Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

Inspirational song: Rhinestone Cowboy (Glen Campbell)

I waited until the crap year was well and truly over before I started to write. It is now officially 2021 where I am. Whew. Not sorry to see that year in the rear view mirror. Now, honestly, haven't we been saying that about almost every year for the last half dozen? I sure have. Remember when David Bowie, Prince, and Alan Rickman all died within the same year, and we lost our minds about how it was the worst stretch ever? Ah, we were so naïve. Who can guess what the next twelve months will do to us? Geez, I'm afraid to hazard even the smallest prediction for the next twelve days. One hour at a time, folks.

In our quest to find storage space and simplify our lives, we have been going through the mountains of stuff in the garage. I was handed a few boxes that have been there for years, some from my last move, and some that were from my dad off-loading when he sold his Atlanta house. A few things went in the donate bucket, and a few cool things ended up on my shelves and kitchen cupboards. One thing I didn't know was slipped in, among memorabilia from our years in Germany, was a card my brother had written, as an 8 year old fan, to Glen Campbell. I sent a photo of it to him and my mom in a Messenger chat. He wrote (in all caps) "If you had mailed that, we could have been BFFs!" Ever since, I've had Rhinestone Cowboy stuck in my head. I played it on Spotify. I'd forgotten how catchy it actually was. That was some good stuff.

It's time to retire, now that the year has finally rolled over. The fireworks are starting to die down outside. I am impressed with how well the animals did with the popping and booms. Even 5 month old Saoirse stayed chilled out. Alfred remained with the family the whole evening instead of hiding under a bed all night. We can all sleep peacefully now, hoping for signs of improvement from here.

Spot Check

Inspirational song: Skin on Skin (Boomtown Rats)

I am able to admit when I am wrong. Just a few days ago, I went on record predicting that the baby would have her first tooth emerge no later than inauguration day. Left unsaid was the implication that I thought it would be within one or two days of that date, not significantly sooner. Yet today, while I held that baby and watched her chew on a toy, I reached in and touched her gums. Lo and behold, one of her lower front teeth has broken through! We have a tooth! I tried to take a good look at it, and I wanted to get a picture. She was having none of it. I never actually saw it, and the pictures looked like she was mad at me for trying. I'm enjoying being wrong on the date. The sooner she has teeth, the sooner I can feed that baby foods to chew. Whee!

She had all the wiggles while she was here today. She was wrestling with us when we tried to hold her, and she demanded to get down on the floor and do her own thing. That left her vulnerable to the attention of The Cuddle Ambassador. There was a gag from first season South Park where Kyle played a game with his younger brother Ike called Kick the Baby (and every time, Ike would say in his little kid voice, "Don't kick the baby!") I lost count of how many times I chastised Saoirse, "Don't lick the baby!" Every single time, I though of Kyle and Ike.

I benefited from someone canceling their dermatology appointment this week, and I went in to have a spot check. Just above where I had the partial mastectomy last year, I have been monitoring a small bump that showed up in February or March. The dermatologist asked whether I had radiation, and she said that increases my chances for another basal cell carcinoma. She sliced it off and sent it for a biopsy. I never felt a thing, not the needle, the scalpel, nor any lingering tenderness. I'm really not worked up about this. She will call either way, and if I have to have another Mohs surgery to dig it out, big deal. The one on my nose healed fine (if somewhat lopsided), and one doesn't generally need chemo from little spots like this. I'm just glad I got in to see the doc nearly three months sooner than expected. She books up months out.

Post Season Play

Inspirational song: Say Something (A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera)

In the long tradition of choking in the post season, my Buffaloes turned in their average performance in the Alamo Bowl. We made it through the start of the fourth quarter, and then changed the TV to news at 10. For once, I'm sorta glad that big watch parties aren't possible this year. It's less fun to be with a big group when games are this consistently lopsided. Not that this will make me love my Buffs any less. When it is safe to be in crowds again, I will be back in that stadium. And that basketball arena. I'm no fair-weather fan.

I got a lot of that sleep I failed to get yesterday. I kept rolling over and re-closing my eyes until almost 11 this morning. It was glorious. This was the closest to feeling rested I can remember all year. If it wasn't Rotary day, I might have just wandered around in jammies the rest of the day, doing nothing. I mean, it wasn't all that spectacular of a day, but I wasn't a total slug either.

I would love to share deep thoughts at this point, but I have none. I'm just feeling mellow and vaguely happy, which is weird considering how disappointing my football game was to watch. Maybe this mellow is what regular people feel like when they are sufficiently rested. It's lovely. I hope I get to do this again someday.

