Crabby no more!

I started my day all crabby. The Alaskan King Crab kind of crabby. But, thankfully, this experience was surprisingly short-lived. And, now, to all Alaskan King Crabs I say ‘Let them eat crab cakes!’

AA Hubby tried to sell me to this fish market in DC.

I stayed home from work yesterday because I hurt my back on Friday lifting a box at the office with 150 two-ounce pieces of mail in it. I knew darn well I shouldn’t have gone near it. And, please don’t call me a wimp. I know that box doesn’t sound excessively heavy (okay, it doesn’t sound heavy at all), but I’ve got a trick back that can go out on me in the blink of an eye.

And I intentionally blanked about the blink. Miss Conscientious – moi – had to get the mailing out the door before the holiday and cart it to the post office across the street. Most everyone else – at least the hearty males who would have answered my helpless female plea – had cut out early to get a jump on travel, last minute shopping, or Christmas festivities.

So, this is why I was still unable to stand up straight on Monday, an office holiday, and the next day. On Tuesday, I cashed in the one sick day I’ve earned since starting my new job and spent it popping Advil like they were Tic Tacs and lying on the heating pad. And I had a Crank Fest. I got cranky about my back. I got cranky about work. I got cranky about the exhaustion that goes hand in hand with the holidays. I got cranky about 2011. And I got cranky about 2012. While things appear to be on an upswing, if all goes well with the new jobs, it still won’t be until June that I can breathe a sigh of relief about the finances. Crank up the crank!

I'm sorry about the bad word. Sometimes you just have to let one out.

So, this morning, I trudged onward and upward back to work. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay in bed with the covers pulled up to my chin and the heating pad cranked up to High, just because it was warm and cozy. None-the-less, I scuttle-shuffled out the door to catch the apartment shuttle to the Metro. And because, as a blogger, I can’t think outside of the blog, I started formulating a post in my head. But not this post. It was a post going in this direction:

When I feel like a crab, I allow myself to be that crab for one full day. (AA Hubby, if you value your life, you will refrain from commenting.) Then, the Cry Baby Crab Party is OVER. It isn’t easy, but I work at it. This morning, it was a struggle. I tried wrangling myself from the crabby muck on the sea floor with a reminder about the time someone asked me ‘What brings you joy?’ It hurt my head to answer that question today. Had the person been seated next to me, I could have taken a swing at them. Or pinched them really, really hard – because that’s what crabs do.

I asked myself, ‘If I take the wife and mother and blogger parts of me out of the equation, what on earth brings me JOY? What? What? What? Really? JOY?’ Obvious answer: SEA TURTLES! Realistic answer: NOT SEA TURTLES! Can I swim with them in DC? No. The only other answer I could think of, because I was being a crab: NOTHING! Absolutely NOTHING! Hrrmph!’

Do you like where that post is going? No. Neither do I. Fortunately, I got dropped off at the Metro right at the ‘Hrrumph!’ part. I scuttle-shuffled off of the shuttle and looked up to see Saleem. Immediately, my day turned around. In fact, as far as I know, Big Crabby Nothing scuttled into the depths of the Potomac, and is still making its way to some crab shack in Maryland.

Every morning, at Metro stations throughout the DC area, a free, daily, tabloid-format newspaper, the Express, is handed out at the entrances by distributors in yellow vests. About three weeks ago, I decided to take the time to greet and thank the distributor at my station as he handed me my paper. He didn’t look very approachable, or he was skeptical about my friendly demeanor. (I may be living further south now, but people aren’t that much warmer than New Englanders.) He remained rather serious, and avoided eye contact. I didn’t relent. I continued to greet him with a cheerful ‘Hello!’ each day.

Into the second week, I stopped one morning and asked him his name, and told him mine (let’s pretend I told him my name is AA). With a slight smile and a quick glance, he told me his name. Saleem. The next day, when I approached him from the shuttle, he said loudly with a big smile, “Good morning, AA!” I almost cried.

Last Friday, pre-back mishap, I surprised him by trading an envelope for a paper. In the envelope, I’d tucked a holiday card and a McDonald’s gift card with a $15 value. Just a small token of appreciation, enough for him to maybe grab a coffee before or after a shift for a couple of days. We wished each other the best for the holiday weekend.

This morning, Big Crabby Nothing that I was, when I looked up to greet Saleem, he put his papers down and welcomed me back with his arms out wide, and gave me a giant hug as he beamed, “Good morning, AA! GOOD morning, AA!” I did cry as I continued to my train. Tears of joy.

Thank you, Saleem, for being you and unwittingly helping me get over myself. I’ve since learned that your name means ‘peaceful.’ How fitting.

I wish everyone a joyful and peaceful 2012!

Christmas – it’s a wrap!

One might surmise that I have failed as a parent when shown evidence of my sons’ apparent inability to wrap gifts. What I see, however, is an extension of my artistic side and creativity. Is this because I know my mother is turning over in her grave because we can’t save the paper that they use for their presents?

I do wonder, though, if there is cause for concern. What will their future significant others think? Will they find the wrapping skill masterful or seriously lacking? If the latter, I hold my husband accountable. It’s only natural. After all, he had more occasions to teach them how to wrap gifts with my birthday and Mother’s Day over the last 15 or so years.

And, now, the evidence. I’ll let you decide. Is there creativity at large, or am I getting AA Hubby in trouble again?

Exhibit A – A Square Box

My oldest son just graduated from college with a BFA and used artist’s tape to secure the gift wrap. No ribbon needed. In the box was a round ornament from East Carolina University. (I wonder what the wrapping would have looked like without the square box.) Er, yes, you read that right. This gift was wrapped by a college graduate.

