It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

"Are you ready for Christmas?"

I'm getting this question a lot at the moment. I have been pointing out that it is not yet December and, thus, much too early to be done or, in my case, even started. The next person to ask is going to get this answer: Why, yes I am. I did all my decorating, baking, cooking and cleaning yesterday. I did all my shopping, wrapping, letter writing, card mailing and caroling today. Now I'm off to use my amazing skills to solve world problems.

No sweat.

In years past I have prided myself on being done with shopping early, but I think I will try to enjoy the process more this year. I also used to worry about getting people the perfect gift. I'm not going to sweat it this year. With three sets of family to spend time with, we are always running for the holidays. Every year I tweak it to make it feel calmer, simpler. I'm slowly accepting that it will never be calm or simple.

We are now entering the roller coaster ride that is Christmas. Enjoy!

Cry me a river

I sit here writing to you after three Thanksgivings, a birthday, a little cold and early-stage PMS to declare: Man, am I tired. I will do my best to put sentences together, so bear with me.

I just finished watching the latest Hollmork movie. Punky does not understand why I would subject myself to that level of heart-wrenching torture. I call it the emotional purge. If I don't watch a weep-fest once every month or so, crying endlessly over the death of a fictitious person, I end up crying for twenty minutes over something like, "Why didn't I marry someone who would have left the last of the ice cream for me?"

The HM movies are really sad enough by themselves, but then you get to the commercials. HM is one of the few companies who understand that if a commercial is the same speed, volume, and look as the program they break into, people like me will probably watch it. And, in the case of HM, weep harder. The retiring professor, the kid who brings a card to his neighbor lady, the daughter who sends a card to her dad because it's the first year she can't come home for Christmas (She's probably at her in-laws dodging questions like I do).

The father-daughter ones get me in the worst ways. I'm tearing up right now. In college, dad sent a letter every week to each of his children as a way to pay back his father for writing to him. I always waited to read them in private so I wouldn't be crying in chem class. Once, he enclosed a tissue to be funny.

Happy weeping!

Thankful, grateful, blessed.

So thankful for:

-Over the top parades on tv
-An abundance of yummy foods
-The ability to help put together ten baskets full of yummy, Thanksgiving food for local families that otherwise wouldn't have a big meal today
-My Grandmother's Swedish Rye Bread recipe and my ability to make it in a bread machine
-Punky
-Family
-Friends
-Nuschler
-The freedom not to go malling (mauling) tomorrow morning

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

All we are saying is give peace a chance

Last night was the Thanksgiving service which was located this year at the local synagogue. It was my first time there, so I had a ton of questions: What's that? Is that a door? Where does it go? What are those? What do all those symbols mean? I'm a grown up five-year-old.

In order to do the safe thing and get a ride to my car, I jumped into a conversation my friends were having with a very nice Jewish man who was explaining some of the items and symbols around the room. Finally I got some answers.

Then this man expressed his sadness that more people from the Islamic community did not come to the event. He suggested that they were perhaps embarrassed about some incident of people praying on a plane. I had missed seeing this story, but had to guess that that wasn't the reason.

Please, dear reader, tell me if you think I am misunderstanding this, but I would think that the fear of judgment and hatred would be more the reason the Islamic community would avoid the Temple. I personally avoid several churches for that exact reason.

So I said nothing, but left irate. I should have just walked to my car, as any mugger would have been toast. But no. I would have liked to suggest to this man that he rethink all he had just said. That he would speak and act in compassion as a representative from his own faith.

Tomorrow I will make a list of happy thanksgivings, but today I only have these: I am thankful that, while I am embarrassed by what some of the top Methodists say and do, I am not fearful of losing my life for my faith. I am thankful that I do not know war. I am thankful that neither my husband nor my brother know war. I am thankful I can now take Nuschler for a walk and laugh my aggression away at the expense of my silly dog.

Storms are forever in your eyes

You may recognize the above lyric from the Starship song "Sara". I just saw it on a VH1 special about bad break-up songs. They said that essentially no one likes this song unless you are named Sara.

I love the song just cuz they spell it correctly.

In high school, a boy in my homeroom named Eric would serenade me with this song whenever I was at my locker at the same time as him. It wasn't a romantic thing: For the four years of high school I dated for exactly two months so I was more than available. I have this theory that I'm just someone to sing to.

