New Year's Eve Live

Not Nancy Drew

I admit that I have an overactive imagination. And maybe it was because I had just seen the movie, "I Am Legend" with my daughter last night, but I woke up this morning at 3, hearing a noise downstairs that sounded like footsteps. I sat up in my bed, in a frozen, possum-like stance; my ears straining to listen. Creaking. On the first floor. An Intruder?? My heart raced.

I quickly groped about my room for a weapon. What should I use? My Intuition razor? A bottle of perfume? (“Yo, Intruder, you'd better leave my premises immediately. I have Chanel #5 and I know how to use it! If you come any closer, I’ll spray some in your eyes, and it might sting a bit!”) No. The only danger to The Intruder would be if he laughed so hard he dropped the gun on his foot.

Then I remembered my "weapon", the fireplace poker I keep under my bed, for the infrequent times when my husband is out of town. I grabbed the poker, and headed to the stairs to investigate. That is when Super Hubs woke up. “What’s going on?”, he asked sleepily. “I think I hear a prowler and I’m going to hit him with this," I whispered. With a look of alarm, my husband grabbed the poker from my hands, and told me to stay put, while he went downstairs. I picked up my cell phone, ready to dial #911 if necessary.

Then I checked on my children; safe and sleeping in their beds. But where was the dog; our Loyal Family Canine and Protector of All Things Evil? “Rudy?” I called, looking in all his usual sleeping places. But he was not to be seen. Had The Intruder silenced my dog? OMG; was my dog bound and gagged somewhere in a closet in the house??! But then I spotted him, sleeping under our bed, oblivious. And completely useless.

Super Hubs came back into the bedroom and told me he had checked every area of the house; opened every closet, peeked around every corner, and saw nobody. Our house was safe and secure. “You must have heard one of the cats. Or just the heat creaking through the pipes.” “Sorry,” I said, sheepishly, as he went back to bed.

I cannot help it that I conceive drama where there is none: I hear our cat during the night and think it’s an Ax Murderer; I can’t find the dog and assume he’s been murdered. My reasoning that The Norm could possibly be The Scary is probably, in part, caused by my steady diet of crime television viewing and mystery novels. I should probably cut back on those, for the sake of our sleep cycles.

But it’s also due to my colorful thought processes, which kept spinning long after Super Hubs went to bed. I finally fell asleep at 5:30am. So this morning I needed lots of caffeine. And today I am trying to lay off the frightening media, at least for a day, so Super Hubs can get some rest tonight.

2007 Resolutions

I came upon my list of New Year’s Resolutions from 2007. I tend to have over-inflated opinions on what I’m able to accomplish in a year. Let’s see how I did.
1. I will write a book.
Hmmm……….I did begin writing a book last January. Then I put it down, and began writing another book last February. Then I felt creatively blocked, so I began reading lots of books for inspiration. And then magazines, for the fashion advice, candidly. Which caused me to go shopping and buy purses. So I didn’t really have time to finish any of the aforementioned books. Alright, not so good on that resolution. I give myself a “C-.” No, a “D.”
2. I will drink 64oz. of water a day.
I did drink 64 oz. of water daily the first week of January. But then I had to pee every hour, which became highly inconvenient. And flushing the toilet every 60 minutes is a tremendous waste of gallons of water. So I decided that increasing my fluid intake was actually bad for the environment in the long run. So I stopped. (No need to thank me.) An “A+” for thinking "Green."
3. I will organize my entire house.
I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just give myself an “F” and move on.
4. I will purse a new hobby that will make me a more interesting person.
I did think about taking up something like cross-country skiing, but it looked….....cold. So I considered other options: Cake Decorating, Succulent Raising, Taxidermy. Nothing seemed right. So I decided that my current hobby of napping was actually very healthful to my body. Scientific studies have proven that! And there’s nothing more interesting than a healthy, well-rested person, correct? So why mess with what’s already working?? I am clearly a fabulously fascinating person because of the shut-eye. I ‘ll grade this one with an “A” for my brilliant foresight.
5. I will show self-control by not buying any more pets this year.
Well…….it all depends on how you look at it. I did acquire a small hamster. And then another. And then one more. And one to replace the one that was murdered by the dog. And then the first one died, so I honored her memory by buying another, which was the noble thing to do. But, I did not breed the hamsters, so I actually saved us from having hundreds. Nor did I buy the adorable puggle in the pet shop, tempted as I was. Or the cute terrier mix. Or the Siamese twin kittens with the blue eyes. So, I believed that I showed great improvement of character in the “impulsive pet purchasing” department. “B+.”