Spitting Image

Inspirational song: Be Prepared (The Lion King)

For all that I swore I was going to spend the whole day today, I sure didn't spend much time in bed. I haven't worked myself into cramping muscles today, for a switch, and for that I am grateful. Neither did I lie around and wait for my batteries to totally recharge. I think I feel better for having a normal day.

I stuck an appointment to have Saoirse weighed (to see what size heartworm preventative to get) in the middle of all the places we needed to go, so we gave the puppy more than an hour out and about with us. She loved it, even though she had to sit in the car with one of us at three of the stops. I stayed with her while the Mr ran into Lucile's for tea, and he stayed with her while I ran through the Ford dealer and grocery store. We stayed in the car while she went in the vet, and we all went through Lowe's where she wanted to greet Ev-er-y-one. She is getting much closer to behaving like a service dog when away from the house, checking in with me frequently. We just have to convince her that when she is a working dog, she will have to give up her title of Cuddle Ambassador. That will be hard.

Btw, while I was at the grocery store, I got the fixings for my version of New Year's Day lucky foods. I like ham and cabbage to go with my black-eyed peas. Everybody needs to have their luckiest meal that day. I'm so desperate for 2021 to be better than this year, I'm resorting to superstition. Feel free to join me. What could it hurt?

The Mr was going through boxes that probably haven't been opened in a decade. He found some photos of the girls when they were little. If we didn't already know our grandbaby was a ringer for her mother, we found another confirmation of it. No baby-switching here!

Tasmanian Devil

Inspirational song: The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing (White Christmas)

There is a phrase commonly heard in these parts, "Who put quarters in the boy?" This odd turn of phrase is shorthand, literally suggesting someone plugged a handful of quarters into the back of one of our cats, cranked a handle, and set them running on an endless play cycle. It's usually uttered dispassionately when we are tired at the end of the day, sitting with our feet up, reading or watching TV, and Alfred or Harvey are running in circles around us, knocking over chairs, wrestling, and skidding across the uncarpeted sections of the house. Harvey is now three years old, and Alfred is over nine, yet they still tear up the place like kittens.

I had Grump Duty all by myself for most of the day. She was dropped off just after nine, and it was nearly four before anyone came to tag me out. I was already running on fumes, but that kid showed me just how tired it is possible for an adult to become. Gone are the days when she spent more time napping than awake. It was all I could do to coax her down for two 30 minute naps all day. She was ready to move! She crawled, she climbed. She stood, she tipped. She bounced. She squealed. She babbled. She grabbed at my face and hair. She played with blocks. She drank multiple bottles. She filled five diapers. That kid had no off button. Someone plugged about five dollars' worth of quarters into her and pressed play.

I am sticking with my prediction that she will be walking well before she is a whole year old, maybe before ten months at this rate. Watching her chew on toys, I've decided to place a bet that her first teeth erupt right around inauguration day. They aren't visible yet, but that would be just inside the window for when teeth are expected. She is getting good at babbling, and I try to be encouraging, paying attention so she practices her sounds with me. I played 80s music for hours today, singing and bopping along with her (I don't actually dance, but I tried to move with her regardless), hoping she would listen to the music and take to it. We tried the piano a little, but she had more fun standing on the keys and stomping while Harvey walked across the back of it, than actually playing with her hands. She hasn't singled out one activity that is her favorite yet. For now, it's all of them. All at once. Non-stop.

OK Christmas

Inspirational song: The Jingle (BC Clark)

Lots of details about this holiday felt like a good old-fashioned Oklahoma Christmas for me, most prominently how warm and sunny it was on the day of Christmas. It was 54 degrees as we drove the mile from our house to the kids', at about 2 in the afternoon. The man was griping about it, but I reminded him where I spent my formative years. This was perfectly average holiday weather, according to those standards. For a week, my diet has been almost entirely Chex mix-based, which also matches those late 70s/early 80s holidays exactly. The main thing that ruins it for me is that I failed to listen to, find on the internet, or at least sing in the shower THE JINGLE. Anyone who watched local television stations in Oklahoma in the last 50 years knows what I'm talking about. The same ad for the BC Clark jewelry store that has run since Santa was still covering random grays with Grecian Formula. And for the first time in decades, I forgot about it until the Mr said, "You know what I haven't heard from you this year?" To be fair, yesterday I did consider for a quick second wearing my sweatshirt with the lyrics to the jingle printed on the back. But just as quickly I decided not to, and I didn't even hum the tune when the thought crossed my mind. Bro, do you even Okie anymore?

