them to preserve the proper tree decorating ambiance. Typical of us - we never invest in new technologies unless we absolutely have to. The records just barely got us through this year, but (finally) with a new cd player in the house, we should probably stock up on some cheap Christmas cd's for next year, and, with a few sniffles about the end of an era, we just might have to consider finally chucking that old record player.
The Christmas tree will only be up for the week, but the Christmas spirit that went into assembling it (nurtured by records) is worth the whole season! (Oh, that's so tacky to say, and not really my style, but it's Christmas time, and what else can I write?)
Hope everyone had a very merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Winter drama
In the northeast, people always have a winter weather story – abandoning a car by the side of the road, dealing with no heat for several days, slipping and ending up with a bloody nose. I suppose small gestures in the midst of minor weather disasters can, like a butterfly effect gone haywire, collide and leave you with a serious mess on your hands. Now, in my third winter in the northeast, I have my story (and let’s hope that story is complete).
A couple of weeks ago, I lost my keys. This is a fairly ordinary occurrence for me (second set that disappeared this year), and it left us with one precious car key that I, for some reason, decided to leave on a tiny key ring all by its lonesome rather than attaching it to a larger bunch of keys – I was sure, actually, in my idiotic way, that I would watch that key much more carefully, guard it much more securely if it was on its own. I meant to get another copy made, but just hadn’t gotten around to it (in addition to being forgetful about my keys, I’m also lazy about errands, even important ones).
This weekend, in the midst of a record-breaking snowstorm, I decided to move my car to a safer place. After backing out into our little one-way street, I was distracted by a neighbor, and in a split second of deciding to turn the ignition off and pocket the key before getting out of the car, my little winter adventure began. I returned to my car door, reached into my pocket to find – no key. Check all your pockets. No key. Check inside the car. No key. Check –all those feet of deep white snow around you. Holy sh-- No key. We searched for hours, our car boldly stretched across the entire road, blocking the way for any brave people who ventured down into our neighborhood. There was cursing (much, much cursing), frantic digging on our hands and knees (It has to be within this 10 foot radius!), careful shoveling (we thought we could sift through the snow), and a bit of crying (I just felt so stupid); concerned neighbors (concerned about the street, not about us – They’re going to skip us when they come to plow!), redirected cars (waving our arms – Back back!), telephone calls to AAA (We aren’t doing service in the city now. Only people who are stranded. You’ll have to wait until morning.), and the police (begging them to just tow us away -- Sacre bleu! What a story! And, yeah, absolutely nothing we can do about it now.). Perhaps the sheer elation I felt when the tow truck finally did show up at 4 in the morning (the brave tower got stuck in the mounds and mounds of snow three times, spinning his wheels to no avail, having to get out and dig), was worth at least some of the trouble. Worth even more was the feeling of vulnerable gratitude to my dear, patient, and amazingly sweet husband, who never raised his voice, and spent more time out in the cold than I did through the whole ordeal; it makes me weak in the knees and ready to swoon for him all over again (mushy, but true). And the happy sleep I got Sunday, the warm house, the Christmas wrapping paper spread out everywhere, and the bottle of wine I shared with friends Sunday night were all the more delicious and precious. High drama, at least, can sometimes lead to happier days. I just hope that’s the last of the crises for this winter.
And yes, a new set of keys has arrived (my mom saves the day again), and never, ever, ever again will we be without a spare.
A couple of weeks ago, I lost my keys. This is a fairly ordinary occurrence for me (second set that disappeared this year), and it left us with one precious car key that I, for some reason, decided to leave on a tiny key ring all by its lonesome rather than attaching it to a larger bunch of keys – I was sure, actually, in my idiotic way, that I would watch that key much more carefully, guard it much more securely if it was on its own. I meant to get another copy made, but just hadn’t gotten around to it (in addition to being forgetful about my keys, I’m also lazy about errands, even important ones).