Still adjusting to our limited apartment space (and because I put half of our Christmas ornaments in the moving sale before we left Connecticut), we didn’t have a tree this year. Well, not a big tree. Instead, we only had a mini tree – one of two that belongs to the boys.

Exhibit B – A Rectangular Box

I like to think that my youngest son wanted to keep me guessing about the gift; one would never believe that this present was, in fact, a Scrabble game.

Exhibit C – A Christmas Gift Wrapped in Birthday Paper

Unfortunately, AA Hubby could not find the two rolls of Christmas paper that were alongside the one roll of birthday paper. See me smiling in this photo? I am actually doing my maniacal laugh, in utter disbelief but remaining the ever Big Happy Nothing. The gift? A standing lamp. Sadly, it must be returned. But AA Hubby tried.

Now, speaking of AA Hubby trying, while he didn’t succeed at getting me a non-returnable gift with the standing lamp, he did take me by complete surprise with another gift that isn’t going anywhere! It’s staying right here. Naturally, there is more to this story, but I think I’ll save it for another post. The story’s a real gem.

And, with this last photo, I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday with gifts beautifully wrapped, creatively wrapped, amusingly wrapped, or, maybe, my favorite, not wrapped at all – the gift of time spent with family and friends. With or without Christmas trees – big or mini – or even fireplaces. (Okay, the wrapping isn’t AA Hubby’s fault – we just do everything a little differently here!)

Oh, NO HO HO he didn’t!

Gather ‘round, children. It’s time for a Christmas story. A Christmas story about a silly man. A silly man who said a silly thing the week before Christmas. Silly man’s name is AA Hubby.

One day, this past Saturday, with one week until Christmas, AA was not her usual Amiable Amiable self. Why, boys and girls? Because AA was completely stressed out thinking about all of the Christmas shopping she had to finish for EVERYONE in the family – oh, and for friends, too. And the decorating. And the gift wrapping. And the Christmas cards. Writing them, addressing them, mailing them. She was stressed out about having to do it all by herself.

How do we know she was stressed out? Well, boys and girls, she was saying a few bad words. A few really bad, choice words. And she was saying them to herself. Aloud. Talking and cursing to herself and waving her hands around like a crazy person! Like a lunatic, really, with glazed eyes, tugging at her hair – pulling it out by the fistful.

Now, wait, don’t be a afraid. Come back here, sit yourselves down, and listen to the rest of the story! Or she’ll come and get you, and your little dog, too! And she’ll rat you and your bad manners out to Santa. Don’t make her go there!

Now, where were we? Yes, poor AA. So worried about everyone else, with no room for any other crap aggravation. (Oops! Another bad word!) She was worn out from figuring out what to get everyone else, and then getting it. And I mentioned having to wrap it already, right?

Anyway, along came AA Hubby. Smiling and laughing, with Sugar Plum Fairies dancing around in his head. He hadn’t a care in the world. Do you know why, boys and girls? Excuse me? You have a question? What are Sugar Plum Fairies? How the #$@% should I know? Do you think I’ve ever seen one? No more questions!

AA Hubby was oblivious. Spelled O-B-L-I-V-I-O-U-S. This means he didn’t notice that AA was not only having dreadful conversations with herself, but she was also foaming at the mouth. Being oblivious is ONE of the reasons that he was so silly. Who would like to guess the other reason? Johnny? Well, yes, Johnny, he was silly because his fly was down. But it often is. So, no. The other reason was that he asked a completely idiotic silly question. AA Hubby asked AA, “What do you want for Christmas, honey?”

Can someone tell me why this was the WRONG a silly thing to say ONE week before Christmas? Johnny, what? Because he burped when he said it? Um, no. Johnny. Look, let me tell ya something, Johnny. One word for you and marriage. Fuggedabout.

Anyone else want to give me a stab at an answer? A silly thing to say ONE week before Christmas. Come on. You, you in the back. Mary? Speak up. Why, yes! Be still my heart. It was silly because AA Hubby and AA have been together for over 25 years and AA Hubby was absolutely clueless about a gift that he could get for his wife. Correct! It was as though he didn’t know her at all, wasn’t it? Give that girl a candy cane. Have we ever met, Mary? No? Well, you are one intuitive girl. A smart cookie who will make a wonderful wife to some silly man someday. Like Johnny, actually. He’ll be an extremely silly man, but you could probably handle him. Just watch your mouth around Christmas.

***

If you’re interested in AA Hubby’s version, allow me to introduce you to one of the blogosphere’s newest bloggers. A guy – a Big Guy – who saves our marriage every day with his ability to make me laugh. Except when his fly is down. That doesn’t make me laugh at all. But this post made me laugh.

A winter wonderland of another variety

Please tell me if, as a seven-year-old, I was a) one crayon short of a full box of Crayolas; b) wise beyond my years; or c) both, if possible. I recall the 1967 Christmas season, spent earnestly trying to color within the lines of the drawings in my coloring books. My older brother is to blame for my obsession. He had given me a less-than-favorable critique of my artwork.

“What’s wrong with you? You colored outside of the lines,” he said, pointing at a masterpiece torn from one of the books and exhibited front and center on the refrigerator door.

“You’re stupid,” I responded with my comeback du jour.

Though troubled by his assessment, I secretly loved the excuse to hunker down and perfect my coloring skill and, even better, spend more quality time with my cherished box of 64 Crayola crayons. I was fascinated by the range of colors and names, and considered being a Crayon Namer when I grew up.

My mother, a single mom, supported my sudden coloring immersion because the time she was afforded as I sat silently with my tongue hanging out of the side of my mouth, gripping Sea Green, Carnation Pink, Silver, Cornflower and the sixty other crayons, allowed her to prepare for the holiday. She’d play Christmas music and happily sing along as she added a few finishing touches to the decorations in our apartment.

