Twenty

Inspirational song: Slàinte Mhath (Marillion)

An incredible sense of peace has settled over me this evening. I’m all by myself, and I am really enjoying it. I had zero interest in going to a loud party or being outside in the cold. I don’t need fireworks or alcohol. I’m in pajamas, leaning on pillows on the bed, with local tv news to entertain me. There are two nearly complete cross stitch hoops in my lap, and a glass of water on the bedside table. This is exactly where I want to be.

Teaching at a community college is fulfilling, but when one of the adults in a household has spent a year battling cancer instead of working, teaching doesn’t pay all the bills. So the Mr is out driving Lyft tonight. It used to bother me when we were in different locations on this holiday (I was a bit superstitious about it), but tonight I’m fine with him being out there. Yes, it is going to be a lucrative night. But also, he will be keeping upwards of a dozen drunks off the road. He is saving lives, people. That’s pretty cool.

I guess I will stay up all the way to midnight. I’m relaxed enough I could just sleep now, but I won’t. The last several years have worn out their welcome, and by the end of December I’m yelling at them not to let the door hit them on the way out. 2019 is no exception. I’m sick of it. Will the 20s be any better? No idea. I know of at least one big cool thing on the horizon, and one big scary uncertainty following later. There will be fun events and opportunities for anxiety. In other words, a year. I raise my glass of water and herald its arrival.

Musical Interlude

Inspirational song: I Wanna Be Sedated (The Ramones)

I’ve spent all day more focused on what song to use for tonight than what to write about. I started the morning having seen someone on Twitter steal an Instagram joke that is only good at midnight tonight (less than an hour away as I start to write). They said it would be Ramones O’clock for the one and only time. It would be 2020 24 hours to go. (For my parents, google the song above, and you’ll get the joke.) I had more medical imaging this morning, and my frustration levels are rising because of it, so you’d think “I wanna be sedated” was still a valid sentiment.

The kids and I went to see Cats tonight. I wanted to experience the weirdness in the theater, so I could say I was there. I never actually saw it performed live, in the (does math) 38 years it’s been around, but man, I know all that music. I got the record on a class trip to London in high school, and I imprinted every note in my brain. It all came back as I watched. So I walked out of the theater thinking that people who were extra freaked out by it were just not well-versed in the source material. I was more interested in critiquing the performances of each individual song. I got excited when it was time for Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat, and wished for the ability to skip the songs I always avoided when I was a teenager. I found it weird the way Tailor Swift seemed muted, like every time she hit a big note they insisted she not hold it or let it resonate. The kids were a bit confused by the whole thing. Perhaps I should have played the soundtrack at least once while the girls were young. It was completely unfamiliar to my daughter.

My other option for a song tonight was a sad one. As soon as the movie ended and the kids grabbed their phones, my son-in-law shared bad news. He held up a link saying Neil Innes, a songwriter associated with Monty Python, had died. I’ve always been a big fan of his Protest Song that I believe appeared in one of the Secret Policemen’s Ball movies. Nearly every October I find myself singing, “So I’m going back to my little grass shack, and drink me a bottle of wine, that was mis-en-bouteille before my birthday, and have me a f—ing good time.” It makes me sad that the Pythons are starting to drop off now. Graham died many years ago. Terry Jones has dropped out of public life with dementia. Now Neil. It’s rough seeing the people who brought you joy in your youth succumb to the infirmities of old age. We all will eventually, but it’s still a downer to watch it all fade.

Missed the Last Chance

Inspirational song: Just a Job To Do (Genesis)

There was a shop on the Pearl Street mall in Boulder that sold rocks and fossils and semi-precious gem jewelry. I say was, because it closed down today. It was a cool place to get stuff like that, but I know I didn't frequent it as often as I should have. I do have several fun pieces from there, including a lovely peridot pendant I'm wearing right now. But rents on Pearl Street are prohibitively high, as they are in most of Boulder (I'll save the explanation of why that is so for another day), and the little shop just couldn't swim against the tide hard enough. There are other stores owned by the same guy, one in Nederland and one in Fort Collins, and they are doing okay, from what I hear. As of today, the Boulder location is no more. They'll probably put a chain the tourists and new residents would rather go to, like a Sephora or something. It's not easy being a local business in a town evolving like Boulder has been.

My son-in-law worked there for more than five years. He has a better-than-passing knowledge of geology and fossils, and it was a perfect job for him while he was in college, and in the years since. Well, it was perfect for the people who wanted to hear about the science of the stuff. It being located where it was, there were no end to people who wanted to hear about the spiritual qualities of different stones, and that really wasn't the specialty of anyone who worked there. They had a book they'd refer people to who were looking for that sort of information.

I knew the shop was closing for a few weeks. I kept meaning to go down and see about picking up a new pendant or earrings, while the deeper sales were going on. But it was Christmas and I was busy and I really didn't want to fight for parking in downtown Boulder. I almost went on Friday, when my daughter suggested it, but I had already driven that way once that morning, and I made plans to see Star Wars instead. She asked me to drive her there after work today, and it seemed like my best option. We thought we were arriving with half an hour to spare. When we walked up, the shop had closed for good 30 minutes earlier, and the staff was gathered in the middle, telling sad stories and waiting for a last dinner together. My son-in-law let us in, and I met the owner. But I wasn't rude enough to suggest they sell me something after they had totaled up the sales and closed the registers. I got one last look around, saw a few things I would have bought, given the chance, and then took my leave. I left my daughter there to celebrate/mourn with the staff. If I really want those things I saw, I can look for them at the Fort Collins store. It's a block from my real estate office. I have no excuse not to peek in one of these days.

Seeing Double

Inspirational song: Give Me Some Money (Spinal Tap)

It is straight up impossible to sit still for an entire day without pain. I verified that today. I was doing a repetitive task that required me to sit the whole time. I made myself get up and take breaks a few times, but geez. Today was a literal pain in the butt.

I now have two people who want a copy of the cross stitch that I made for my daughter. One is family, the other a complete stranger who is willing to pay for it. I get so few commissions for the crafty things I make. It feels really weird when one comes along. I have never dared command high hourly rates for my work, even for things that require fine detail skills that I have. You would think at some point I would have developed the ability to pay myself properly for my work. Nope. Been this way since the days my buddy and I ran a costume design company out of her garage. 

I'm still growing out my fingernails that were so badly damaged over the summer. Chemo ate them up, but they will recover. I just have to wait out the stage where all of my nails tear below the quick, and the tips of my fingers become exquisitely sensitive. Unfortunately that means pushing a needle through tough aida cloth over and over really irritates them. If anyone else from my brother's friend group wants one of these cross stitch designs, I may have to pop over to the craft store for a thimble. I should probably get some of those silicone ones regardless. I know this isn't the last craft project on my calendar.

Digest

Inspirational song: Your Body Is a Wonderland (John Mayer)

Weeks of prep. Decades of dedication. A not-early-enough arrival. Seats too close to the screen. And now we have seen the conclusion of a forty-two year saga.