Overall, not too bad, yes? Oooooookay, pretty awful. Deplorable, even. But I can aim higher in ’08. Maybe I’ll resolve to write a screenplay or take up the harpsichord or win a Grammy. Who knows???

Brothers

Thankfully the nose is a recessive gene.

The Big Apple

It was off to New York City today! Super Hubs' sister, Elizabeth, met us for a romp around Rockefeller Center and Times Square. We watched the skaters, ate lunch at a little deli, shopped relentlessly, and even rode the subway. We were sad not to see any sewer rats, as that would have made this truly an authentic experience. But nonetheless, it was a fabulous day all around. We love New York!

Tonight the adults will take Mom out for a farewell dinner of some amazing form. A delicious vino is on my agenda.

Tomorrow we will leave pre-dawn for our marathon non-stop car trip back to Chicago; our mini-van packed to the gills with the 5 of us and all our Christmas loot. If all goes well, we should be home in a few short 14 hours. I simply cannot wait (she writes, toxic sarcasm dripping from the keyboard).

Merry Christmas Live

Monkey Jammies

My niece, Hanna, and I in our monkey jammies on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve

A much better day. The stupid stuff of yesterday is forgiven and forgotten.

We begin our day with a tender visit to Dad in the nursing home. Alzheimer's is a thief; a stealer of time, memories, connection. But love is impervious. We feed him his favorite; chocolate. Somewhere, we hope, he is deep inside; remembering.

Back home again, we sit around the living room on this sunny New England Christmas Eve; our family and Mom, Chris, Matt and Lori and their baby, and Liz and Nick. We enjoy appetizers and drinks and laugh over a silly board game. Then we move into the dining room to completely satiate ourselves over lasagna, ham, and the works.

Later, we exchange gifts and watch, "A Christmas Story." It is comfortable and warm and entirely relaxing. Litle Squirt makes sure there is cake set out for Santa, along with carrots for the reindeer. Then the kids head off to bed, with "visions of sugarplums."

Bad Wind

We are, quite possibly, brilliant. We left a good 24 hours ahead of the storm and had beautiful, clear weather on our drive to Connecticut; only hitting bad weekend traffic while going over the George Washington bridge. But there was a beautiful view of the lights of Manhattan, so it wasn't awful.

We are packed tight in a home now filled with 5 adults, 2 teenagers, a 5-year-old and a toddler. And what is about childhood homes that can cause the sweetest of adults to regress into the patterns set by family and birth order? The years are wiped away in a flash.

One minute I was happily grocery shopping for upcoming holiday meals and putting together a gift basket for a sick brother-in-law. And then the conflict hit, like a twister without warning. This was over pizza. We wanted to stop in and eat, and he wanted to bring it home. So the tornado came upon us; beautiful pieces of the day completely broken and swept away like like debris. And as I tried to clean up the mess in the aftermath, I was left feeling shell shocked. What the heck just happened? How could we have been so completely misunderstood? About a frickin' pizza??! And can we hope to rebuild or should we just level this out and begin again?

Life is complicated, Folks. No matter how much you long for the Norman Rockwell picture, you realize that family holiday gatherings contain people who carry different world views and experiences in their pockets. And prisms through which they look at life. Even regarding pizza; take-out or dine in?

So I take a break and leave the crowded home, finding a quiet hideaway in Stamford with internet access, and blog. Writing away my frustrations and confusion and inner tantrum, hoping to return there a more peaceful, centered person. And then pour myself a big ol' glass of something wicked.

To Beat A Blizzard

As if I wasn’t harried enough…..

I woke up this a.m., nursing my cup of coffee, and sitting deadlocked into my easy chair. I had so much to do to get read for our vacation to Connecticut tomorrow to spend Christmas with my in-laws. I thought if I just sat there, trying to muster up the energy to begin tackling my To-Do list, maybe things would just kind of “do themselves.” Supernaturally. But it was not to be. So I kept putting my chores off, just sitting there in a zombiated, “stuck” kind of place; fretting about all I had to do.

And then Super Hubs saw the forecast of impending snow storms headed our way tomorrow……scheduled right on time to accompany us on our trek through Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. Oh, just terrific. And potentially dangerous, going through the Appalachians.