One afternoon, as I colored, these are the lyrics to Winter Wonderland that I heard her sing and, in italics, the things I wondered about silently to myself. I didn’t want to question them out loud and break my coloring-in-the-line concentration.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

How could I not hear sleigh bells, and wouldn’t that mean I was listening?

In the lane, snow is glistening,
A beautiful sight,
We’re happy tonight,

Their moms made them wear hats and mittens, or they wouldn’t be so happy.

Walking in a winter wonderland.

Their moms let them walk in the snow at night?

Gone away is the bluebird,

I’d color that bird Cornflower.

Here to stay is a new bird,

What kind of bird is it? Who cares! I’d color it Mulberry.

He sings a love song,

Does he look like one of the birds that sang to Mary Poppins?

As we go along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown.

Pretend he’s Parson Brown? Is that like Burnt Sienna, or Raw Umber? They can make a brown snowman. They don’t have to pretend. Someone should make a brown snowman.

He’ll say: Are you married?
We’ll say: No man,
But you can do the job
When you’re in town.

‘When you’re in town?’ But the snowman’s right there. He is in town.

Later on, we’ll perspire,

As we dream by the fire

Fires make me perspire, too.

To face I’m afraid,
The plans that we’ve made,

So, they didn’t really want to get married?

Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
And pretend that he’s a circus clown

What happened to the Parson Brown one? So, now there are two snowmen?

We’ll have lots of fun with mister snowman,

But, aren’t there two? They should play with the Parson Brown one, too.

Until the other kids knock him down.

That’s SO mean! I hate it when that happens!

When it snows, ain’t it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We’ll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,

Gross!  Eskimo kissing!

Walking in a winter wonderland.

I’m happy to report that I’ve found a wonderful children’s book, The Black Snowman by Phil Mendez, that addresses my young mind’s social injustice concern about snowmen skin tone.

The valuable lesson inherent in The Black Snowman is not just for black children but for all who struggle for identity within their own worlds.

Jacob Miller is an inner-city boy who hates being black and poor. He reluctantly assists his little brother Peewee in making a black snowman from the filthy snow in the back alley. The figure comes alive after they unknowingly drape him in a fragment of the magical kente , a cloth worn by African storytellers for hundreds of years. The snowman challenges Jacob’s outlook on life by telling him all the wonderful things that are black, and mysteriously conjuring forth brave heroes from African tribal tradition. When Peewee is trapped inside a burning building, the snowman shows Jacob a way to save his brother while exhorting the boy to believe in himself. Using mystical elements and the power of the past, Mendez, in his first book, weaves a stirring tale of Jacob’s transformation from a bitter victim of his situation into a proud fighter for his life. Byard’s haunting color drawings bring to life not only the snowman; they successfully portray the many contrasts between Jacob’s dour moods, Peewee’s optimism, the dingy apartment and the eerie parade of stately African tribesmen.

- Publishers Weekly

I found this gorgeous photo of kente cloth at the website for the Stay Alive Foundation. Do the colors not remind you of the Crayola box of 64 crayons? It seems like the organization provides wonderful services for under-privileged communities in Ghana.

Kente Cloth | Photo from stayalivefoundationghana.org

 For the record

• Eventually, I learned that a parson is a clergyman.
• I still screw up lyrics to Christmas carols. Well, to any songs, really.
• I’m pretty good at coloring in the lines now, but it took 44 years of practice.
• I support coloring outside of the lines!
• My brother’s still stupid sometimes, but I love him.
• Gold was my all-time favorite Crayola crayon. Here are the colors that were in my box back in the day, courtesy of Crayola.com:

Colors Available 1958-1971

1. Apricot
2. Aquamarine
3. Bittersweet
4. Black
5. Blue
6. Blue Gray
7. Blue Green
8. Blue Violet
9. Brick Red
10. Brown
11. Burnt Orange
12. Burnt Siena
13. Cadet Blue
14. Carnation Pink
15. Copper
16. Cornflower
17. Forest Green
18. Flesh**
19. Gold
20. Goldenrod
21. Gray
22. Green
23. Green Blue
24. Green Yellow
25. Indian Red***
26. Lavender
27. Lemon Yellow
28. Magenta
29. Mahogany
30. Maize
31. Maroon
32. Melon
33. Mulberry
34. Navy Blue
35. Olive Green
36. Orange
37. Orange Red
38. Orange Yellow
39. Orchid
40. Periwinkle
41. Pine Green
42. Plum
43. Prussian Blue*
44. Raw Sienna
45. Raw Umber
46. Red
47. Red Orange
48. Red Violet
49. Salmon
50. Sea green
51. Sepia
52. Silver
53. Sky Blue
54. Spring Green
55. Tan
56. Thistle
57. Turquoise Blue
58. Violet (Purple)
59. Violet Blue
60. Violet Red
61. White
62. Yellow
63. Yellow Green
64. Yellow Orange

*Name changed to Midnight Blue in 1958 in response to teachers’ requests.

**Name voluntarily changed to Peach in 1962, partially as a result of the U. S. Civil Rights Movement.

***Indian Red was renamed Chestnut in 1999 in response to educators who felt some children wrongly perceived the crayon color was intended to represent the skin color of Native Americans. The name originated from a reddish-brown pigment found near India commonly used in fine artist oil paint.

Would ya please pass the doorstop?

I’m back. Thanksgiving Scrooge. But, and I’m not going to say this too loud because my previous post might hear me, I actually enjoyed Thanksgiving this year. It was entertaining, thanks to my 92-year-old mother-in-law.