I threatened anyone who ruined my experience with spoilers, so I will give as good as I got. I won’t spoil it for anyone else. It has only been out a week. I will wait months before I assume all who want to see it have had a chance to do so. I will find roundabout ways to say whatever needs to come out of me tonight while I process it through my brain.

There was a whole lot of magical Jedi stuff. That’s not a surprise. Sometimes the physics-defying bothered me. Sometimes I just let my logical brain take a bathroom break and I enjoyed the weirdness. Even having just watched almost all of the series, I have to wonder why it seems like they just keep adding new powers (not saying to which characters) any time they need a plot device, without sticking with existing abilities that were already canon. I had a great deal of trouble trying to figure out how they decided when they were in space and when they were in atmosphere—gravity seemed to work awfully well when I thought they were in space, and there was always air to breathe. I still wonder where the air locks are on landing bays. That never ceases to disturb me.

I wondered who the secret storm troopers were, now that we all seem to know that famous people would have “cameos” as them. (Which movie was it where Daniel Craig was a storm trooper? Episode 7 or 8?) Sitting super close to the screen, I noticed a detail I never did before, in my whole life. One of the actors who started in the original episodes (not saying who) has a remarkably asymmetrical face. How did I miss this before? Since we skipped 4, 5, and 6, now I have to go back and study this person’s face when they were a much younger adult. And honestly, in a week or two, I will probably go back and watch the movie again when I can sit much farther back in the theater, and catch other details I missed from row B.

I think I’m at peace with whose story arcs ended and whose will continue, even if it’s just in our minds. That part definitely needs more digesting to make sure I’m not angry or unhappy with who lives and dies and why.

I obviously did not take pictures of the movie for my illustrations tonight. I’m not stupid enough to run afoul of Lucas and Disney that way. The only new photo I have for the day wasn’t taken by me, nor was it of me. In fact, I’m forbidden from sharing it, and the penalty is probably as severe as anything the most powerful movie studios could hand down, even if it would be significantly cheaper. Feel free to imagine anything you like. I’ll be as tight-lipped as all those actors with their NDAs for the Star Wars movies before the premiere.

Cross

Inspirational song: Bastille Day (Rush)

For Christmas, I made my daughter a cross-stitch to fit her personality. I looked up a few pictures online to get a vague idea how to stylized an image, and then I got grid paper and created my own pattern. Let's call it a "French" design. I showed a picture of it to my brother, and he liked it so much, he wanted one of his own. He then showed it to friends of his, a couple of whom claimed they'd pay for one if I made more. I'm not used to my own designs being so popular. I wonder whether those comments turn into real commissions. It would be cool, and I would totally make it happen.

This week has been exhausting, for everyone I know. It has been so for those of us who crafted presents. It was so for people who prepared food and cleaned their houses for parties. It was even exhausting for a certain person I know who has been taking advantage of a light work schedule and the ability to play video games at a neighbor's until three in the morning. I wish I had been able to power down and nap this afternoon like I would have if I had been spending the holiday at a relative's house. 

I can only do the next best thing: go to bed early. I have a new supply of cross-stitch fabric (aida cloth), and I plan on settling into bed and falling asleep with the hoop in my hand. If luck is with me, I will manage not to roll over on the needle in the middle of the night. Happy boxing day, everyone!

Shelved

Inspirational song: Deck the Halls (Traditional Carol)

This elf is done. I finished nearly everything I needed to before the gift exchange. (The new swim trunks I made for the Mr weren't all the way done, but I need him to try them on before I add the elastic anyway. I think I made them way too big.) I stayed up until 0230 this morning finishing a gift for one of the kids. I was supposed to wake early, and I overslept until about 0815. Prepping for breakfast and gift wrapping ran a bit late. It all worked out, though. We had our crepes and coffee at the kids' house, with a mellow gift exchange after. 

We were all begging each other to scale down how much money we spent on each other and how much stuff we accumulated. Around this place, we are trying to lighten our load of how many material things we are carrying around, even though we aren't having to load it into a moving van every three years anymore. For me personally, I have set a goal of donating as much as 20% of the items in this house next year. It's a big goal, but I plan on getting at least halfway there by early summer. I have the expectation that it will make me a happier and healthier person to thin down the clutter. Less stuff to store means less to clean. Less to clean means more free time to relax. More relaxation means better sleep, right? And then better sleep means more energy and less pain in general. I do not see a down side anywhere in this equation.

I hope you all had a peaceful holiday with people whose company you enjoy. I hope family time was surprisingly unstressful. I hope if there was one special gift you wanted, you got it. I hope at least one person told you how much they love you today. It is too grandiose for me to wish for peace on the entire earth, as is the traditional sentiment this time of year. It is entirely appropriate for me to think of each and every one of you having a quiet experience of joy with loved ones or maybe just in a stolen moment of solitude with a glass of wine and no one watching you for the first time all day. Please have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Joyous New Year, Happy Festivus, Io Saturnalia, and any other glad tiding for this holiday season that you can experience. 

Now We Can Panic

Inspirational song: There's Only One More Sleep 'Til Christmas (Muppet Christmas Carol)

Y'all. It's 12:15 in the morning, on Christmas Eve. I have two big gifts left to complete, and another one or two to wrap before gift exchange in about 10 hours. And somewhere in there I need to sleep and prepare batter for breakfast crepes. (I use cassava flour and they are heavenly.)

I've turned on the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol, and I'm going to finish the present for one of my sons-in-law. I'm pretty sure Mrs Cratchett is played by Elsa Lanchester, the actress after whom my dog Elsa was named. Not sure I have the energy and time to look it up. Too much left to do. And for real, my ears are ringing extra loudly from the sewing machine. Tonight is going to be torture. First thing tomorrow morning will be just as stressful.

Parcel Post

Inspirational song: Please Mr Postman (The Marvelettes)

On Tuesday of last week, when I was gone for almost the entire day, Harvey's crush (the mailman) left me a parcel notice. I wasn't expecting anything, and I was a little surprised that he didn't leave a box on the porch. I mean, I know porch thieves are vicious and thick on the ground this time of year, but he leaves other things without a second thought. What gives? There was no point of origin zip code on the slip, which was even weirder. 

In my frustration over medical insurance snafus last week, I forgot to go in and get it. It totally slipped my mind until Saturday afternoon. Since then I had been reminding myself hourly, so that I had a hope of getting it before it was mailed back to the unknown sender. I went in today at lunchtime, and waited for about 20 minutes in the line. Then the mail clerk walked past, saw the slip in my hand, and sent me to a different line. (Of course.) The lady in front of me was struggling with her documentation to pick up held mail, so the clerk reached out his hand without making eye contact with me, and pinched his fingers a couple of times to get my parcel slip. He went back and retrieved a box. Rather, he retrieved what was left of a box. It looked like something heavy had fallen on it, and then someone kicked it just to be sure. When he put it on the counter, he said it had come in international mail. I was doubly confused. He asked me if I still wanted it, and I nodded quickly. You think you can hand me a mystery like that, and I'd walk away from it?