We decided we’d better leave tonight and drive to a hotel on the Ohio/Penn border. If things go as planned, we should beat the storm and be at my in-laws home in CT by late afternoon Saturday. And once we had the idea to leave early, it was, “Let’s leave earlier.” Then “Earliest.” Then, “How about Right Now?” But we realized we needed to wait until Butterfly got home from school. (And she will be thrilled, I’m sure, to have to cancel her social plans for tonight.)

So it’s been a day of hectic scrambling. Hurry, hurry. Fast, faster. Throw things into suitcases. Bring dog to Peggy’s. Leave instructions for person who will house-sit. Do quick errands. And speaking of that- it’s crazy out there! All The Crazies are out in Crazy Land today, driving around my town to get their last-minute Crazy Christmas shopping done. And being QUITE RUDE about it. I give you fair warning: Stay home and be safe!

Now it’s become a contest of The Blizzard vs. Us. We are determined to beat this winter storm to the East Coast! And then have a relaxing time with Super Hub’s amazing family.

I will attempt to blog on location, whenever I can get out to a place that has internet access. My mother-in-law’s computer system is so archaic; it involves something like a man riding a camel to deliver email on papyrus scrolls.

Blessings to my cyberspace friends. I wish you warmth and beauty, wherever you are.

Rapid Palpitations

Yesterday ended beautifully enough…….dinner with Super Hubs and another couple at a charming restaurant (Asian Chicken Salad and Pinot Grigio)…...a bubble bath (Bath and Body Works’ Vanilla Chamomile)…….a yummy read (“The Murder Artist” by John Chase).

And the beginning part of the day was also lovely. I took Little Squirt to The Dollar Store to buy family Christmas presents of his exact albeit inappropriate choosing (plastic race car for Uncle Nick, stuffed penguin for Grandpa). Precious and adorable.

My Panic Attack occurred during the noon hour. After shopping with Little Squirt, I promised him lunch out. We ate at McDonald’s, which always must include at least 30 minutes of romp time in the nasty, germ-infested Playland. So up he climbed on the chutes and ladders while I curled up with “The Murder Artist” and a large cherry Pepsi. Ah....bliss.

I was just at the part of the book where the protagonist’s 6-year-old twin sons are abducted, when I glanced around to “eyeball” my son. He was nowhere in sight. I stood up, and looked around further. No Little Squirt. The Playland was fairly empty, with only three other children playing. “Little Squirt?” I called, wondering if he was in a tube, out of sight. No answer.

“Did anyone see which way my little boy went?” I called to the other children, slightly concerned. Three heads shook from side to side. One of the boys volunteered to check upward, to the tubes that were far overhead, but soon came back down, shrugging his shoulders.

Now I was beginning to feel anxious. No. I was panicked! My mind raced, imagining the worst. Where was my little boy?? My baby??!! Had he been kidnapped from right under my nose while I read a book about childhood abduction??!!! Oh, the horrible irony of it all! Please, Dear God! No!! Nooooo!!!

As I stood in front of The Playland, momentarily paralyzed by fear, suddenly the children’s bathroom door slammed open. Little Squirt came running out, handed me his soiled underwear rolled into a ball, and proceeded back up a ladder, oblivious to my fear. And apparently going "commando.”

I stood there, relief washing over me. I HAD MY BABY BOY BACK, safe and sound!! And his dirty underwear, which I wrapped in a napkin and stuck in my purse; the purse's lifespan now permanently altered, no matter how much air freshener I’ve squirted since. But a purse is just a purse. Little Squirt is undeniably my precious, precious child. Perspective is an amazing thing.

Lost In Space

Today I had one of those stressful afternoons when I needed Butterfly to be home from school with the car right on time, so we could head out and get our hair cut. I also wanted to squeeze in a quick trip to Super Walmart to pick up ingredients to make an appetizer for a party tonight......a crab dip with cocktail sauce on Ritz that tastes heavenly with a dry Chardonnay......but I’ve digressed.

I needed to get these errands done in less than an hour, so I could get back home to prepare Garlic Chicken Breasts for my family’s dinner, throw together the appetizer, iron my outfit and do my makeup for the party. And my hair, because I never like the way they blow dry it at the salon. They make me look like a Country Western Singer; too much poofiness at the crown.

I dropped Rock Star off at Game Stop, then swung by the salon and told Butterfly to start getting her hair cut and I’d be right back after I ran into the store. Super Walmart is the size of an airport, so it took me a little while to find the few items I needed for my appetizer. And I ran into someone I knew, and she was all “gabby”.....and then I got into the checkout line behind the Shopping Cart Piled With Every Item In The Store....so as I walked to the parking lot, I was feeling anxious that I was running late.