Me and my couldn't-have-asked-for-a-nicer mother-in-law

A Quick Review

AA Hubby, Son #2, and I drove from Virginia to Connecticut on Thanksgiving Day to celebrate the holiday the next day with my mother-in-law (let’s just call her MIL), who ordered dinner from ShopRite. I left out a few details about the dinner in my last post. The most important detail being MIL’s failure to follow directions about ordering it.

Note to AA Hubby: If you share this post with your mom, I will hit you upside the head with a frozen turkey.

The Non-Plan

The plan was for the meal to be ordered and ready for pickup by AA Hubby and me on Friday, piping hot, from the store. We didn’t want MIL to lift a finger, let alone the turkey. At her age, I am amazed that her mind is as sharp as a tack. However, her physical health? Sadly, not as sharp.

Actually, I take that back about her sharp mind. After this Turkey Day, I’m wondering if that’s getting just a little dull.

Except, after dinner, we’re certain that she tried to cheat at Scrabble, though she implied that we did not know how to play the game. Oh, and she spelled S-E-X for a triple-word score. I am not making this up, people.

While she agreed to no lifting of the turkey, she had insisted on lifting her cordless phone to place the order for dinner. Unfortunately, something got lost in the turkey talk AA Hubby had with her prior to the placing of the order. Or MIL’s SHD (Selective Hearing Disorder) kicked in. The phone conversation between AA Hubby and his mom the night before we headed north sounded something like this (I kept a safe distance to avoid the inevitable passing of the phone):

AA Hubby (AAH): “So, Ma, what time do we have to pick up the turkey and the sides on Friday?

MIL: “Whah whah-whah whah.”

Did you recognize the distinct likeness to the voice of Charlie Brown’s mother?

AAH: “You what?! Frozen?! Ma, you were supposed to order the turkey cooked and ready for pickup!”

MIL: “Whah whah-whah whah whah whah whah whah-whah-whah …”

AAH: “Ma!”

MIL:  “Whah whah-whah whah whah whah whah whah-whah-whah whah whah-whah whah whah whah whah whah-whah-whah …”

AAH: “Ma! Listen to me! I told you to order it already cooked so you wouldn’t have to try to get the bird in the oven.”

You get the picture, right? So, we arrived at her home on Friday, and stepped into an apartment filled with the wonderful aroma of a turkey in the oven. A 70-ish neighbor [guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt] had very kindly defrosted the pre-cooked and frozen bird and put it in the oven. The little Easy Bake oven in her little two-room apartment in her senior housing complex. According to their calculations (imagine the accuracy), the bird would be done in an hour.

Thanksgiving Fixin’s and Doorstops

Me: “Should I start heating up the veggies?” (Asked innocently, a few minutes before the bird was ready to come out of the oven, and with an understanding that they could go in the oven for the thirty minutes the turkey needed to “rest” after roasting being reheated.)

MIL: “I guess so. They’re in the freezer.”

Me: “The freezer.” (Said in a calm and nonchalant tone as I slowly turned my head toward AA Hubby, locking and loading the daggers in my eyes. It’s always his fault. Even when it isn’t.)

Upon opening the freezer, I found food that would have made very useful doorstops:

• 1 frozen-solid, rectangular container brick of mashed potatoes
• 1 frozen-solid, rectangular brick of sweet potatoes
• 1 frozen-solid, round brick of stuffing
• 1 frozen-solid, round brick of spinach

Popeye could have killed Bluto with this frozen spinach.

And what to our wondering eyes should appear, but one non-frozen-solid container of gravy in the refrigerator, or “Frigidair,” as MIL calls it.

Frozen Thanksgiving sides? No problem, I’d just warm the gravy in a pot on the stove and pop the Thanksgiving ice sculptures in the …

The microwave that sat vertically on the counter next to her stove. There was one problem with this arrangement. I couldn’t open the microwave door without sending the pot of gravy on one burner and the decorative teapot on another clear across the room  apartment. AA Hubby carefully placed the microwave on top of the toaster oven, on top of a nightstand that holds dishtowels. Lesson learned: one can never have too many dishtowels, even as a widowed senior in a two-room apartment.

I present to you the Leaning Tower of Kitchen Appliances.

Left of the stove, two frozen veggie doorstops sit on the counter where the microwave usually lives.

An hour later, I was done alternating the containers in the microwave on Defrost. This was followed by alternately heating them on High. Meanwhile, a green bean casserole, with the infamous Durkee French Fried Onions, prepared by another 80-ish neighbor [again, the guilt, oh, the guilt!], warmed in the toaster oven. My mother’s corn pudding was hardly missed, since MIL had this potholder displayed on the wall by the stove.

Homage to my mother's corn pudding.

Nor did I miss making cranberries this year. MIL had those covered, too. I just opened the can. Ya know, I think, for a moment, while the can whirled around on the electric opener (because there’s room on the counter for one of those when you’ve got your microwave sitting vertically next to the stove), I actually did miss making and eating the “real” cranberries. Um, nah. Not really.

I ask you, does this look good enough to eat?

A Cranberry Poem

By AA, with apologies to Dr. Seuss

 

I do not like

berries of cran.

I will never

be their fan.

 

I do not like them
in a house.
I do not like them
with a mouse.
I do not like them
here or there.
I do not like them
anywhere.

 

Not in a box.
Not with a fox.
Not in a house.
Not with a mouse.

 

Not from a pot.

Not piping hot.

Not from a mold

Not somewhat cold.

I do not like

berries of cran.

 

I am Amiable Amiable,

Amiable Amiable I am.

But I don’t like everything.*

And I don’t always rhyme.

 

* But, Renee, for you, I will at least try your recipe!

 

Don’t Get Mad, Get Glad

 

Truth be told, everything went fairly well, tasted pretty good, and AA Hubby kept me laughing. Plus, cleanup was a snap because MIL directed me from her chair across the room, without coming up for air, on how to store everything. Is she good at giving directions? Yes. Taking them? No.