As I collected the abused cardboard, I caught sight of the city name on a postal stamp. It was from Croatia! Our sweet exchange student from two years ago had sent a Christmas present! I have to hope all of the original contents were there. I didn't read the customs declaration yet. Inside were cute socks and chocolates and an incredibly sweet card. I miss her, and I hope we get to see each other again someday. She has great potential, and now that she is becoming a young adult, I'm excited to see her progress.

This evening, after a very long, tiring day, I was trying to put together a few of my gifts. I heard rustling and crunching from the area near the tree. I popped around the corner from the hall, in time to see a chubby black furball zip away from the presents under the tree. I leaned over, and yelled at Jackie to stop eating presents. She acted like she thought I couldn't see her where she was hiding. For clarity's sake, I have drawn an arrow pointing to her tail on the picture. I know she is a smart cat, but this is one of the goofiest things she has done all week, which is really saying something.

 

Creepin'

Inspirational song: Nobody Said It Was Easy (La Roux)

After a quick trip to Boulder, looking for something I hadn't been able to source locally, I just randomly failed to drive straight home. Instead I wound through several old town neighborhoods, looking at Christmas lights. Weird, right? I could have gone on the big arterial roads quickly to the house, and fed the animals on time. But in passing the 60-80 year old houses facing a golf course, I got distracted by three houses in a row with lights on. I drove on by, but the whole time I debated with myself whether it would be weird to circle the block, come back, and try to take a photo. Eventually the argument was won in favor of circling around. I thought maybe if I turned off my headlights it would seem less creepy, if someone looked outside. I don't think it made a bit of difference in the quality of the picture. It didn't look anything like the romanticized feeling it evoked on the first passage.

Once I'd stopped at one house, I had to drive around seeking others to capture digitally. I saw dozens of houses that made me feel good, but not a one where I felt comfortable enough to take properly framed and lit pictures. I am particularly attracted to early 20th century houses with big porches, and big windows on them, revealing a big tree festooned with lights. It is even better when some of the windows have a thin bevel around the edges. (That must be a holdover from childhood, like child me thought leaded glass windows on a hundred year old house was the epitome of class and old money.) I wanted to go super slow and look at everyone's trees, but there were other cars on the road besides mine. I had to keep moving. 

There was one other house where I just had to circle around and get proof that it existed. I can't tell whether these are really Christmas lights, or did they just leave their Halloween decorations up. You'll see where my confusion lies. (Now I kind of want to meet these people.)

Cool Kids

Inspirational song: Only a Lad (Oingo Boingo)

I choose to consider ourselves fortunate that our kids want to hang out with us. Tonight was the big Saturnalia party at the kids' house, and not only were we invited, we were scolded when we started running late getting there. We know a substantial percentage of their circle of friends, and so far they all seem fine with the parents being present for some of these gatherings. No one has yet acted like they couldn't relax and be themselves that I could tell. By the time the games come out (typically Jackbox), everyone seems comfortable enough to be rude, bawdy, and cutthroat.

I was tasked with baking gluten free bread for tonight. I failed twice to create anything edible. The first loaf made yesterday was so dense it was a weapon. It was a cassava flour recipe with ingredients but no instructions. I kind of faked it, and made something equivalent to granite on the hardness scale. So I tried a completely different recipe this afternoon, using a cup-for-cup flour. It was less dense but equally dry and bland. Maybe later we can cut the second one into cubes, drench it in olive oil and seasoning, and made croutons out of it. It's the only hope for salvation for either loaf.

We had a friend waiting by the window when we got home. It was so sweet. Now I know how Harvey's true love--the mailman--feels walking up to our porch. At least I remember to greet him every time. I don't let that level of devotion go to waste.

Skip to the End

Inspirational song: I Can't Go for That (Hall and Oates)

In consideration of how little time we had left, we skipped ahead and watched The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi over the last two nights. The Rise of Skywalker is now in theaters, so sometime next week, we can carve out a couple of hours to fit it in. We are prepared for it. If I hear one single spoiler for it, I will lose my cool, I swear to you. I am of the Star Wars generation: the people who were highly impressionable grade school kids when A New Hope premiered. We waited a lifetime to get to this point, and I don't want anything to ruin our chance at closure now.

T and I had a great time watching episode 7 last night. Mr S-P was a little grumpy about the plot holes, but we managed to ignore that and enjoy ourselves as much as we had as kids, watching episode 4 for the first time. Tonight's movie was a bit more problematic. There was a lot of "why did they" and "why wouldn't they" shouted out at the screen. Even I participated, and I'm usually the one suspending disbelief the hardest, and wading waist-deep in escapism. The guys were wrapped around the axle over the abandonment of basic high school physics. This movie definitely had flaws. There were a few fun moments, so it wasn't a total loss.

I'm not sure I'm emotionally prepared for this to be over. What has it been, 42 years? It's going to be hard. I follow the "Emo Kylo Ren" Twitter account, and today he posted something along the lines of "it's been a hard day and I need a hug." Now I'm nervous. Maybe I'll need a hug too.

The Laundry Has Eyes

Inspirational song: In Your Eye (Peter Gabriel)

Six years ago, when I first started sharing this writing publicly, I had a few friends and family members reading it, and a lot of foreign bots skewing my numbers on the dashboard. I heard from one of my closest friends from college that she had been reading it for a while, but it had become so focused on cat pictures that she got bored and stopped paying attention. While I didn't hold it against her that she lost interest, it did kind of mess with my mind a bit. I became less confident that people wanted to see my cats, even though one constant has remained true for decades, that the internet is made of and for cats. This comment from my friend came at me when Athena was a tiny pile of kitten fluff, and I struggled so mightily for years whether to show her off as much as I wanted to. I went back and forth deciding cat pictures were okay or not, or were they just okay when the essay itself was weightier than usual. I was always flip-flopping on that.

Today I have one goal in mind, and that is to show off my pictures of Jackie. I'm not going to make the words heavier than they have to be. There's really nothing other than affection for my goofy girl that I want to share today. The house was a bit chilly, and I was trying to empty out my clothes from the dryer, before heading out to sit in the hot tub. (The dryer vent is right next to the tub, so I had to shut it off to be able to soak. While my clothes were freshly dried, I pulled them out and folded them onto the counter where the cats eat. They were gloriously warm, and having them touch my skin as I folded convinced me that I did indeed want to go sit in hot water. Jackie chatted with me while I sorted my folded clothes into two piles, pants and all other. About halfway through the process, I turned around with a pair of jeans to add to the pile, and she had jumped up and settled on the stack. So I lay them on top of her. She purred. I kept sorting, and did it again. She purred louder. I thought if I ran to the bedroom to get my phone, she would have jumped out by the time I returned, but no, she was still there. I finished the whole load of laundry, and still she remained. I soaked in the hot tub for almost a whole hour, and when I came back in, she was still there. (That picture was a little blurrier, and shows a bit more surrounding clutter, so I'll hold it back.)