And then I couldn’t find my car. I could swear I had parked it in the row across from the Garden Center door! But it wasn’t there. I rewound my brain to 15 minutes in the past. Drove into the parking lot, passed the Garden Center, down the first completely full row, up the second, pulled into the right……but the car wasn’t there. I walked up and down the rows fruitlessly, feeling ridiculous. I was certain people were ridiculing me behind my back: “Look at the stupid lady who lost her car!”

Four minutes later, I realized that I was looking for a silver Grand Caravan when I had actually driven a black Toyota. Another reason for increasing my daily dose of ginko biloba. Feeling foolish, I went back to the second row, now scouting out my Toyota. Not there. Lots of little black sedans, but none of them mine. Up the first row I went, down the second, up the third, and so forth. No success.

Now I was feeling a bit freaked out; the possibility that my car had been stolen crossing my mind like a really slow freight train. Great. Just great. On the night my crab dip needed to be refrigerated at least one hour before the party for it to be flavorful!

And then I saw my license plate. On a Toyota that looked like mine, only was a grayish color instead of black. Oh. Dear. God. I had not recognized my own car because it was dirty. I had passed it in Row #2 a myriad of times for the past 15 minutes, not seeing it because it was covered with the remnants of ice and sludge from my trip to Iowa this past weekend!!

Why can’t they make cars with automatic washers attached, like they do for windshields?? Because, For The Love Of All Things Good And Holy, I CANNOT be late for parties all the livelong winter!

Getting There Is Half The Fun

Guess where I’ve been all weekend? Hint: It is known as “The Tall Corn State.” If you guess “Iowa," then you are correct! I spent the weekend visiting my friend, Sandy.

I left last Friday morning in the bitter cold. What was supposed to have been a four-hour drive to Iowa turned into a 5 1/2 hour drive because of Stupid HWY 20, which apparently has a Business HWY 20 that is different from Regular HWY 20. Which I found out the hard way. I was driving along, merrily singing Christmas carols with the radio, when HWY 20 W morphed into Business HWY 20 E supernaturally, without one stinkin’ sign and/or me realizing it until I came to a complete dead end. Looking for some direction, I stopped at a gas station, where a kind man informed me that I would need to back track for quite a distance to get back on HWY 20 W. So I did, and then soon began noticing sights I had passed an hour ago! Same church. Same road construction. Same dead end. It had happened again! Evil HWY 20 W had morphed into Business HWY 20 E and spun me in the complete opposite direction from where I needed to go. I was living in an episode of “The Twilight Zone!”

Near tears, I stopped at a church to see if a priest had time to perform a quick Highway Exorcism, but the church was closed. So I stopped next at a Quick Mart where an employee directed me out of my dead-end habit trail and onto the salvation that came in the form of I90. So the bad news was that I lost 1 1/2 hours. The good news was that I became very intimately acquainted with the city of Rockford.

I had no further incidents of getting lost, but one other adventure. I was driving in a rural area and felt “the call of nature,” so I stopped at the only place in sight; an antique shop attached to a restaurant. The restaurant was closed, so I went into the shop to use the bathroom. The snooty (and lying) owner told me she did not have a working bathroom in the store. “Yeah, right,” I thought about saying, “And what exactly do you use, one of the antique chamber pots??” She gleefully informed me there was a port-a-potty in the backyard that I was welcome to inhabit. I had no other choice, much as I hated to do it.

The port-a-potty sat on top of an ice-covered hill. I had to pull myself up by the branches of a convenient evergreen to get there, slipping and sliding all the way; risking my very life. It was entirely unpleasant; an adventure that I wish to completely put out of my mind forever, after I finish this post. I only tell you about this sordid part of my trip to warn you never to drink 20 oz. of coffee while driving to Iowa in the winter.

The rest of my drive was relaxing and uneventful. I passed some beautiful and charming small towns, some rolling hills, and lots of frozen corn fields, finally arriving at my friend’s house at 2:30p. And we had an amazing weekend together, which I will tell you about tomorrow.

Saint Santa

In a bad parenting moment last week, I threatened Little Squirt with the Trump Card that many dysfunctional parents across the world use during this Season of Good Will Toward Man: “Santa’s elves are watching to see who’s naughty and who’s nice. If you don’t behave, you will go on the Naughty list. Then Santa will have to re-think the gift thing.” I hated to do it, but I was stressed, and his behavior was particularly awful that day. Even for him. Plus, I had a splitting headache.