I ought to know the true origin of Boxing Day by this point in my life. I'm sure it has been spoken in my presence once or twice over the years. But the knowledge just didn't stick, and I don't have the motivation to research it while blogging. I choose to apply the term how it most fits our experience: as un-boxing the stuff we got yesterday, and hauling off cardboard to the recycling center. Then I needed to do a major rearranging to fit the new kitchen appliance (toaster oven/air fryer/dehydrator) into my scheme. It turned into a mission to pull the work table out, clean the tray under the coffee bar, scrub dust off the collection of appliances on and under the work table, apply a heavy coat of butcher block conditioner, and hunt down a multi-outlet adapter, before reordering the top row. A collection of bills and baby accessories had piled up on one end, and far too many mugs and things were collecting dust on the microwave. To set out one new toy cost me almost six hours of cleaning, mopping, sorting, and recycling (with short rests interspersed). But honestly, it was worth it. I've completed five big decluttering tasks in the last week. There are two little ones and one gargantuan one left, and if I get even the small ones done, I will go into the new year feeling amazing. 

One of the small projects that has been ignored hopelessly for far too long is to clean the accumulated debris off the piano. It has been a one step forward, two steps back dance with that thing. But lately it has gained attention. Last week the Mr opened it up and spent an evening trying to remember the songs he used to play in his college days. Then tonight he sat down with the baby and encouraged her to learn to make noise. We aren't sure she has figured out the cause and effect of her hands on keys making sounds come out of the big box. She's still young for that logic yet. But we will offer it to her again and again, until she lets us know whether she enjoys it. I sure hope she takes to it.

Premiere

Inspirational song: Shall We Dance (The King and I)

Happy Bridgerton Day! The series I have waited to watch for a year and a half, since it was announced the books were being adapted for Netflix, premiered today! I meant to watch only one episode a day, but I slipped and watched two before bed. Oops.

What, was there something else happening today too? (I'm reasonably sure I haven't used an emoji in this blog, or not more than once if ever, but right now I'm physically restraining myself from putting in the winky face emoji.) Yes, I know it was Christmas, and what a holiday we had! This was our first as grandparents, and it was all we could have wished for. No, little lord Grumpus has not quite mastered ripping paper off of presents, but she gave it a good go. She liked having a bunch of people passing her around and encouraging her (to wear herself out) climbing stairs. We exchanged several good things between us, some costing little but holding great meaning or daily functionality, and a few big ticket items. Me, I was given the two things I requested: rainbow checkered Vans and a toaster oven that can also air fry and dehydrate. (Tomorrow will be the first attempt at apple chips. Won't be the last!) I also got plenty of things from the people who see me most, and I feel very spoiled. 

We had a long video chat with my side of the family (the Smiths didn't hold a formal Zoom this time). My stepmother wanted us to wait to open her gifts until the chat. She had given each of us girls ring and earring sets that had meaning to her, specially chosen for each of us. My set was made from large oval citrines. Naturally, I will be wearing these for future CU games, like the Alamo Bowl next week. But I wonder whether my stepmother remembers that my first engagement ring was a big marquis cut citrine that Mr Smith-Park had gotten as a loose stone way back in the day. You might say I've always had a soft spot in my heart for citrines.

It's the end of a lovely holiday, and I hope all of you found a way to connect with friends and family who love you, even if it was just a text from afar. Let's continue to believe next winter will be all about connecting in person, safely and confidently. Peace to you all.

And Know Me Better, Man

Inspirational song: When Love Is Gone (Muppet Christmas Carol)

We came racing down the straightaway, hurtling towards the finish line today. If I lean forward real sudden-like, my nose might cross the line. I cooked all day, we finished clearing the dining room table (that has truly been a shit receptacle for most of the year), and I wrapped four of my presents. Sadly, despite starting first thing this morning with blistering the peppers and making masa, I never circled back around to assembling and steaming tamales. That will have to be first thing in the morning, since they are gifts for the D&D gang.

I'm feeling better about where things are standing, even though I have a ton to wrap in the morning (biggest, heaviest is already done, whew!) With my daughter working overnight tonight, she will sleep in a bit on Christmas morning, and I will have sufficient time to finish.