Without further ado, my laundry buddy:

Do Not Pass

Inspirational song: Uptown Girl (Billy Joel)

I found myself stomping through King Soopers late this afternoon, frustrated, sad, anxious, and exceptionally vulnerable to the snack aisles. I was supposed to pick up vegetables to go in chicken soup on the way home from my "sniff test." In addition to the classic aromatic vegetables, into my cart went two kinds of tortilla chips, cheesy popcorn, two additional tubs of hummus, and a quart of chocolate ice cream. So healthy. But I needed comfort food and stuff to chew on to relieve stress.

The sniff test didn't happen. I showed up on time to the hospital, and went to check in. The woman who handled my check in yesterday for two other tests was at the desk, and remembered me. She was as confused as I was that the records showed my insurance was denied, with a note that I wasn't found in the Tricare system. These problems did not occur yesterday. I sat around for more than half an hour, while they failed to sort it out. Eventually we gave up and I went home without lying in an xray machine, sniffing hard to see whether my diaphragm moves properly. I had to reschedule. No way in hell was I going to do this with an insurance denial hanging over it.

I'm overwhelmed with tests right now. I'm chafing under the stress. Last night was the sleep study, and I hated every second of it. The setup is uncomfortable. Every time I curled up on my side, the chest piece flashed that it wasn't in place. Every time I moved around, it flashed that the fingertip pulse ox was out of place. I slept poorly, when I slept at all. And I was so groggy this morning at the end of it, I think I might have screwed up and reset the unit. I pray they don't make me do it over.

Thank goodness it's Wednesday. The whole gang came over for game night and gift exchange. It has helped my mood immensely. For the gift exchange, I painted little wooden ornaments with something unique to each person's D&D story. I'm pleased with how they turned out. 

Revised List

Inspirational song: We Wish You a Merry Christmas (Traditional Carol)

We have the word on good authority, straight from the big guy himself: we are done with the naughty and nice list. It's manipulative and somewhat bullying, and it teaches the wrong things. Instead, in the furtherance of unconditional love, Santa himself has decided to retire it, and replace it with the "kind list." He said so himself when he had lunch at our rotary club. Look, if you don't believe me, ask him yourself. And then set your heart free and give without reservations and accept with gratitude. We clear?

School wasn't out yet, so our normal holiday meeting had plenty of spouses but was light on kids. Only one couple brought their grandbaby, a lovely young lady of about 3 years, who was perfectly behaved for the whole meeting. I was impressed, and a little jealous, since as of this Christmas, my grandchildren are all still of the type to visit veterinarians not pediatricians. 

The entertainment today was terrific. Santa performed Twas the Night Before Christmas as he had in the past, with musical accompaniment. This time he had assistance from Elf Hot Wheels, to add a new voice to the mix. And then we were serenaded by Now and Then, an all-recorder quartet. They were really spiffy. Did you know there were as many kinds of recorders as there are flutes and saxophones? Alto, bass, and contra bass recorders are a thing! It was cool.

I am on the clock to turn in early. I managed to live more than half of my life (probably) without doing a sleep study, but they got me this time. I have to strap in and put a tube under my nose, and then try to sleep like that. Wish me luck. I wish I had surreptitiously recorded some of that quartet from today. Their music would have been a perfect lullaby.

Going Rogue

Inspirational song: Desperate But Not Serious (Adam Ant)

Two weeks ago, I looked at the progress I was making on my presents for this year, and I thought I was ahead of the game. Now, after my schedule exploded with no warning, I am in danger of handing off a bunch of IOUs. There is no longer enough time in the day for me to do all I need to do.

The progress toward watching all the Star Wars movies has hit some snags. I had the weekend training, so I missed being with the group yesterday when they watched Solo, so I watched it solo today. We carved out the hours necessary to go over and watch Rogue One late this evening, and it has just made me all the more stressed about available time. The movie was still wonderful on this, my second viewing of it, and between Solo and Rogue One, I have come to understand how much I love moody droids. The best two of the entire universe of movies are in these two stories. If we are to revisit the original three films, episodes 4-6, then we will have to just leave the TV on when we are doing other things. There's no time to fit everyone schedules into it. We can meet up with T later this week to see episodes 7 and 8, and then we will be on our own to see the series finale in theaters over the holiday break, in separate states.

Enough writing. I need to make the calculation of how much crafting I can do before I fall into a dead sleep, because I'm burning my candle at both ends. If I were wise, I'd plan on only writing a sentence each night between now and gift exchanges. I'm not that wise.

Too Long

Inspirational song: Too Shy (Kajagoogoo)

I almost couldn't climb the four stairs up to the Elks lodge for day two of the training. I was so sore, I'm sure I made an unpleasant noise as I grabbed the railing and hauled myself up. It wasn't until I grabbed the door handle that I realized a healthy young adult was right behind me when I did that. How embarrassing. When she and I checked in together, I muttered something about being sore, and she asked whether I'd gone canvassing already that morning. No, I said sheepishly. I sat in (points to other room) those chairs too long yesterday. 

I questioned my sanity for the whole drive to the second day of this stuff. I knew it was supposed to be focused on the apps used for canvassing and phone banking, and as good a job as those trainers did of psyching me up to reach out, there is no way I'll do those things. My stomach spins anxiously just imagining it. Oddly, I stuck it out to the end, and I'm glad I did. They eventually got around to the app to use after table events or random conversations around town, and that will be useful to me. The very last thing we did was brainstorm ideas for events, and I left feeling absolutely exhausted yet still fired up.

I have been a useless lump since arriving home. We spent hours catching up on the two series we had been streaming, and we finished all available episodes. I literally crawled in bed before 630 and never left it, and now I'm still there but too tired to sleep. I got a whole lot from the long weekend training, but I had to trade all of my spoons for what I got. Good trade.

Dream Big

Inspirational song: 80 Days (Marillion)

I may be a pro at oversharing, but I've made a concerted effort to go easy on the politics in this space. Like religion, it's one of those things that shouldn't be pushed on others. I want people to come around to their own opinions on it. Or at least that has been my stance for years. Now I might have to reconsider my proselytizing options, as it were. I am two thirds of the way through focused training on how to recruit volunteers and be active in the campaign of the candidate of my choice. I might want to be a little more open with where I'm at in my head space, although I promise to come at it from a positive, forward-looking voice. I see enough negativity in daily life. This won't be an excuse to add to it. I have chosen Elizabeth Warren as a promise to the future, not a condemnation of the past.