Little Squirt turned ten shades of pale, then timidly looked around the room and asked, “Where do the elves hide, Mama?” And then I felt really bad, and told him that the elves were actually very nice, kind of like angels, and they were watching him with the expectation that he would behave, as he usually did. And that the elves hoped beyond hope to tell Santa to bring Little Squirt lots of expensive presents. And then, panicking that I had fatally damaged his self-esteem, I read him the book, “I’ll Love You Forever,” and fed him fudge. And gave him a hug. And made a mental note to add more money to his Adult Therapy Fund. And implored him to please stop smacking his brother and hitting the TV with his Lord of the Rings sword. It turned out to be a lovely mother/son bonding moment, but then I realized that I have totally messed up his theology. Yes, Folks, I have my son believing that Santa’s elves have the spiritual power of angels.

But it gets worse. Now every time someone offends him, Little Squirt says, “That was NOT nice. That hurt Santa, God and Jesus." So because of my inadequate and lazy parenting conflict resolution skills, I have Little Squirt actually believing that The Trinity consists of “The Father, The Son, and The Holy Saint Nick.”

Tailgating

“Please please please can I take the car to school tomorrow???” Butterfly begged us last night, as is the recent routine. The $4.00 per day parking fee is but a small pittance for her to pay for “being cool.” And my 16-year-old daughter is all about The COOLNESS FACTOR. It ups your social standing in high school “to drive” as opposed to being “dropped off.” And it is especially better than taking the bus. Or walking.

Then there is the lunch period. It is WAY cooler to eat out for lunch as an upper classman than to eat in the cafeteria. And a lot more fun to grab a small handful of friends for some socializing and fried rice at Panda Express. Or gossip and chili dogs at Tommy’s Red Hots.

Butterfly has taken over our new car as if it is her own, filling it with her favorite CDs and hanging something interesting around the mirror. I drew the line at putting a “Bob Marley” bumper sticker on the back. She loves zipping around in this new cute little car, instead of our old beater with the missing hubcaps.

We try to accommodate Butterfly’s requests to borrow the vehicle as often as we can arrange it. If Super Hubs and I can manage with just one car between the two of us for the day, it’s hers. Unless it becomes a safety issue, such as with the recent drizzly, slippery winter weather.

This morning the sun shone warm and the ice appeared to be melted. After driving Super Hubs to the train station for his commute downtown, I assessed that it was safe enough for Butterfly to drive to school. Her face lit up and she gave me a hug. “Thanks, Mom!” she said, brightening.

A few minutes later, I poured my second cup of coffee and glanced out the living room window. There was my daughter, happily driving the new car down the street toward school. With the blue recycling bin, jammed under the back of the car, following.

Ah yes. Her COOLNESS FACTOR was going to be very high today among her peers.

Winter Wonderland

This view from our back deck shows the gorgeousity that is my part of the country right now. The tree branches look like they are wrapped in crystal. I saw a cardinal looking for food; a flash of bright red against the monochromatic landscape.

Last night we had an ice storm, with freezing drizzle on and off throughout the day. Cancellations abound: My daughter’s school, my intentions to run errands, my drama team training. So it’s a big dose of Cozy for my family tonight. Popcorn and board games by the fireplace. .......Of course, that’s my plan. The teens may make themselves scarce and hide behind their laptops.

Drive safely tonight, my local friends! Or better yet…..stay home and call me.

I'm His #1 Fan

Rock Star, my 13-year-old, is not the most self-motivated teenager on the planet. But then he has was not a self-motivated baby, either. He did not walk until he was 16 months old. I would have panicked if he’d been my first child; insisting that he be flown to The Mayo Clinic for all sorts of CT scans and blood tests, and blaming myself for allowing too much infant “Sesame Street” watching. But in retrospect, I realize that he did not take his first steps any earlier because he was not motivated. He had an older sister who was born a "go-getter", walked at age 10 months, and waited on her baby brother hand and foot. And I'm sure in Baby Rock Star's little pea brain, he wondered: "Why should I venture upright when I have a sibling who carries me around and brings me everything I need?" I don’t blame him a bit. I'd stay horizontal, too.