I'm just so glad the dining room was usable for Christmas Eve dinner, which we ate mid-afternoon (with closed curtains on the porch door to keep the setting sun from blinding us). We took out the last leaf from the table, and that made enough space to put the high chair in the corner. This was the first time our grandbaby shared a meal with us, and while she wasn't so thrilled with the foods she got to eat, she really enjoyed carrying on a conversation with us at the table. I'm looking forward to doing this again.

After dinner, we watched our traditional Christmas Eve movie, Muppet Christmas Carol, on the bedroom TV. Maybe it would have been better to watch in the game room, but I was too tired to go downstairs. Besides, this one up here has Disney+, and I had hoped (in vain) that it would have the version of the movie that has the song between young Ebenezer and Belle intact. I know it isn't on our DVD. The baby squealed a few times at Muppets in the opening song, but after a while she mostly just crawled around on the bed with us and glanced at it occasionally. I anticipate next year her attention span will be longer, and she will know all her Muppets by name.

The Usual

Inspirational song: The Little Old Lady from Pasadena (Jan and Dean)

Wait a minute. That baby was here for two hours, long enough for us to eat dinner and start the weekly game, and I failed to take a single new picture of her? Whoops. I'm falling down on the job. Granted I spent a lot of time holding and actively cuddling the baby, and the rest of the time with Saoirse sitting on my lap and me grappling her while she tried to get to her baby next to us on the couch. I was busy. Boy, she was cute, though. Too bad I can't show you.

Do people still describe women of a certain age as "blue-haired?" I know that it was in reference to a rinse they used to make gray/white hair less yellow or brassy looking, but when I was a kid, it was such a common, usually disparaging name. I never hear it anymore. In the 24 hours since I dyed my hair blue, I have thought about that a lot. None of those blue haired old ladies from my youth wore their hair "midnight indigo" like I just went. Well, maybe that lady from Are You Being Served, but she tended to favor pastels, if I recall correctly. I'm really starting to dig having literal blue-black hair. Will hold off on predicting how long I will keep it this way to see how it survives the first few washes.

I am hopelessly behind on what I wanted to accomplish for Christmas. I mean hopelessly. I plan to beg everyone's indulgence, because who is really on top of things in 2020? I can barely function as an adult in normal years. What even is normal anymore? I haven't had one in at least seven years. This year I'm just glad we made it all the way to December, and I bet most of my circle feels the same. Hit me up in several months when we are all vaccinated and the economy is rolling smoothly again, and I'll be on board for Christmas in July. Or August. Or whatever.

Semper Gumby

Inspirational song: Blue Christmas (Elvis Presley)

Work schedules and last minute changes have thrown a wrench into our holiday schedule, but I think we finally have it sorted out satisfactorily. I'm trying to be flexible and not get mad at situations far beyond my control. Because of our role as primary babysitters, we have more access to family than a significant percentage of the country for holiday traditions. I do not take that lightly. I am grateful for what I have. And not for nothing, I kind of expected this year to be a difficult one in which to set up new traditions, but with new family members, I tried it anyway. I claimed Christmas Eve as Dinner at Grandma's night. Then we can go open presents and stockings at the kids' house on Christmas morning. Valerie won't remember a whole lot about this particular holiday, so she won't judge us for having to adjust around her mommy working overnight on Christmas Eve. She won't be waking her parents up early to rip open presents and see what Santa brought. At least not this year. She may not even be cognizant of it all next year. But Christmas 2022? Watch out, Smiths. She will be two and a half. The holiday will revolve around her.

I experienced a whim this week and I caved in to it. I passed a box of "midnight indigo" hair dye when shopping on Sunday, and I grabbed it and bought it. This evening, I tried it. I let it stay on my head twice as long as it said to. My hair is darker now, but is it blue? Meh. In the right light. Roots are bright blue, but where I previously dyed it medium brown, it just looks black. Every other thing I came into contact with is vivid blue now though. I rinsed it in the kitchen sink, and it took serious elbow grease to scrub that out, both from the sink and from my head. The gloves I wore absorbed the dye quite well. The dedicated hair-dying t-shirt will need to be washed with Murray's laundry, to avoid ruining all my clothes. I did find the right soap to get it off my skin (Kroger store brand Castille soap with tea tree oil), which kept me from locking myself in my bedroom for a month waiting for it to wear off. My face looked like I was cosplaying as a Pict. I'll see how I feel about it tomorrow to see whether I want pictures of it.

Speaking of pictures, we got a burst of them this afternoon when the baby was being funny. I would say this kid has been paying attention to how her kitties find entertainment. She is learning by watching. Smart baby.