I've never volunteered for a campaign before. Even though I was just a dependent at the time, while the Mr was on active duty, I felt like I should avoid actively campaigning for anyone. Then when we moved here, I joined the local party central committee, mostly by accident. (I went to a caucus, and our precinct had no one to lead the meeting. I raised my hand to volunteer for the one night, and I've been involved ever since.) I think I might have imagined it was hard to get involved at this sort of level. It seemed like one had to do more than just wander up and join.

I also never found anyone who spoke to me at such an elemental level before. I've had candidates I believed in, and some I was only slightly more than okay with. This is the first time I had passion for one person from moments after the primaries kicked off. I found someone who has done the homework. She has thought about all of the issues, and written down detailed plans for how to address them. She dreams big. She inspires me--Me, the ultimate fence-sitter. I always want to do things in a "medium" way, but medium won't work right now. The world is literally on fire, and we don't have time for slow, incremental policy improvements. I found my Lisa Simpson who can take it all on with confidence.

There's more training tomorrow. And then I have to buckle down and move faster. There are 80 days from now to Super Tuesday. The learning curve on this will be steep, but we have to race to the top of it to make a difference.

Looser

Inspirational song: I'm Free (the Who)

I'm going to bed in an entirely different world from the one in which I woke, and I'm barely referring to anything outside of my own little bubble. Early this morning, I was stressed out and uncomfortable. It was so bad, I woke at 4 and tossed and turned until 6 before finally fell back asleep. I had too much on my plate and everything hurt. That was as bad as it got. My world improved rapidly after that.

There is very little that people like me enjoy more than obligations falling off the schedule. I heard back from my doctor's assistant, and she tidied up loose ends and promised to mail me copies of all of my referrals once they were done. Clerical work I don't have to do, check. I did a little setup for a tour that was causing me stress, but after negotiating based on a weather forecast, that tour has been postponed to a date when it will be less stressful. Un-effing my Sunday, check. I still have a lot to do, but the overloads have cleared. What a relief.

And mid day, the real magic happened. I've only been back to see Slow Hand once since I completed treatment, for a one hour massage to test to see whether I was ready. Today I got my usual 90 minutes, and I worried that I'd not be able to handle being on the table that long. We planned ahead to flip me four total times, after 20 minutes of muscle work. I was okay face down, pressing on the Biozorb marker implant. I wasn't on my low back long enough to inflame it. And miracle of miracles, my muscles actually let go of tension. I've been one giant knot for months, especially when I was spending weeks at a time in a worn-out bed. Now I feel like my skeleton has the freedom to settle in to its proper position. And that is enough to make my world happy once again. Man, I hope all of you are able to feel this way too, if not now, then very soon.

Fiction

Inspirational song: I Am Steve (Steve)

Shout out to my brother for providing a pernicious ear worm just now. He tagged me when posting this song, and several minutes after listening, every note of it is still echoing in my head. I mean, I saw Frozen II and not a one of the songs stuck, but this? I'll probably dream about it.

I was struggling under the weight of a suddenly jam-packed schedule, but I still carved out time to keep a commitment we made days ago to watch the third Star Wars episode (Revenge of the Sith, not Return of the Jedi--chronological order of the story line, not release dates). I thought it would take my mind off of everything. Instead it stressed all of us out. For one, it wasn't as much of an improvement over episodes one and two as T had remembered from his youth. The writing had holes and the acting was still pretty stilted. We all kept pointing out plot problems with the science and with the behaviors. Even I did it, and I hate it when people do that. The worst part was how many scenes and bits of dialogue applied to what's happening in this country right now, as I type. I wanted escapism, not to have current political realities ooze through my science fiction. What can I do now? It's not terribly late at night. Maybe I can tune into a Hallmark Christmas movie for the implausible escapism I crave.

I used to feel like we were living through the Order of the Phoenix/Half-Blood Prince phase in our dystopian development. I was completely taken by surprise to find Revenge of the Sith even vaguely relevant. Why couldn't my current reality be like that one movie where the guy has a short amount of time, like a week or two, to spend a billion dollars on anyone but himself? That could be fun. But no, I get historical collapse of government to watch. Maybe next year I can model my life after musicals, and just break out into song and dance everywhere I go. I'm sure that won't get me kicked out of the grocery store...

Ogre Centipede

Inspirational song: Breathless (Jerry Lee Lewis)

Boy, when you're a middle aged woman with good insurance who complains of shortness of breath, they don't mess around. It was just yesterday that I told my primary care doc that I'm sucking wind after just a single flight of stairs, and within a single day I'd had a chest x-ray and met a pulmonologist. I'm having imposter syndrome now, feeling like the reaction is way outsized for the complaint. It's nice being taken seriously, but I am a bit overwhelmed. 

My month has suddenly filled up, and I am getting nervous. I should probably schedule myself down days, and actually block them on the calendar. Without guarding that time fiercely, I risk crumbling under the busy cycle that is starting. Most of what I plan to do is pretty good, but I'm going to want to be able to stop and breathe once in a while.

Pretty sure I had more to write, but I'm too burned out to remember what it was I wanted to say. I had to be in Boulder with the dawn this morning, and I wasn't afforded a nap any time since. It's time to grab a cat or two and sack out to recharge.

Covering Everything

Inspirational song: I Can Feel Your Heartbeat (The Partridge Family)

This morning's doctor visit turned into more of a jumping off point than tying up loose ends into a tidy knot. I went in with a crazy tangle of issues, and a venti cupful of anxiety about getting it all out coherently. I am certain the anxiety came out like I was wearing a neon sign announcing it. This was only the third time I've been face to face with the new primary care doc, and I stress over remembering how much she knows of my extensive history, and how much I have to summarize without sounding like a lunatic. Luckily, she was extra calm for me today, and I think we made progress on sorting out the stuff that has been annoying but only worthy of a back-seat priority while lupus and cancer were driving the bus. She did surprise me with an EKG in-office before I had blood drawn and a follow-up visit scheduled. She is being thorough and serious, and I appreciate her for it. It's a damned shame I can't remember what I was directed to do after the tests today. I guess I'm going to have to call later this week and ask for repeat instructions.

Tomorrow morning, earlier than I want to be functional, I go back to the guy who gives me Botox for migraine. I am thrilled to get back on his schedule. I understood and agreed that I had no business injecting a toxin into my body while my immune system was being smacked down over the summer. It meant that as the seasons changed and the angle of afternoon sunlight hit me differently I had significantly more migraines with and without aura, and sometimes just the aura without the headache. I might not be able to scowl properly with Botox, but it sure is nice not feeling like the evil glowing-ball-of-exploding-gas-in-the-sky is out to get me.

I've been slow with my pictures lately. Today I am reminded that when one is trying to capture cats being cute, one should never, ever, ever make a sound. Especially not a kissing noise to make cats look in the direction of the camera. Maybe if my cats liked me less, they wouldn't immediately assume it was an invitation to come running to me. All I had wanted was to show how suspicious they were of the boxes of wreaths that came in the mail, from the house of an old friend who has even more animals in her house than we do. There was so much sniffing and judging, but I had to ruin it by making noise.