The pans and containers under my bed need to go back in the oven. Then put the potatoes in the large plastic container from my closet. No, not that one. It’s next to the box of Saltines. Put the gravy in a container from under the sink. No, the one behind the colander. The spinach can go in the Tupperware that’s next to the can of peas. Can you check the expiration date on that can while you’re at it? There’s another container on top of the Frigedair. Use that one for the turkey. No, don’t use that one. Use the other one. Take the pie home. Does anyone want a slice? Have some pie. Just save a slice for me. Then wrap the rest of the pie in the plastic wrap. The wrap’s in the holder on the cabinet door under the sink. Next to the foil. Put my slice on a plate from the cabinet with the soup bowls. How come we didn’t have any wine with dinner?

And, with that, I’ve got to ask God a favor or two and I’m leaving you with a photo of MIL’s stove, returned to its place in the kitchen as another means of storage.

Dear God,

If I live to be 92, please don’t let me store plastic containers in my oven. Okay?

And can you please make sure MIL doesn’t turn her stove on with the plastic stuff inside? Thanks.

And thanks for a fun Thanksgiving and keeping MIL around.

I hope we get to spend more Thanksgiving holidays with her

AA

Provided the order gets placed correctly in 2012, we won't be seeing you next year, oven!

Changes in Gratitude

I hate Thanksgiving! I know there are more like me out there, and I’ll tell you how I know this. Each year, when I ask people what they’re doing for Thanksgiving, I’m most often met with a rolling of the eyes, a sigh, or a groan. Tell me, honestly, that you haven’t exhibited one or all of these responses yourself in advance of at least one Turkey Day. Right. I’m on to you.

It doesn’t stop with the rolling, sighing, and groaning. After the visual or audible disgust at being reminded about the holiday (as though people had hoped that for once – just once – the holiday would just go away and they wouldn’t have to partake in it), I get the playbacks about nightmare travel to Dysfunction Junction, the home where families convene for the holiday.

This is always followed by a story about Uncle Harry the Drunk, or some other offshoot of that one (we can only hope) gnarly branch on the family tree, making a scene at the table.

Finally, I hear the confession: ‘I don’t even like turkey!’

A turkey of Thanksgiving Past. The one thing better than the taste of turkey? The smell of it roasting.

Why do I hate Turkey Day? I think I’m just getting old and crotchety. Once entrapped surrounded by my family, I have a good time and feel like a creep for dreading their company and the preparation so much. But, well, I don’t like cranberry sauce. And, yet, I’ve made it from scratch for years, as though it’s a treasured recipe. Hello! Not one person in my family likes the stuff! It’s just a necessary evil, like the corn pudding my mother made every year, a tradition I uphold out of guilt, as well. Even though everyone dislikes it as much, if not more than, the cranberry sauce.

I like their popping sound better than their taste.

Uh-oh! I mentioned my mother. Each year, I start out hating Thanksgiving, and then wishing she were still here to celebrate with us, making the gross corn pudding herself. I realize that her absence at the table is the real thing that I hate about the holiday. My mother made me, my husband, my children, and everyone else gathered around the table wear Native American headdresses one year. How could I not miss that? So, you see, it isn’t the actual holiday that I hate.

Having made this realization again, the 17th time since my mother passed away, I recognize the need to stop complaining. I need to assume a gratitude attitude and reflect on 2011’s many blessings thus far.

You think I’m going to start listing them, don’t you? Bah, humbug! I’m not off my soap box yet. One more thing. Another reason I really do hate Thanksgiving is the same reason I hate Family Day – A Day to Eat Dinner With Your Children. We need a holiday to get us to have a meal and conversation with our family? Yup, these days, we’re actually so busy that obligatory family-time holidays are needed now more than ever. In summary, I regretfully inform you – yes, you, there, rolling your eyes, sighing, groaning along with me – that we must have holidays to remind us to spend time with family and to be thankful. (Psssst! Things we should be doing throughout the year.)

Okay, I’ve climbed down from my soap box and returned it to storage, until I need to call upon it again for future posts.

Things for which I am thankful, thus far, this year, in random order

1. My blogging buddies!

I wish you and anyone who reads, or has stuck with, my [sporadic] blog a Belated Big Happy Thanksgiving. Don’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Jealous! I wish you many blessings, regardless. A special shout out to blogging buddy Renee, at Pooter and Booger’s Place, for trusting that I am not an axe murderer.

2. Dewey and Tiger’s new parents (July)

Our cats are living large and being spoiled rotten by a nice couple who adopted them when we moved from Connecticut to the DC area.

3. Gus

He’s the nice cat that the nice cat-adopters already had before Dewey and Tiger. He welcomed our cats into his home. Good kitty! I love their tails in this picture.

From let to right: Gus, Tiger, and Dewey, living happily ever after.

4. Friendly people who own friendly dogs

These people let me pet and talk to their dogs on the streets of DC or in our apartment building elevator; I am grateful to them because AA Hubby won’t let me have another dog.

5. Mad Men

AA Hubby, Son #2, and I just finished watching seasons 1-4 on Netflix. It isn’t that I’m thankful for the eye candy that is Jon Hamm – I’ve got that sort of confection covered with #8. The show reminds me of my mom and how she worked in New York during the late ’50s, and how she made me wear gloves and Easter hats as a young girl in the mid-’60s.

6. Kimberly

Mad Men also reminds me that my mother smoked like a chimney, which contributed to her breast cancer. So, I’m thankful to my friend, Kimberly, who also lost her mother to breast cancer, because she got me to commit this year to participate in the 39-mile, 2-day DC Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in May 2012. (Slipping in a reveal here.)