This weekend, in the midst of a record-breaking snowstorm, I decided to move my car to a safer place. After backing out into our little one-way street, I was distracted by a neighbor, and in a split second of deciding to turn the ignition off and pocket the key before getting out of the car, my little winter adventure began. I returned to my car door, reached into my pocket to find – no key. Check all your pockets. No key. Check inside the car. No key. Check –all those feet of deep white snow around you. Holy sh-- No key. We searched for hours, our car boldly stretched across the entire road, blocking the way for any brave people who ventured down into our neighborhood. There was cursing (much, much cursing), frantic digging on our hands and knees (It has to be within this 10 foot radius!), careful shoveling (we thought we could sift through the snow), and a bit of crying (I just felt so stupid); concerned neighbors (concerned about the street, not about us – They’re going to skip us when they come to plow!), redirected cars (waving our arms – Back back!), telephone calls to AAA (We aren’t doing service in the city now. Only people who are stranded. You’ll have to wait until morning.), and the police (begging them to just tow us away -- Sacre bleu! What a story! And, yeah, absolutely nothing we can do about it now.). Perhaps the sheer elation I felt when the tow truck finally did show up at 4 in the morning (the brave tower got stuck in the mounds and mounds of snow three times, spinning his wheels to no avail, having to get out and dig), was worth at least some of the trouble. Worth even more was the feeling of vulnerable gratitude to my dear, patient, and amazingly sweet husband, who never raised his voice, and spent more time out in the cold than I did through the whole ordeal; it makes me weak in the knees and ready to swoon for him all over again (mushy, but true). And the happy sleep I got Sunday, the warm house, the Christmas wrapping paper spread out everywhere, and the bottle of wine I shared with friends Sunday night were all the more delicious and precious. High drama, at least, can sometimes lead to happier days. I just hope that’s the last of the crises for this winter.
And yes, a new set of keys has arrived (my mom saves the day again), and never, ever, ever again will we be without a spare.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Fundraising Fruit
I remember the days of fund raising only vaguely. I'm probably blocking out all sorts of humiliating moments, standing on neighbor's doorsteps with four-page catalogs of chocolate-covered pretzels and coconut flavored cookies, with nothing but the piddly little ounce of natural charm I could muster up to get me through the experience. And then there was always the easy way out - hand off the catalog to my mother to push on her colleagues. Now that I'm working, it's cosmos payback for all those orders that people placed with me, probably out of pity and with a realistic sense of just how much they actually needed another can of flavored popcorn for the holidays (I have to admit, though, I do love the flavored popcorn). For a mere $25 and a sense of smugness at having made a little girl's list of orders a little bit longer, I am now the proud owner of about 20 oranges and about 15 grapefruits. I'm not sure how we're going to consume so much citrus goodness in the next week before we leave for Christmas, but we will try our little hearts out, and probably end up giving some away (what doesn't make for a nice neighborly Christmas gift but a lovely bouquet of oranges and grapefruits?) I have to admit, fruit is an excellent healthy alternative to all those candies that I used to offer in my catalog. I don't even know what the fund raiser is for (does anybody ever bother to ask?), but I hope she enjoys her new softball uniform, or her new band instrument, or her field trip to Washington D.C. I know I'll enjoy my fruit.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
More on late nights (and early mornings)
I remember the exact moment I discovered that I was "not a morning person." A friend of mine turned around in our first-period sophomore History class and asked me a question that demanded a nuanced answer. I must have looked very grumpy and not responded to her liking, because she immediately rolled her eyes and said "You're so grouchy in the morning!" That phrase shocked me out of innocent adolescence like none other. I don't understand! , my mind raced. It's morning...isn't everybody grouchy in the morning? It's before eight a.m., for the love of those evil high school scheduling gods! I was totally flabbergasted that she didn't feel the same way. Could it be that some people actually...like the morning? That some people are perky in the morning? It didn't help that we had a math teacher the year before who was adamantly for changing the high school day to a later time. She was a teeny, tiny woman with a big voice and a very practiced expression for laying down the law in her classes, and she told us with a high, assertive chin that she never got up before 11 on the weekends and that research had shown that high schoolers don't actually fully wake up until 10 a.m., and that we really couldn't expect to absorb much, as a result, those first two hours of lessons (and I thought - yup, that sounds about right). I suppose I just assumed she spoke for absolutely everybody.
I found that my fuzzy mental construction of night versus day people came into much more detailed focus when I befriended a tried and true night person in college. She would show up when the sun was setting, ready for the first meal of her day, sit at dinner with her eyes half closed and declare dryly, You know, the world is ruled by morning people. Morning people control everything. They seem more productive because they're the first to work. They get things done ahead of everyone else. It's really not fair. I'm pretty sure she was a part of some secret night-person society, bandana laden and drawing out plans for a mass conspiracy - some fateful day when no alarms would go off and all storefronts would stay locked and dark until noon. I was always in awe of her ability to go for days without spending time in the sun. She, by the way, remains a good friend, and now has a 9 to 5, confirming her worst fear: they suck you into their life, those morning people. It might take awhile, but they eventually get you.