Number Two

Inspirational song: Yoda (Weird Al Yankovic)

Never have I been more tempted to write in emoji in my blog. But if ever there was a good night for the poop emoji, it would be after watching Attack of the Clones, right? Wow. T sent us rules for a drinking game for this episode. I gave it the old college try, with a drink I called "almond mocha," which was actually hot chocolate with a combined two ounces of Bailey's, Kahluha, and Amaretto. (Honestly, if I really gave it the old college try I would have had about 12 shots of Jim Beam lined up, ready to go, but I'm older and wiser now.) There was just too much on the list to drink to: every time Obi-Wan talks down to Anakin, every time Anakin and Padme have awkward moments together, every time someone loses their light saber or falls great distances or loses their head.... I had to give up and just watch without a cup in my hand.

I'm nearly 100% certain I hadn't watched this one or the Revenge of the Sith since they came out in theaters. I really didn't remember a moment of the plot of AotC. It was a whole lot longer than any of us expected, with a run time of well over two hours. The Mr was supposed to be home by 8, and T and I went ahead and started the movie just past 830. His girlfriend arrived by 9, and the Mr didn't make it until almost 940. He really didn't miss all that much, other than a whole lot of things that didn't make sense. And while I know why they did it, I agree with T that a completely CGI Yoda is just a disappointment, even if he does fight like a real Jedi this way.

I have to be quick tonight. I have an appointment with my primary care doc first thing in the morning, and I've been saving up all sorts of goodies to discuss with her. I need to get as much sleep as possible, so I have a hope of remembering and articulating everything properly. I didn't take any pictures today, but yesterday I took a screenshot of a screenshot that someone else took and put up on Twitter. Is that Inception levels of copyright infringement? It's of a puppy that was available for adoption in LA last week, and I can't stop thinking about her. If I lived in LA, that little girl would already by sleeping on a foam pillow in my bedroom. She was so perfect, with her little shepherd snout and Yoda ears. And seriously, if I wasn't meant to adopt this dog, why did they name her after my home town to get my attention? Oh, to be able to jet out to LA and get her...

All of Them

Inspirational song: The Saga Begins (Weird Al Yankovic)

We have a new mission. There we were, coming down off the excitement of watching the Chiefs beat the Patriots in a thrilling nail-biter, when an ad for the upcoming Star Wars movie came on the TV. T asked us when we plan to see it, to which I answered, “the second week, at the earliest.”  Naturally the conversation ensued, as it does in every gathering where there is more than a glimmer of Star Wars fandom, which of the movies are the best and worst, and in which order should one watch them?

We generally agreed on relative quality of the originals, prequels, and sequel. I suggested that I’d like to see the stand-alones again to see whether I was right in saying that Rogue One edges out Empire for my pick for best of the lot. Three of us hadn’t seen the prequels in years, and T’s girlfriend had never seen any of the series. (She dislikes space movies, and had reasons to back it up, so that’s fair.) We debated where the extra movies and series fall on the timeline, and eventually just consulted the book of all knowledge for the answer (I googled it). And then we formulated a plan to watch everything in chronological order, start to finish, before episode nine comes out. At first we were considering doing a marathon, but we have lives and responsibilities, and I can’t sit on the couch that long without crippling myself, so that was out. We checked our calendars, and found it wasn’t easy to line those up either. So we decided why wait? We loaded up Phantom Menace and jumped right in.

I’m not sure I had watched episode one since we saw it in the theater two decades ago. We were so excited back then. I can say with confidence that the statute of limitations is surely used up, and I can admit that when we checked the kids out of school early on opening Friday, they didn’t really have “appointments” like we told the school secretary. We just wanted to see it at the noon showing. We were deeply disappointed with the movie, but that didn’t stop us doing the exact same thing in subsequent years when the next two premiered. I wonder whether those school offices were onto us? (Probably.)

Watching tonight, I saw a lot of the same flaws that bugged me the first time around. I felt like it pandered to school children then, and I still believe it. There is a scene with Anakin showing off the pod racer he built to other kids, and it just feels like Lucas promised his investors that he would put their kids and grandkids in the movie if they’d pony up cash. I probably would have let it slide if one of the kids hadn’t had braces on her teeth that were so obvious during her one speaking part.

None of us really enjoyed this episode much more than the first time through, but we are made of stern stuff. We aren’t deterred yet. Someday this week we will move on to the real disaster, Attack of the Clones. Then things ought to pick up when we move on to Revenge of the Sith, Solo, and Rogue One, in that order. I plan to suggest, and expect it to be approved, that we watch Rogue One and New Hope all in one sitting, to settle forever in our minds that they blend seamlessly together. That’s the part I’m looking forward to, and it will be worth putting up with what is next on the schedule.

I’m not dumb enough to try to put up copyrighted images from any part of this series to illustrate, so I’ll just show what I’m sitting next to: my still-barren Christmas tree. I’ve asked twice now for help getting down the boxes of decorations. Tomorrow I will get more pushy about it.

Study

Inspirational song: King of Pain (The Police)

No matter how long I sit here, waiting for the lightning bolt of inspiration to strike me, it's just not getting any easier to figure out where to begin for tonight. I've spent most of the day finding the idea of enthusiasm or emotional interest too exhausting. I've run out of give-a-damns. It's really just regular fatigue, most likely, but this time it took out my will to care. There's run-of-the-mill pain underlying everything too. Such is the life with chronic illness. This is my normal.

It's not nearly as late at night as I've been staying up lately, but it feels like it's about four in the morning. I have always had this weird reaction to being up in the middle of the night (which, I repeat, it is not). My ears ring extra loudly. The backs of my hands and forearms feel weak. My tongue feels slightly electrified. My whole body feels like my blood is chunky with glass shards. And I feel like I need to go to the bathroom even when I seriously do not. Do people who don't live with chronic pain get like this? I absolutely want to know. I can remember staying up all night finishing my truly horrible science fair entry in, I want to say... fifth (?) grade, and having this sensation settle over me around three or so in the morning. That was the first time I remember it. Every late night study session, last minute term paper, or all night cross-country drive has resulted in the same feeling.

I wish I could find people who are good at characterizing the pain they feel, so I have something to compare to. I don't want to get into a contest. I just want to know how other people experience it. I've said things to family and friends about how I live through pain, and they look at me like I've just admitted that I have a collection of real human heads I keep in the closet (I promise I don't). Is it that others don't pay attention to it long enough to create good descriptions? Or is it only because pain is a constant companion to people like me that we have time to kick the tires and pick it apart into components? It's not schadenfreude either. I don't want to celebrate that other people hurt too. I'm just intensely curious and looking for new sources of data, wherever I can find them.