Ms Bad Attitude

Inspirational song: Pop Muzik (M)

Recovery was every bit as awful as I predicted last night. Yesterday I walked too far, stood too long, and felt every bit of it in every cell in my body this morning. The good news is that regular meds plus Tylenol got me to a normal functional level, so I didn't lose the whole day. In fact, I got a lot of things done. Watching the cat suddenly vomit up the large quantity of water she had just drunk pushed dragging out the carpet shampooer to the top of the list, but I'm not even mad. It got me up and moving sooner, and at the end of this day of exertion, all the fatigue and soreness feels a little more like progress. 

I'm facing the same problem I have every year for the last couple decades. I have a few presents for family members ready, but there's always some I struggle with. This results in all presents for the whole family not being wrapped, packed, or shipped. In fact, the process of finding and packing boxes to mail is one of my most dreaded quests every year. I'd rather have to call my insurance company than mail a package, and if you know how much anxiety I get over phone calls, you'd understand how bad that makes post office errands for me.

I wish I had been able to find a way to celebrate the solstice tonight. Even though we can't have parties, it would have been nice to have a special dinner at least. The motivation and energy just didn't exist this time around. I couldn't see the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter from my house, and I didn't feel like driving out to where I had an unobstructed view. I barely even remarked that it was Saoirse's five month birthday today. I have three days to adjust my attitude and energy levels. I wonder whether I'll succeed.

Mobility Aids

Inspirational song: Here Comes the Grump (Adam Ant)

Of all the horrible places to spend a Sunday, a large mall five days before Christmas was probably only halfway down on the Top Ten List. It wasn't life-ending, but it wasn't a spa day either. 

The girls and I had to do a little shopping before Friday, and I let my daughter talk me into driving down to the Flatirons Crossing mall complex. Actually, she drove, and I rode in the back seat, making faces at the most beautiful baby in the world. (I'm biased, but I'm allowed to be.) We were there far too long and did far too much walking for our own good. My daughter will recover faster. Me, I'm sore and was so tired I ate only Chex mix for dinner (homemade, so it was GF safe) and am sitting in bed early.

I don't know what I was expecting for changes in how malls operate. This was the first one I have been to since the start of the pandemic. It was bizarre seeing people standing in line to enter stores, waiting for the young person counting patrons at each door to let them past a velvet rope like these were hip night clubs. I was okay with the food court being hollowed out of all its tables and chairs. But they took out all possible places to sit in the rest of the sprawling complex also. That upset me to no small extent. No benches, no chairs. I had brought my fancy new Ukrainian-made, solid-wood cane with me, but even that didn't help offset not being allowed to sit for hours. In fact, I noticed a whole lot of people with canes and walkers and stuff this time around. Too early to say whether it was really more common, or was it just because I have moved myself into that camp, that I was naturally noticing my new comrades. I wanted to ask them what they thought of the lack of resting places. I was too shy to strike up a conversation.

We finished at the mall, and stopped at a Walmart on the way back to town, and did yet more walking. This time I had a shopping cart to hang on to with both hands, so I had a touch more support. My right hip is on fire, though. Inflammation is eating it up, and I still haven't gotten over my fears to go back for a massage since February. We loaded the Grumpus back into the car, and I mused aloud--putting aside the Wall-E connotations of it, I wish it were socially acceptable for adults to get pushed in a stroller like babies, when we get worn out, but our companions still have more shopping to do. Wouldn't that be great? Just climb in and nap while your family hits all the stores you just don't want to be in. Babies don't know how good they have it.

Let Her Sleep

Inspirational song: Casey Junior (Dumbo)

The routine is starting to re-establish. My beautiful grandbaby showed up just after 9 this morning, as my son-in-law headed to work, and she was here all day until mid-afternoon, when my daughter had completed a full 8 hours of sleep. She worked last night, and though she was home all during the day, she needed to be out cold, not caring for a very active infant. It was a little different when she was working days. We sent a lot of messages and videos to keep her from being too lonely without her baby. Today we just assumed she was just this side of comatose, and left her alone until she had restored herself.

We expect this to be the norm several days a week for the foreseeable future. It was so hard when we had our virus isolation, and couldn't be with the baby. We are back to being the primary caregivers, and while it is truly exhausting for people our age, with joints appropriate for people 20 years our senior, it is marvelous getting to spend time with this little miracle. She's smart and strong and funny, and everything about her makes me glad to be alive.