7. My family’s health and my health.

8. George Clooney

I think that George should be thankful for me including him on this list – and the fact that I’m grateful for any and all of his movies at any time, any month, any year. If he’d like to show his appreciation, letting me and my family spend a week with him at his villa on Lake Como would work. AA Hubby will cook amazing meals. Plus, he’s a fantabulous storyteller. I know he’d make George crack up, and that George would have a great time with us. I can’t cook, but I can open bottles of wine and I’ll make limoncello!

It is unclear whether or not George still owns the villa. If not, he must have befriended a few neighbors in Italy. Perhaps he’d like to consider asking one of them to loan their home to me and my family. It’s been a rough year, George. Per favore?

Special George-time at Madame Tussauds in DC.

9. Jobs for AA Hubby and for me (October)

His National Harbor job didn’t work out (yet, another con for the place), and we were simultaneously unemployed for three weeks in September.

10. Volunteering with DC Central Kitchen to feed the homeless (September)

It was a humbling experience, and made me all the more thankful for the new jobs plus a roof over my family’s heads. Hearing the stories of homeless people, one realizes that the path to homelessness is often an unavoidable, unanticipated slippery slope.

11. The culinary students at DC Central Kitchen

They were inspiring and made me even more grateful for AA Hubby’s culinary skills.

AA Hubby, the guy who doesn't prevent me from being fat, but prevents me from having another dog.

12. A visit with my Sicilian friend and his family (March)

I’d tell you their names, but then they’d have to shoot me. He and his family gave AA Hubby the apron and book in the above photo this year. The picture was taken in Connecticut, not in Sicily. I’m over the disappointment (not really) of not getting to Sicily this year; AA Hubby and I will get there at some point in the distant future. I wonder if George has a villa there. Note to George: a villa in Sicily would be a wonderful alternative to the place on Lake Como.

13. Meeting Reed of Year of Giving and David (November)

I am happy to report by way of an update from Reed that David arrived safely home in Kenya this week!

14. Poppy (February)

What friend gives another friend a vacation? An extremely kind and generous friend named Poppy.

Celebrating cincuanta with Poppy!

15. Betty White

I aspire to be like her as I age (rapidly). Unlike AA Hubby, she would let me have another dog. She loves animals. Check out the Morris Animal Foundation, of which she’s a trustee.

16. My previous job

I miss the co-workers and friends from the arts organization I left this summer. I’m fortunate to have had such wonderful experiences with them.

17. Sea turtles and costume skills! (April)

A "beach dress," with turtle eggs and a sea turtle hat fashioned for the Odd Ball at Real Art Ways.

18. My realtor

She sold our house in a day! Yes, a day!

19. The guy who bought our boat

Unlike the house, this sale took about three years.

20. Chocolate

Chocolate kept my serotonin levels up this year.

21. My vacation with The Jolie (May)

The Jolie ordering a cheeseburger in paradise for me at Skinny Legs, Coral Bay, St. John, USVI.

21. Oma

For the privilege of The Jolie’s company and the best vacation I could have ever imagined with a plastic action figure (just don’t tell The Jolie), I must add that I am, of course, grateful to Oma of Blurt.

22. No cooking required

I didn’t have to prepare the Thanksgiving meal this year! AA Hubby, Son #2, and I drove up to Connecticut on Turkey Day, where my 92-year-old (bless her heart) mother-in-law had the meal ordered from and prepared by ShopRite. And we had the meal on Friday, which just goes to show that you can have “thanksgiving” any day of the year.

23. ShopRite

This grocery store makes the list because their Thanksgiving feast didn’t include peas.

24. Son #1

I just realized that I mentioned Son #2 twice, and haven’t mentioned Son #1 once (the numbering is birth order, not preference). He’s probably really thankful for that; he probably thinks he got away unscathed. Wrong. I am really thankful that he’s graduating from college in two weeks, and that he’s been working so hard completing projects to guarantee that he receives that diploma worth $110K. This is why he couldn’t join us from North Carolina for Thanksgiving in Connecticut.

25. AA Hubby

He’s hilarious, and his sense of humor saved us during some extremely difficult months this year. Looking forward to the remainder of 2011, if he doesn’t yell at me for all the cracks in this post about not letting me have another dog, I will be really, really, really grateful. Got that, AA Hubby? Keep that sense of humor!

David’s Farewell Party

Tonight, my husband, son, and I are headed to Reed Sandridge’s farewell party for David and his return to Kenya. Here’s a link to Reed’s post from today, with info about how you can donate $10 to help him meet his goal of raising $1,000 to help meet David’s expenses. I’ll keep you posted! (If I weren’t technically challenged nor late for work, I’d re-post it.) I’ve got a draft of a post almost ready to go and hope to get it out before Thanksgiving. If not, I wish everyone a happy holiday. And, for those not celebrating Thanksgiving, I wish you many blessings!

Click here:

Celebrating David’s Return to Kenya

A photo of David from Reed’s blog.

 

Brother, can you spare a minute?

I’ve got a job! A job saving the planet! Oh, that’s one big teaser. I’ll tell you more about that later. For now, I just have to share that DC is treating me well. I hope to get back in the blogging groove very soon. The dust is finally settling in my life.

But, wait, this post isn’t all about me. I made a commitment, and I’m following through on it. As a volunteer at National Capital Philanthropy Day this Tuesday, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Reed Sandridge. Something you need to know first about Reed: he wasn’t a speaker at the event, nor an award recipient (but I’d sure nominate him); he’s a humble, unpretentious guy. He was – surprise – volunteering at the event. I volunteered to share his story on my blog. He didn’t ask me to make this commitment, he didn’t ask me to share his story. But I am, and he’s got 365 more, and then some, that I encourage you to read. This guy is truly an inspiration. If anyone is saving the planet, it’s Reed. (And, hey, he’s got a WordPress blog! We’ve got to stick together, kids.)

