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.
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