Rock Star is just not motivated unless he's motivated. A while ago he told his father, in all sincerity, that upon high school graduation he did not want to go to college or get a job. He’d rather just hang out with his friends and live in our basement forever. And was that okay? I’m not exactly sure how Super Hubs, who has an incredibly strong work ethic, responded. I only know that he flipped out for a bit and chugged lots of Maalox before he went to bed. And had nightmares. And the next day he highly encouraged Rock Star to read an old book called, “What Color is Your Parachute?” to help him begin to brainstorm career possibilities for the future, even though he’s currently only in in 8th grade. Rock Star skimmed the back cover and then decided he would really love to be:
A. A Rock Star
B. A Professional Wrestler
C. or Unemployed and Living In The Basement Until His Parents Die, And Then Take Over The Rest Of The House. And watch lots of MTV and Professional Wrestling.

As the less intense parent, I don’t happen to worry about our children’s future quite as much as Super Hubs. I believe they'll come into their own eventually, with time and maturity. And lots of prayer coverage. Also, I was not a super motivated child either, and I turned out fine. Right?……....I said, “Right??!!”

I had faith that Rock Star would find his inspiration when he discovered what he was really passionate about. And one fine day, noticing his sister's unused electric guitar in her closet, he declared that he wanted to take lessons. BINGO. He'd found his true love. Who knew he'd be musically inclined?? I could almost hear the angels singing the "Halleluiah" chorus. He’s now been playing for about 16 months; eating, sleeping and breathing "guitar." He desires to practice for hours a day, which I don’t mind at all. It’s better than his old habit of playing non-stop video games, which subsequently led to a diagnosis of carpal tunnel syndrome at age 12…….but that’s another story.

Rock Star played yesterday in the Worship Band for his church youth group. (1st cutie on the left.) It did my heart such good to see my first born son using his gift of music to share with others, and his love for God pour forth. Love him, love him, love him, My Non-Conformist, Phlegmatic Beautiful Middle Child!

Polarity

Here are some of the ways that Super Hubs and I manage the various goings-on in our household:
Children’s Activities: Me
Car Maintenance: Super Hubs
Pet Buying: Me
Pet Disposal: Super Hubs
Social Agenda: Me
As the Social Agenda Committee Head in our marriage, I usually plan The What, The Where and The Who, lay out an appropriate outfit for Super Hubs to wear, and off we go. Last night we went to two simultaneous Christmas parties, both at opposite ends of the same building. It was a case of me wanting to be in two places at once. I felt a bit like a Two-Timer, such as the episode of The Brady Bunch where Peter has two different dates on the same night. (I never had two different dates simultaneously but I did actually have three different dates consecutively on the same evening while I was in college. But I was young and free-spirited and it was My Wild Sorority Girl Days. So don’t judge me.)

We stayed at Party #1 for 42 minutes, munching on appetizers, until I whispered to Super Hubs to finish his buffalo wing and wrap up his conversation, because in three minutes we were headed to the other party. He obediently followed me to the other end of the building where we enjoyed the main course at Party #2. Then an hour later, conveniently right before the game of Christmas Song Charades, we ducked out and went back to Party #1 for dessert. We mingled there a while longer, then cavorted back to Party #2 for coffee and The White Elephant Exchange.

After we left the parties, I directed Super Hubs onto more Fun. I invited us to the home of good friends for drinks, which was a wonderful way to wind down our evening.

We went home, and Super Hubs was exhausted, while I was exhilarated. He fell into a comatose sleep of the dead, while I, energized after so much social interaction, was awake much of the night, thinking: “Was I too babbly? Was my all-black outfit attractive, or was it too Grandma’s Funeral Frumpy? What was in that delicious cranberry dip? Did I talk to everyone enough tonight? I hope I didn't leave anyone out.” and so forth; my mind incessantly mulling over the evening’s events and conversations and every detail.

Super Hubs and I are polar opposites. I am a Sanguine, and he is a Melancholy, which can bring a beautiful balance to our family if we don’t end up killing each other first. In the early days of our marriage, we just didn’t get each other. I found him anally structured, even-keel and analytical, while he found me emotional, people-pleasing and freakishly talkative. We’ve learned over 18 years of marriage to appreciate each other’s differences in temperament. He provides safety and structure and security, while I………….find us the parties. Sometimes several in one night.

I found this interesting on-line personality test. I’ve found it so freeing to figure out why I am the way that I am, and be okay with it. And become more tolerant of other’s differences. And to try to understand the way each of my three children are wired up.

It makes the world a more interesting place to have variety of personalities, I believe. Like flowers in a garden. Or people at two different Christmas parties on the same night. Or a well-balanced marriage. My husband draws the pictures of our life, and I color them in.