After losing his job in 2009, thanks to our glorious economy, Reed embarked on a year-long journey after some self-examination and a look at those around him – unemployed, employed, many homeless. The journey, which continues in another form, is in memory of his mother and her altruism. Each day, for a full year, he approached perfect strangers and asked if he could give them $10 to do with what they pleased. And, then, he took the time to get to know these individuals, to listen to their stories and their plans for spending the money – or, perhaps, their reasons for not accepting his random act of kindness. And that’s the post-hanger.

Please visit his blog at the link beneath the photo. It will make you feel like one Big Happy Something to learn about all of the good that he’s done and continues to do in the world. I bet you’ll be inspired. I dare ya. I double-dare ya!

Knox (left), #1 of 365 stories, and Reed (right) at the year-end celebration. Image from aol.com.

Year of Giving: 365 stories of personal giving

Don’t have time to visit Year of Giving today? Brother, can you spare a minute to read this article from WashingtonPost.com (3/19/10):

Unemployed D.C. man giving money away to strangers to help foster kindness

Or listen to this interview from NPR.org (4/11/10):

Would You Tell This Man Your Life’s Story for $10?

You’re more of a visual person? Got that covered. Watch this CNN video (5/11/10):

Unemployed and giving away $10 a day

Steps In The Right Direction

I’m a blogging slacker! But I’ve got lots of excuses.

Excuse #1 – The Cat Mission

Preface: I took a LOT of heat about this on Facebook, but I live dangerously and have decided to blog about my Pet Adventures, as well. I’m going to drag AA Hubby into this so I can share the blame. We decided, when we realized that we were relocating and downsizing, that we would find new homes for our two cats. I’m sorry! My family loved our cats, but the four of us were also allergic. Additionally, I didn’t want to subject the kitties to a 6-hour ride in the car because they were always traumatized by mere 10-minute rides to and from the vet. And I didn’t want to drug them for the trip. So, shoot me for parting with my pets. This will make everyone on Facebook very happy.

One of my dear friends offered to adopt Dewey. Conveniently, she and her family live right down the street from our old house. It felt right for him to remain in the neighborhood.

Dewey

Tiger, on the other hand, was less fortunate. Being a senior, nobody wanted him. Until a friend’s cousin in Maryland took pity and offered to adopt him. The vet provided me with a kitty tranquilizer and off we went. Hold this thought and note how I wrote previously that I wasn’t in favor of subjecting the cat to the car ride nor the tranquilizer. I want credit for something!

Tiger

When Tiger’s new mom and dad found out that he had a brother, they felt bad that the two had been separated. We did, too, but it was what it was. Until I sensed from Dewey’s new mom and dad that he had been driving them crazy with his meowing. He’s very talkative. Extremely talkative. I was able to convince them to un-adopt Dewey, and just drove up to CT to retrieve him this past Monday. I turned around and we headed to MD on Wednesday.

Tiger had handled the tranquilizer well, but the glazed look was creepy and I felt bad for the guy. This is why I decided not to drug Dewey for his car ride to MD. Because I was driving solo, I occupied myself by counting his meows during the 2-hour ride from CT to the George Washington Bridge. They totaled 676. Then, because the bridge and the New Jersey Turnpike demanded my full attention, I stopped counting. Eventually, somewhere around Newark, he quieted down. He even cat-napped for a bit.

Dewey was quite happy with his new home and, it seemed, to be reunited with Tiger. Their new family actually had a cat already, and all three are adjusting quite nicely. Plus, we have visiting rights, which is wonderful.

In short, this excuse only accounts for three days of missed blogging. Hence, the other excuses.

EXCUSE #2 – Moving Stuff

AA Hubby, Son #2, and I are in our new apartment. We are official residents of Virginia now.  We have our new drivers licenses and plates, and have registered to vote. All of our furniture has been delivered from the storage unit in CT, as well as approximately 879 boxes of STUFF. Perhaps I’m exaggerating about the number of boxes, but I am not exaggerating when I say that we can barely make our way through the apartment. And this is after a significant amount of unpacking. I’m going to use this excuse to account for at least two weeks of missed blogging – two weeks passed and two weeks going forward.

EXCUSE #3 – The Dog Ate My Blog

I just finished an online grant writing course. Barring a power outage, there aren’t too many excuses for not completing homework for a course of this sort. I’ve been pretty busy working my brain to pass the thing. There just wasn’t any brain power or time left to blog.

EXCUSE #4 – Working At Finding Work

I’ve revised my resume 15 times. This has taken an enormous amount of time (as has sending it out and applying for numerous jobs) but, apparently, that is the magic number. I just landed a job and start next Tuesday. It’s a temporary full-time assignment, but it’s for a great nonprofit that helps cancer patients heal through art.

EXCUSE #5 – These Boots Were Made For Walking

In a weak moment, a friend who had done the 39.3 Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Boston last year talked me into doing the May, 2012 walk in DC. Actually, I am so excited to be involved. My mother died of breast cancer and I am doing the walk in her memory. I have to repeatedly remind my feet and legs of this, because they want to crap out whenever I do the training. Like Excuse #2, this one might be used going forward, too.So, many excuses, but all steps in the right direction. I am hopeful that I will have more time for blogging now that the dust is settling a bit. Many thanks to all who have stuck with me during my unplanned hiatus! I look forward to catching up with blog reading, too!

I’m going nuts!

I shouldn’t be writing a post right now. It’s 12:26am, and who knows what the hour will be by the time I finish this thing. But insomnia works in mysterious ways. And, once again, I’m jonesing for the blog-o-sphere. The writing and reading.