Under Wraps

Inspirational song: Take the Power Back (Rage Against the Machine)

Another night of looking up at the clock, swearing, and saying "it's already one a.m.?" I have to stop making a habit of this. I was making great progress on the present for my younger daughter, having focused on it nearly all day. It's very close to complete. I'd love to finish off the last few intricate inches of the artwork, but I risk making mistakes now that it is technically the middle of the night and I've turned off the brighter overhead light. I'm very familiar with my patterns. I'll tell myself just a few more minutes and pick it back up. Then I'll make a couple stupid mistakes, and feel like I have to tear apart the last hour's worth of work. It will make me feel a little sick inside, and my shoulders will start to hurt like I've been electrocuted and the after-effects have made me sore. Then I'll put it down and try to fall asleep but instead stare into the dark, berating myself and dreading taking the backwards steps in the morning. Instead, I think I'll do the smart thing and tuck it away from myself before the error happens, and sleep while the sleeping is good.

She gave me a direction of what sort of gift she wanted this year. Well, let me reverse that. She told me what she expressly did NOT want, so I've tried to go in the complete opposite direction. I think my composition will amuse her. It's unique, cute, well-executed (I chose a medium in which I excel so this is not as immodest as it appears), funny, and totally out of my usual artistic choices. I wish I could show it off, but as every one of us is aware, this is a Christmas present. No pictures. And once it is a crafted piece in her house, pictures will be up to her.

I started on this thing this morning with my first cup of coffee, before I was even out of my robe. I kept coming back to it all day and all night. I barely left the house, other than to go to the one place nearby where I can get a lettuce-wrap burger and be dietarily safe. I moved to a spot in front of the TV, and have been working diligently on the present ever since. Now my ears are ringing especially loudly and I'm wishing I had put it aside sooner. The perfect time to do that probably would have been when the same daughter I'm making this for showed up unannounced at my door, causing me to toss it unceremoniously on the bed, and to tell her she wasn't to go in my room for any reason. She had come by to hang two silly owl ornaments on my tree that she couldn't live without. (She and I have had a running owl gag between us for about a decade. I couldn't live without them either.) They are currently the only decorations other than lights that I have up on it. If I'd been smart, I would have left the present on the bed and enlisted her help in pulling the decorations down from the high garage shelf. Tomorrow I'll have to arrange my priorities in the opposite direction.

Blanket Party

Inspirational song: Give It Away (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

The December sales meeting is my favorite one of the year. We do some sort of small, casual volunteer project in the conference room, usually just the core group of agents. Once we did a food and clothing drive, but most of them have been making blankets for homeless or other economically disadvantaged people. It's a calm, soothing process, mostly cutting and tying fringe in fleece blankets, and it provides bonding time for the group of us. I've done this on my own, last year when we donated the old RV to the family in California who survived the Paradise fire, but it's much more fun to make these in a group. When we do it, there's only incidental conversation about real estate, and much more insight into the sort of people we all are. (Hint: the people I work with are really cool.)

When I left this morning, I told the Mr I was off to a blanket party. He said that sounded painful. I know he was making a joke about the euphemism for group punishment (specifically, a group of peers punishing one of their own who isn't pulling their own weight). But by the time I got home, I felt less like I'd been volunteering, and more like I've run headlong into a real blanket party. I've been trying to do too many things, too many days in a row, and I think I need a day off to do absolutely nothing, and I need it soon. I'm not sure when that will be available to me. December fills up so fast, between holidays and shopping for same, doctor appointments, meetings, parties, and surprise obligations. I might have to write into my calendar "pajamas and Netflix day" to block it out. I worry if I do that, I'll give myself tasks ahead of time, like preparing snacks and homemade hot cocoa, which would lead to housework, and then it would snowball into actual work, thus destroying a do-nothing day.

Since Bump the dog died nearly two years ago, Elsa has been a little adrift emotionally. She has had substantial old-dog health challenges herself, ironically in the same body system that took her bonded companion. Over the last year we have struggled to keep her pancreas working properly. She ate ravenously, but shrank to skin and bones. Every time she came in the house, she just prowled room to room, hoping she would find dropped food somewhere. The anxiety coming off of her was overwhelming. For months we've been trying to find the right dose of pancreatic enzymes to settle her down, and she has put weight back on and started acting a bit like herself again. Now I'm working on retraining her how to behave in the house, so it isn't so stressful for her. I think we are making progress. I finally got her to spend an hour snoozing on the rug next to my bed, before she insisted on going back out to her bed in the garage where she spends most days. She's back there now, wrapped in her blanket that smells like her, happy and asleep. At least for a while, I got to have a canine companion close by me again. I miss that.

Malled Whine

Inspirational song: I Think We're Alone Now (Tifffany)

Starting on the purest high note of the day, I discovered that the Orange Julius in the Flatirons Mall down in Broomfield still carries the pina colada flavor. I rarely go to Orange Julius stores (I would have just tried to make "Julius" plural, but I don't know how), and I go to malls even less frequently. I've been to locations where they said they don't get all the flavors (there are only like six of them--why would they minimize the menu?), so it was pretty sweet to find the best one today.

Kid and I went down to do some preliminary Christmas browsing, and to hit a book sale. For the most part, we got the information we needed, and picked up a few items that will work for presents. She bought more than I did. I've already announced I'm making most of what I want to give, and stuff is going to be small and modestly priced. I'm not dropping hints for anything expensive, either. This needs to be a streamlining year, not an accumulating one. Although I did acquire a new pair of jeans. I've been wearing the same three or four almost non-stop since spring/summer, and the holes I'm wearing into them are not in cute designer places. If I shopped more often, I might have learned that Old Navy doesn't carry the best cut I've ever owned anymore. I'll bet they stopped years ago, and I just didn't know. I would have loaded up had I known back then.

When I was a teenager, spending all day at the mall was de rigeur. We couldn't get enough of it. Today I couldn't wait to get out of it. There was plenty of cute stuff to look at, but standing around looking at things I can't fit into nor fit into my house got old fast. After several hours, my daughter still had one or two stores she wanted to go in, but all of a sudden I ran out of spoons, and I felt like my legs suddenly doubled in weight. I had to go home, and it was a long drive to get there. The drive got even longer when we ended up on a rural road, stuck in construction traffic. We were at a dead stop for close to half an hour, while the line of cars built for miles behind us. Cars around us had given up and turned around, but I was determined to press on. And then I looked up and saw a giant construction vehicle coming at us. Words fail me. Just look at the picture.

Scanned

Inspirational song: A Little Good News (Anne Murray)

Having just listened to tonight’s song, when I looked it up to make sure the title was what I thought it was, I decided I kind of want to be true to the lyrics. “Not much to print today,” it goes, as she wishes for nothing negative to report. It’s like that for me now. I got a little good news, and have nothing bad to say. Might make for a shallow post, but it’s more pleasant to read about that way.