“We are staying home tonight, right??” Super Hubs asked me anxiously, first thing this morning. “Yes, we’ll just make popcorn and watch a DVD, “ I said. He visibly relaxed. Until I added, “Unless someone calls and invites us to a party.”

Winter Song

We have about 3 inches of snow on the ground from Tuesday night's storm, and the forecasters are predicting another 2-4 inches tonight. As much as I abhor the cold, I must admit I've loved the snow ever since I was a child. There's nothing cozier than hot chocolate by the fireplace while watching snow sprinkle softly outside the window. Yes, Southern California may have its warm weather charms, but I'll take The Midwest in the month of December, hands down!
Summer joys are o'er
Flowerets bloom no more,
Wintry winds are sweeping;
Through the snowdrifts peeping,
Cheerful evergreen
Rarely now is seen.
Now no plumed throng
Charms the wood with song;
Icebound trees are glittering;
Merry snowbirds, twittering,
Fondly strive to cheer
Scenes so cold and drear.
Winter, still see
Many charms in thee,
Love the chilly greeting,
Snowstorms fiercely beating,
And the dear delights
Of the long, cold nights. (Ludwig Holty)

Patch Pickle

You, my dear blog readers, will be pleased to know that we’ve had a small victory in our household involving one of my cats, Kinsey. I rescued her from a shelter four years ago, and named her for the heroine detective of the Sue Grafton novels. I thought calling her after the feisty P.I. would be a prophetical indicator of strength of spirit, but I was SO wrong. Kinsey is as timid and neurotic as they come.

As much devotion as I have for this pet of mine, I realize that she is quite odd. She’s kind of like the peculiar aunt who lives with you, and friends give you knowing, compassionate glances with a wink and a nod; “My, she’s a strange one! How good of you to take her in.”

Shortly after I brought Kinsey home, she was diagnosed with colitis, which played itself out in bloody……...well, never mind. I’ll spare you. Let’s just say the corner of the dining room carpet she chose to use for her private water closet the first few weeks has never been the same.

She spends hours a day sitting in my Master Bathroom, just staring at the toilet. Honestly. She gawks at the white porcelain throne for endless amounts of time, as if she expects one day it’s going to jump up and do The Watusi.

Here is another oddity about her: Kinsey is a bicolor; primarily white with a big black patch of fur on her back, and black on her face. And for months she was only grooming her white fur, while completely neglecting the black. She’d start from one end of her body to the other, meticulously grooming her light fur until it gleamed, and passing right over the dark. In recent weeks, the ebony hair on her back had begun to look unsightly. It was matted, knotted and full of dandruff; really disgusting. So a few weeks ago I called the vet to ask their advice. What do I do about this feline who left much of her fur in complete filth? Do I bathe her? Groom her myself?

The wise vet advised that, yes, I should groom Kinsey myself, thus showing her how to keep her black fur clean and orderly. So I did. Which went pretty well……...except for the part about misunderstanding the vet’s instructions and getting a mouthful of fur……....and the subsequent throat-swelling and EMS call due to my cat allergies. My bad. But the epinephrine injections gave me the manic energy to clean not only Kinsey fur but my entire house as well! So do not fear, it all turned out happily. This cat now takes control of her own self-hygiene completely, and has a new improved interest in grooming her black backside. You can sleep well tonight knowing this. And my house is completely in order for the holidays.

Like Buttah

My favorite Christmas CD of this year is Josh Groban’s “Noel.” It’s fantabulous. But I can only play it when Super Hubs is not home, because he’s apparently jealous. Come to think of it, Super Hubs was also threatened by my Harry Connick, Jr.’s CDs. And by Yani. He shakes his fist at the all the Mad Passionate Music Makers of masculine form.

**Note to self and blogosphere: I only said, “I think Josh Groban’s voice is hot.” I did not say, “I want to fly off to Tahiti with Josh Groban.” There’s a big difference.

Positively Paring

Maybe it’s a reaction to having a mother who despised everything to do with the kitchen, but food interests me. A lot. It has, ever since I got my “Creative Cooking” Girl Scout badge. I hated Girl Scouts, but at least it birthed in me a love affair with The Culinary. I began collecting recipes from people at the tender age of ten. I’d interrogate my friends, “What did you have for dinner?”, and if it sounded intriguing, I’d run over to their house with an index card. I truly did that, as bizarre as it sounds. While other little girls were playing Barbies, I was organizing my recipe file. I was odd that way.