But, does the song fit? Storms in my eyes? Check. Fire and ice? I'm a Scorpio. Odds are good that, if I'm not giddy or irate, I'm tired. No time is a good time for goodbyes?

Too true.

We are so fragile

Women are always looking for the perfect something, be it the perfect shoes, purse, earrings, men. The hunt is always on.

For me, I am always looking for jewelry and office supplies. Seeking perfection every time.

Today, my new datebook arrived. This is my yearly opportunity to reorganize that which holds my life together and gets me to where I need to be at the (approximately) right time. I can omit names and numbers that I don't use anymore or no longer work. I can shuffle in the new names and numbers that I now use all the time. And let go of those lost.

There's a lot of hope and faith in cracking open a new calendar. I love it...

Silent all these years

Warning: This blog contains a rant about Gilmore Girls. And maybe some spoilers.

Midway through last night's Gilmore Girls, I got this odd feeling in my stomach. Watching Chris and Lorelai finally get together in Paris, having a romantic dinner at 6am, enjoying a fluffy, down bed, well, it just made me want to...

Puke.

Am I merely uncomfortable with public displays of affection? This is very true. Is it sad dialogue that makes these grown people into a one-dimensional, puppy-love couple? Is it that I really can't stand Christopher because, in the end, he is not a rock? He's a pile of rich sand. I'm not even sure I like Luke anymore. Is there a third option?

I believe in shows ending before getting to this point. I believe in new shows lasting long enough to find a stride. Which reminds me: Why aren't you watching Studio 60?

How much is that doggie in the window?

The snow is melting. We will hope that global warming lets us have a little more before the end of the winter, but who really knows?

Nuschler and I went to the field again. I forgot how fun it is to play with puppy in the snow. There's less stuff for him to eat/smell/roll around in. I tried the roll-down-the-hill trick again. Again he tried to stop me with his paws. Then I slid down the hill on my butt. He tried to stand on my lap to get me to stop. Protection in the form of mauling. He's so sweet. And heavy.

I understand that there are people who take their dogs on civilized walks. The dog is on a leash, walking in a straight line, not needing to smell everything or everyone. This didn't work for us. I was the crazy lady in the middle of the street screaming at a golden retriever.

Now I'm the crazy lady in the middle of a field laughing with her miniature pony. I don't know which way looks worse, I just know I'm crazy.

You say it's your birthday. It's my birthday too, yeah.

Lovely things on my 31st birthday.

1. It snowed last night, a thick blanket of winter. I took Nuschler to the field to frolic. We had a fabulous time. As I rolled down the hill, he panicked and tried to stop me. Hilarity ensued.

2. Saw "Stranger Than Fiction" and was reminded what great movies look like.

3. Got ecards from friends, got to hang out with family, got to cuddle with the Punk.

4. Counted my blessings. Say a little prayer for the next year. Release a few wishes into the wind. Light a candle for hope. Breathe.

It's a small world after all

You are here for the truth so here it is: Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm actually looking forward to an end to this past year and the beginning of a new chapter. The fairy tale of a fresh start.

At church this morning, someone asked me when I graduated from high school and was sad to realize that I was older than her daughter. Too old. There's a cut-off for hip (among church goers) and I didn't make it.

Then, I was reading an article online from Entertainment Weekly about Grey's Anatomy. The writer talked about his sister from Minneapolis, who happens to be a nurse, ruining the episode with her dose of reality. In that way that we all pretend we know all people from Minnesota, I looked again at the writer's name.

Seriously, what are the odds that this writer went to high school with me, hung out with some of my friends, was equally annoyed with my ex-boyfriend (probably not for the same reasons)? Slim chance and yet true.

In my ever-lasting need to be a nerdy researcher, I went back to my yearbook to verify. Not only did I sorta know this writer, but the daughter from the lady at church wrote in my yearbook. If I was cool enough for her to hang out with then, then I am really cool enough to hang out with now. At this point, I know how to use a comb, I wear contacts or very cool glasses and I no longer do math just for fun.

Oh, who am I kidding...

Everything old is new again

I cleaned out my linen closet yesterday, along with my behind-mirror shelves and the drawers in the bathroom. I chucked things with reckless abandon. Thanks to entropy (the world tending towards chaos naturally), it will be a mess again in no time, but I only need one moment of organized joy.

Before I moved out of my grad school apartment, I had Bec help me clean out my closet. She would hold clothing up and I would say yes, no or I would cover my eyes while she tucked it into the donation bag. I need to approach my office and closet with this same attitude: The real estate is more valuable than the junk.