My rescheduled mammogram was this morning. It was just a diagnostic on the left one, now that we are six months out from surgery. I still get the occasional discomfort, both where the Biozorb coil is in place of the tumor and where the lymph node came out. It isn’t bad, just a bit of a sting. I was glad for the chance to get checked out, to reassure myself that I’m still going the right direction.

This was the first time I’ve had anyone put serious pressure on the breast with the implanted marker. I spoke up ahead of time to the tech, and she said it’s common to feel uncomfortable under the mammogram plates over top of it. She said to let her know the second we reached the point she had to stop mashing the plate down. It didn’t take long to hit that threshold.

They had me wait while the radiologist looked over my scans, and then they gave me the good news: all looks clear. I’m due my regular bilateral screening mammogram in a few months, but my post-treatment diagnostic was perfect.

I was tempted to take a photo of the carnival tape they adhered to the full length of the surgical scar. I had forgotten until late tonight that it was there. I ran it past the Mr, and he suggested that it might qualify as “oversharing.” Really, have I not crossed that boundary years ago? But on his advice, I never took the picture. Here’s Athena instead.

Old Eyes

Inspirational song: Doctor My Eyes (Jackson Browne)

Once again, I have to speak in euphemisms and vague language. It's the most serious month of gift-giving, and I have fully entered the chute of crafting and customizing. I'll look neither left nor right for the next three weeks as I travel through that gauntlet of gifting. It's going to make my nightly public diary entries difficult.

It took a couple different stores to find the supplies I needed for the current gift in progress. I had most of the pieces, but the substrate I thought I had is thoroughly hidden, if it still exists in this house. I found what I needed this evening, plus some small-grid graph paper to plot it out on. I didn't mean to stay up all night, but this is the first time I've ever tried to properly design one of these from scratch, and it had a small learning curve. It wasn't hard, per se, but it was tedious. Once I got the plan laid out, I couldn't resist starting a couple rounds on it, and that turned into additional hours of work. I turned off my overhead light around 11, and have been working from the small lamp on the side table. It was not a good compromise.

After working in the dim light on a tiny grid, and then transferring the information from that grid into a real-life craft, I find myself with very tired, sore eyes. I have been switching back and forth from near to far vision, glasses on and then glasses off. My eyes are burning and my head keeps drooping. I should have started all of this while there was still daylight. It should be easier tomorrow. And it will still have to be secret. I hate secrets.

Talking to Myself

Inspirational song: Mr Roboto (Styx)

Knowing a secret and not being able to share it far and wide is burning a hole inside me. I've known something about somebody else for more than six weeks now. I was promised that eventually I'd get to talk about it, once certain conditions were met, because it's really, really cool. As of yet, those conditions were technically achieved, but one last hurdle was thrown at me last week, right as I was starting to compose in my head. It's hard as heck, being the kind of person who thrives on getting to tell stories, but having to wait my turn because this story actually belongs to someone else. It sure is a good one. I promise.

While I wait, seemingly forever, I guess I'll stick with sharing my regular goofy observations. The Mr and I were traveling up Main Street this afternoon, when the right-hand lane slowed significantly, and everyone started making gutsy lane changes into spaces where they barely fit. When the guy in front of me moved over, I was able to see what the fuss was about. Some yahoo in a pickup truck had a busted tire, but he steadfastly refused to pull over. I bet other people were calling him names like I was from my car, but like me, they all had their windows up and were mostly just talking to the dashboard. It took me a few blocks to get around him, and not once did he make a move to pull onto a side street or into a parking lot. The picture I have is as he drove past Advance Auto Parts, ironically enough. (I cropped that part out when I marked out his license tag.) I was just mesmerized by that wobbly tire, flopping loosely as this guy crawled slowly up Main. I'm lucky that no one stopped suddenly around me. I wouldn't have noticed until I hit them.

What's more, when I had first set out, heading south on the same street, there was a homeless fellow walking in the center turn lane, stopping periodically to hold up his cardboard sign at cars slowing for the stoplight. Is this an escalation of how aggressive cardboard sign holders already are? Tell me this isn't a trend. It seems monumentally dangerous, even if it does succeed in increasing visibility for street beggars. Once again, I found myself speaking to my dashboard, knowing the dude couldn't hear me, pleading with him to find one of the charities where he could find help. There are people here whose life's missions are to improve his situation. Does he not know, or not care? Maybe he has another reason to be so comfortable with risk.

Putting It Up

Inspirational song: Rocking Around the Christmas Tree (Brenda Lee)

It's time, at the various Smith family homes, to get into the holiday spirit. At this particular home, we're practicing doing things a little differently. We are definitely real tree sorts of people. Almost every year, we have put lights on a tree that was once (or that one time, still was) a living thing. We used to go back and forth between mommy years and daddy years for who got to select the tree. I liked full, conical, conventionally attractive trees, and he liked natural, airy, and preferably free trees. I would buy trees from lots, usually, and he would sometimes "acquire" them in ways I preferred not to ask about. The first time he brought down a spindly Doug fir kind of set the tone. I called it a Charlie Brown tree, while he made a point of showing how well the ornaments could dangle in space all the way through the tree. My more expensive trees were usually too thick to decorate all the way through, and in some places, the ornaments more lay on the branches than hung from them. We each had our preferences, and rarely did we deviate.

One year, when we were in California, we either procrastinated too long, or decided we didn't have enough Christmas spirit to get a tree, and we hung tiny ornaments in the ficus tree. It did not like the attention. To this day, it hates me for having strung lights in it that come on every night on a timer, year round. One year, I decided I wanted a throwback tree, and in homage to the aluminum trees of my childhood (my uncle had one that I thought was cool), I bought a cheap white fake tree from Wal-Mart. I braved the dirty looks from the Mr, and put it up in the living room. After that year, I was allowed to decorate it, but it became my "porch tree," especially in Charleston. The white plastic eventually yellowed like straw, and I donated it.

Ever since we moved back to Colorado, and bought the mountain property, our trees have come from the road up to the cabin, where it's private property. They are usually trees that need to move to keep the road, such as it is, passable as far as the truck can climb. Every year thus far, snows started late in the year, and some years we worried the snow would never come. This year it became impossible to drive up the hill far earlier than usual, and with the huge storms that came in last week, there is no way to get up to the usual culling sites. We even had a tree or two picked out by sight for this year's holiday, and they will have to wait until next year.

My daughter has switched to artificial trees, to accommodate allergies in her household. I think she has come to like them better too boot. This year, when I complained in her presence about not being able to get up the mountain for a real tree, she announced that she had an extra fake tree to loan me. One of her friends had off-loaded it to her garage. We don't know why they let it go. It's pre-lit, but the bulbs are incandescent. That's the only thing we can figure is wrong with it. It appears to be complete and functional. We put it up tonight, and instantly spun up all the cats. This is only Harvey's second Christmas tree, and last year we didn't dare hang ornaments on the one we put up. It's time to test his maturity, and to indulge my memories of youth.