Where to begin. Let’s just capture some highlights from my life in recent weeks. That should entertain a few of you. The rest? Well, please visit some of my favorite bogs and give them the attention they deserve.

Okay, breaking it down since my last post on … eegads … August 25th, I have categorized various moments of my life as follows.

Funny Moment 1 of 2

I’ve gained extraordinary confidence in navigating DC’s Metro. I know how to swipe my SmarTrip card in a cool fashion, as though I’ve been doing it all my life. I know how not to make eye contact with fellow travelers (although, this generally involves reading emails and Twitter alerts on my Stupid Phone which generally leaves me feeling nauseous from motion sickness). I know how to strut through stations as though I know exactly where I am going to catch the next train.

What I don’t know: how to walk across a platform without getting my heel stuck in a crack. Did I already write about the time I tripped up the escalator behind the 18-year-old and fell on a step just before getting recycled through the jaws of steel? Well, who cares about what may have happened to me before the near-crippling experience of getting sucked into the conveyer belt of bone-crushing metal. The biggest worry was the humiliation I may have caused Son #2. Fortunately, he wasn’t with me on the most recent adventure.

Tromping confidently across a Metro platform, the heel of my right shoe, with a circumference of approximately one quarter of an inch, wedged itself in a crack. I, however, continued walking … right out of the shoe. It gets worse. Could I have merely backtracked and gracefully continued on after reinserting my foot into the shoe? Of course not. I had to literally yank the heel out of the crack. Not getting the picture? Here it is: me, one shoe on, one shoe off, on a Metro platform, struggling to pull a shoe out of the crack.

Where is the warning label that reads "Wearing these heels at the Metro may be deleterious to your health?"

Funny Moment 2 of 2

AA Hubby and I had a Date Night last night. For starters, we went to a happy hour for a cocktail and an appetizer or two. Note: I was not wearing my readers as we glanced at the menu. AA Hubby suggested that we order “Tots.” I had immediate flashbacks to my mother serving Tater Tots and the gag reflex they caused me then and until this day. In my mind, because I was not wearing readers, I thought the menu said “Gator Tots.” My response to his suggestion, “Oh, God, no! I am not eating Gator Tots!” Need I elaborate? Need I explain how my husband choked on his cocktail in a fit of laughter?

Have you seen "French Kiss" with Meg Ryan? Imagine "Tator Tot intolerance!" This image is from http://nycfoodguy.com, which is awesome.

Proud Moment

The 18-year-old was hired and started working this week for AmeriCorps and Habitat for Humanity. Academic Dismissal After Freshman Year at College + Selfless Volunteerism = I am actually grateful that he’s saved me $75,000 in tuition. Yup, proud.

Insane Moment

I haven’t even landed an interview for a job. Dang! What am I doing wrong?

***

So, now it’s 1:09am and there’s whooping and hollering outside. Yup, National Harbor continues to jeopardize my mental and emotional well-being. Oh, let’s add the mother next door who, every night, lets her two-year-old run up and down the hallway screaming … no, shrieking … and banging on a toy drum! WTH? How do I know this? Because the other night, when Shrieker-Tot started in, I ran to our door, threw it open, stuck my head out, made the best disgusted face an Amiable Amiable person could make, and asked, “Is everything okay out here?” Mom’s response? “I’m sorry. He’s two.” This calls for a “WTH” again. Yup, thank you for driving me nuts, National Harbor.

***

Perseverance Moment

I continue to pursue education to further my career path. To no avail. My idol? Doris Day. My mantra? Che sera sera.

Nice People Moment … Make That Plural: Moments

I have met so many nice people in DC. Professional and personal connections. I count my blessings each day. Yea, so that sounds corny. I’m not preaching. Whether you are religious or not, it’s important to be grateful.

Food Moment

For our Date Night, AA Hubby and I had dinner at the Chart House in Old Town Alexandria. At the salad bar, I piled my plate high with anchovies. Why? They remind me of Sicily. (Or are they known for sardines? Oh, well!) I will go there someday. And, the best part of the Date Night? Chocolate Lava Cake for dessert. Oh …. my …. God!

Drink Moment

After the Chart House, we made our way to Il Porto for an after dinner drink. We have always been fans of Sambuca, and there’s a story about it as an inadvertent atomizer on our sailboat during our honeymoon (it has something to do with my Italian husband talking with his hands). But I’ll save that for another post. Anyway, we recently started watching Mad Men, from the start of the first season. I know. We’re so behind. Don’t spoil it for us. Don’t tell me anything about what’s going on with the series now! Let’s just say that we recently left off at the episode where Salvatore Romano has “Buca” with the three coffee beans. I never knew that the beans represent “Health, Wealth, and Happiness.” As well as, the drink with its beans is often referred to as Sambuca con Mosca (flies … a.k.a. coffee beans).

Naturally, we had to tell the bartender about our homemade Limoncello. He spent quite a bit of time in Italy (be still my heart) and told us about his experience drinking nocino. Have you ever heard of it? It’s a liqueur made with walnuts. I’m thinking AA Hubby and I have to give making this a try. Of course, where we’ll store it in our next apartment (which is the size of a, um, peanut) remains a mystery. But, then again, I’ve kind of gone nuts since moving here and trying to find a job so, who cares!

Image and caption text from www.italiannotebook.com, and a post by Rebecca Winke, owner of Brigolante Apartments, a restored 16th century stone farmhouse / guesthouse in the heart of Umbria near Assisi, and blogger of life in Umbria.

Time check: 2:01am. The whooping and hollering continues below our windows. But, somehow, I think I need to get some shut eye. Here’s to dreaming about health, wealth, and happiness! Cin! Cin!