Up next? The emotional closet. Oh boy...

These are the days

Here are my random thoughts:

• You can adopt a highway (volunteer to clean up after illegal slobs), so why not adopt a closet? Come to my house and clean up my linen closet. There's plenty of trash in there...
• We elect seedy people to run our country/state/city/company and then pay them WAY too much to do so. Perhaps we should pay them less and demand more decent humans to go into politics/business.
• Boys are dumb. I look at the way men are portrayed on tv and wonder if they are just dumb on television. Then a real man comes along and proves that dumb is not only for the fake. While Punky is mostly very smart, we do take turns having "dumb as dirt" moments.
• I'm watching a Star Wars marathon on tv at the moment. So lovely.
• I have a lot to do today, which means all I want to do is take apart my house and reorganize. Starting with the linen closet...

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes and...

Today, I went on the hunt for dress pants. I found the perfect pair, but they were a little tight in one size and way too big in the next size up. (The problem is that I have no hips. I have thighs a-plenty -don't get me wrong- just no hips. I was built for heavy farm work.)

The dressing room girl said "Those don't look so bad."

Excuse me? I'm not looking for not so bad pants. I want FABULOUS pants. I want "Hey, check out that fine woman" pants. I want "Have you lost some weight?" pants. Unless they are virtually free and easy to tailor, I don't want your "not so bad" pants.

Goodness.

Ode to Anderson Road

Oh Anderson Road, how I have missed you!

Every time I pass your way,
I think to myself "Ah, one day
I'll drive on you again
And not have to see
All the cars and trucks
That drive near Trinity"

You've been blocked off, dug out
Piped up and smoothed out.

And now, today, I was finally told
That I was free to drive on Anderson Road.

Meow, Meow, Meow, Meow...

I lost a few hours yesterday having an extreme allergic reaction. I was at a friend's, playing with her cat. I came home and took out my contacts. I thought I had washed my hand well enough, but no. Instead my eyes went totally red.

I took off my eye make-up, but the burning continued. Having no eye drops in the house, nothing to wash it out with but water, I got an idea: Milk.

Milk is supposedly good for counter-acting allergic reactions. But should it go in your eyes? I had a few minutes of debate. Do I try to stop the burning and maybe have to explain to a doctor how I put milk in my eye or do I wash with water?

Milk it was. The burning stopped immediately, but the redness took a few hours to go away.

I know a lot of people for whom milk causes a violent allergic reaction. While it is scary how careful these people have to be, it is also scary as to why allergies are so prevalent.

Bottom line? As much as I would love for Nuschler to have an equally fluffy cat companion, it ain't gonna happen.

I like to move it, move it

I am tired. I worked and played hard today, so I have earned the right to call myself tired.

I reached my breaking point today, as I was running very late due to things outside my control. I wanted to cry, scream, pitch a fit. Instead, I threw in some loud music in the car, starting laughing and dancing.

Shake it off.

I ended up having a fabulous evening with the Weird Sisters and laughed myself to a sore throat. And now I am going to bed excited about doing it all over again tomorrow...

May I have your attention please

I love having theories, looking at the evidence and drawing a conclusion. And then, of course, being right. That part's fun too.

In college, I had a theory that I am dyslexic. In order to be tested (and then get more time on tests, etc) I would have had to pay $1000. Being a poor college student, I just couldn't justify it. I worked around it and now laugh at myself when I get confused.

I also have a theory that I am slightly autistic. Not a lot, just a very little. My parents gave me every opportunity to learn social skills, but I'm still blunt, I laugh at the wrong things. I think shaking hands is one of the strangest ways two people can connect. It's nice to meet you! Here, have all my germs!

In the past year I have considered the idea that I am ADD. I don't really like this diagnosis. For me (and I mean this just for me, so don't get bent out of shape about your own ADD loved ones), it's about getting bored. I am known as the girl who writes everything down. It's the only way I can pay attention (and remember it, to be perfectly honest).

Why am I telling you all of this? There are only three shows that I will record and then sit down to watch. Recently, all three have bored me. I pause to see how much more I have to sit through. I will give some of the blame to new writers, transitional plot lines, clunky dialogue and the fact that I can't stand Christopher on GG (Run Lorelei, Run!), but mostly I'm bored.

Sigh.