Uh huh, I publicly confess that I am a Foodie. I devour culinary mysteries, am addicted to The Food Network, and read cookbooks from cover to cover. My favorite movie of the summer was “Ratatouille.” I love The Yummy. Nothing is so soothing to me than preparing a fabulous meal. I light a candle, play a little “Madame Butterly,” and begin sautéing. With every sizzle and pop of the pan, cell after cell of my body relaxes. Who needs valium, when you can very easily fricassee?

So I’ve been cooking for years and years, primarily self-taught. Which is probably why I’ve never owned but one small knife. I’ve used it my entire adulthood to cut everything from sirloin tips to artichokes. I’ve never invested in a good set of cutlery, because I never really saw the point. A knife is a knife is a knife, I’ve believed.

But a friend who knows I love to cook gave me very generous early Christmas present; a complete set of cutlery. And Oh My Good Lord In Heaven, I have seen the light! Yes, folks, I have entered the Wonderful World of the 21st Century Epicurist. It feels like I’d been trying to light a fire with a flint rock, and someone handed me a blowtorch. Wahoo- Fireworks! I admit with utter abashment that I HAD NO IDEA I could cut everything effortlessly like this! DUH! And, different knives for different foods? What a concept!!

Ever since receiving this gift, I have been a Transecting Queen. With the precision of a brain surgeon, I carve, slice and shred. Got a chicken? I’ll debone with the best of them. Celery stalks? I’m a Chopping Maniac.

Right now I’ve got spaghetti sauce simmering in the crock pot, and the French bread is waiting to be warmed. But my hands are itching to julienne. So I need to go find a carrot, or something. Come on over to my house, and I’ll proudly show you my new set of cutlery. And dish you up a plate of something delicious.

To Infinity And Beyond

Last night we spent Date Night at a Chinese Restaurant with another couple whom we’ve known for 12 years. It’s great to be with people you have a long history with. People with whom you can always pick up right where you left off. People with whom you feel safe that they know all your quirks and idiosyncrasies and weird family stories over the years, yet remain steadfast and true. Our relationship has stood the test of time, which feels really good.

So we ate Chinese (the Pot Stickers were to die for!…….as was the Cashew Shrimp and Beef with Peapods….gosh it was all so good) and we talked. When we first met this couple, their oldest child was in 1st grade. He is now in college. And as we talked about that, I began to realize that my friends were aging. They were now twelve years older than they were twelve years ago. How sad for them. And then as I took another bite of food, the tantalizing egg roll I had been previously enjoying now stuck in my throat like a lump of clay as the thought dawned on me; I AM AGING, TOO! Good Lord, I am getting older!

I stirred my jasmine tea compulsively, my ears now deaf to the pleasant conversation of my friends (“Wah wa wah wah waah”) , and tuning into a frequency that was my internal voice shrieking loudly, “YOU ARE OLD! YOU ARE OLD! YOU ARE OLD!”
And then I spoke a panicked monologue to myself for the next ten minutes, silently, which went something like this:

“Is 40 really the new 20, or is that just a marketing ploy by the cosmetics companies to make women feel good and believe there is hope in buying the latest anti-aging potion? What is an alpha-hydroxy, anyway?
And are my hands getting too veiny looking, screaming, "Middle Aged", and if so, should I just “go with it” or invest in dainty white gloves like a Fine Lady of 1910? Or would that be too obvious?
And Good Heavens, I think I just had a hot flash! Is menopause beginning tonight, or is just vasodilation from that last bite of the spicey Kung Pao Chicken?
Will I age like my mom’s side of the family, who stay beautiful and youthful-looking? Or like my dad’s side of the family who……...do not? Oh, dear God, whose genes do I have??!!
And, Nicole Kidman’s frozen features aside, how do I really feel about Botox? Or low-rise jeans? Am I getting too old to wear them? Should I now start investing my money in some practical old lady garments, like girdles? And high-waisted pantaloons??
Why don't I take these chopsticks and jamb them into my brain RIGHT NOW, putting an end to the bleakless future that is my old age??!"

And on and on I went inside my head, obsessively fretting, with Super Hubs and our friends cluelessly enjoying their dinner. And then someone passed me a cookie, and I opened my fortune, and it said this: “The joyfulness of a man prolongeth his days.”
And I snapped out of my narcissistic worriment and shamed myself. There is one certainty in my future; I will age no matter what. But I will try to do it with joy, as my fortune advised. So I ordered a round of plum wine and we toasted our future.