I found that my fuzzy mental construction of night versus day people came into much more detailed focus when I befriended a tried and true night person in college. She would show up when the sun was setting, ready for the first meal of her day, sit at dinner with her eyes half closed and declare dryly, You know, the world is ruled by morning people. Morning people control everything. They seem more productive because they're the first to work. They get things done ahead of everyone else. It's really not fair. I'm pretty sure she was a part of some secret night-person society, bandana laden and drawing out plans for a mass conspiracy - some fateful day when no alarms would go off and all storefronts would stay locked and dark until noon. I was always in awe of her ability to go for days without spending time in the sun. She, by the way, remains a good friend, and now has a 9 to 5, confirming her worst fear: they suck you into their life, those morning people. It might take awhile, but they eventually get you.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Late nights
I am by no means a morning person. If there was one thing that deterred me from becoming a high school teacher, it was the early mornings. I come from a family of early risers, and it was always just a bit painful to come downstairs at 10 a.m., bleary eyed with hair going every which way, and find the cheery bunch of them, their fourth cup of coffee in hand, with a list of chores already completed for the day, errands already run. I would say it balanced everything out when they all went to bed early and left the house to my mischievous wiles, but that stopped being fun and started to feel a lot lonelier when I stopped being a teenager.
But I find as I settle into a real working life, things are changing. I am lucky enough in my job to be able to roll out of bed a little after eight, and I've actually gotten quite used to it. I'm finding that late nights just don't do it for me anymore. This weekend, we decided to pretend like we were artsy adventurers and headed off to a late showing of Taxi Driver. The movie began at midnight (or thereabouts), and when we left the house a little after 11, I knew my body was telling me that I was now much more suited to a midnight night cap in some comfy pajamas. Not that I would refuse a late-night party or a rousing night at the bars every once in awhile, but my days of just staying up for the heck of it are over. I doubt I'll ever be up with the early risers, but perhaps next time I'm home, they'll only be on their second cup of coffee, and still in the middle of their morning routines, when I join them, a little less bleary-eyed than before.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Free food
I'm a sucker for free food. You announce that there will be a spread somewhere, and you've got my attention. When I arrive at an event with refreshments, I immediately begin some serious investigating -- how soon is too soon to head to the free food? How interested do I have to act in what's going on before I stuff my face? Have other people helped themselves yet? And if you make me wait through a presentation while the food languishes in the back of the room, spread out and untouched, you can usually find me pretending to be interested in what the speaker is saying while checking my watch, licking my lips, and shooting longing glances at the cookies every so often. What I wouldn't do for free food.
A store close to work recently advertised a small holiday celebration (all day!), complete with refreshments. I internally cheered since I had brought a sad little soup lunch that day, and geared up for a midday visit to the little place. I told coworkers that I still had a bit of Christmas shopping to do, so why not pop in and see what they had? When I swung through the door, hungry for munchies and sweets, I found...nothing. No food. No other customers. Only the blank faces of the clerks. I circled around the place a couple of times, in and out of the aisles, trying to find the buffet table, and wondering if I had gotten the wrong day, or if this was some kind of mean trick. And then I saw it. Right there, up by the cash register. I see your plans, I thought. You aren't going to feed me unless I buy something. And this is where the story gets really sad. Because, I did. I bought something. It wasn't entirely for the food -- I came away with two mediocre Christmas presents for cousins that I rarely see (I got one a candle that supposedly smells like the beach (she misses California), another one of those chrome water bottles...not too bad of a gift, since he's a biker) -- but I would be lying if I said the food didn't play a little part in it. Chips and dip, breads with cheese, and cookies. But, even if my dignity is a little bit bruised, that's two more Christmas gifts I can cross off the list, not to mention a half a lunch. And, I suppose, it was better than walking up, stuffing my face, and leaving the store empty-handed. There's comfort in knowing that I haven't hit rock-bottom quite yet.
A store close to work recently advertised a small holiday celebration (all day!), complete with refreshments. I internally cheered since I had brought a sad little soup lunch that day, and geared up for a midday visit to the little place. I told coworkers that I still had a bit of Christmas shopping to do, so why not pop in and see what they had? When I swung through the door, hungry for munchies and sweets, I found...nothing. No food. No other customers. Only the blank faces of the clerks. I circled around the place a couple of times, in and out of the aisles, trying to find the buffet table, and wondering if I had gotten the wrong day, or if this was some kind of mean trick. And then I saw it. Right there, up by the cash register. I see your plans, I thought. You aren't going to feed me unless I buy something. And this is where the story gets really sad. Because, I did. I bought something. It wasn't entirely for the food -- I came away with two mediocre Christmas presents for cousins that I rarely see (I got one a candle that supposedly smells like the beach (she misses California), another one of those chrome water bottles...not too bad of a gift, since he's a biker) -- but I would be lying if I said the food didn't play a little part in it. Chips and dip, breads with cheese, and cookies. But, even if my dignity is a little bit bruised, that's two more Christmas gifts I can cross off the list, not to mention a half a lunch. And, I suppose, it was better than walking up, stuffing my face, and leaving the store empty-handed. There's comfort in knowing that I haven't hit rock-bottom quite yet.
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