Re-Solutions

Oh hi!

I'm slowing coming out of my prime-rib, Christmas cookie, lasagna, eggnog and booze, Holiday season induced coma. I was so excited to have so many days off of work I didn't fully appreciate all the calories it would take to sustain that excitement. I think I'm on a newborns feeding schedule--eating or drinking something every two hours.  Here's hoping my work clothes still fit!!!

This is usually the time I'm making resolutions for the New Year.  If every day in a new beginning, why do we make such a fuss about New Year's resolutions? Why not Feb. 4th resolutions? Or June 27th?  I hear September is lovely for resolutions and it's never too late in December... I guess turning over a new year is as good a time as any to turn over a new leaf.

A friend asked "what, if any, NY resolutions do you have?"  I have been giving this some thought, between shoving fistfuls of cookies and candy in my mouth.  I should go on a diet. I should get back to the gym. I should use fewer swear words! But as I think about it, those are things I should be doing anyhow. I don't really need a flip of calendar page to do those, which may or may not last past Jan. 2. (At least the swearing part, damn it.)

To me, a resolution is changing they way you think about something. Resolve is way to re-solve a way of thinking or behaving. It carries a greater commitment to change of mind and behavior than just not swearing or working out more. I would agree that dieting and exercise do require a way to re-solve your thinking and behaviors, but I think that's more of a dedicated change of habit than a more soul-searching re-solutions.

2011 was a horrible year, or as Queen Elizabeth called 1995, an "annus horribilus." I lost my parents, I lost a dear friend, my husband's job took a turn for the worse, my own job presented frustrating challenges and my dog ate a rug that cost a small fortune to remove. I was so incredibly ready to put 2011 behind that last year's resolutions were pretty big--buy a new house, sell my parent's house, sell our old house and help get my husband into a new job. We ticked everything off that list aside from selling my parent's house. I neglected or ignored making any personal resolutions, I wasn't ready to deal with anything on a personal or emotional level. I turned fifty and felt nothing. I'm not sure what I was supposed to feel, but marked the occasion with indifference. It has become clear to me that I need to re-solve my heart and soul and find a way to become fully engaged and thoughtful in my life again. I need to shake off the cobwebs and boot out the ghosts and shrug off the grief and step back out and re-solve my thinking and outlook.

The first step in this re-solution is to rethink how I feel about being a Catholic. I am a born and raised, K-College Catholic. I don't always drink the Kool-aide and struggle very hard with some of the party-lines, but in my core, my soul, deep in the very heart of me, I am Catholic and I love my faith. I spent time away from the Church in the past year, I think I needed the distance and perspective and the opportunity to miss it. I needed to feel longing for Mass and longing for the Word. I'd become lazy and used my sadness and grief to push away something that was very dear to me.  My husband and I could talk ourselves out of going to Church with nothing more than "you want another cup of coffee?" and we'd tuck in and not leave the house til late afternoon.

We went to Mass on Christmas day. It was the first time since Easter that we'd been. I swore I'd never be a CEO Catholic (Mass on Christmas, Easter and One other time a year) and here I was, a CEO. Being Catholic requires a commitment--you can't be sort of a Catholic, like you can't be sort of pregnant. It is not a faith of convenience, it is a faith of commitment.  To that, I do struggle with some of the teachings of the Church, and I struggle with the sins and opinions of their very human leaders, but I have to recognize that my relationship with my God is personal and I think God forgives me my doubts.

I sat there on Christmas morning, as aware and engaged in the Mass as I'd ever been. I listened to the prayers, the readings, the homily and participated in the Eucharist. My heart felt lifted in a way it hadn't been in a very long time. I felt like I was home again, back to a place of love and acceptance, of forgiveness and the comfort of prayer and ritual.

My re-solution for 2013 is to reawaken my soul, to rediscover joy and happiness by living a life centered around spirituality and my faith and living in a way that God would find pleasing. I need to let go of my selfishness and my desire to be right. To forgive and let others have the grace of being who they are without my judgement. To help others who struggle. To be kind to those for whom kindness isn't always easy. To give of my time, talent and resources in a way that benefits someone else. This is a deeply personal resolution and I promise this blog is not about to become a Bible-thumping screeching screed of faith. I just needed to get it down on paper, so to speak, as a means of personal accountability. 

I hope if everyone considering a resolution thinks in terms of bigger picture. Diets come and go, gym memberships get used and forgotten. Try making a resolution that really challenges your way of thinking and being in the world. Hopefully you and the world will be better for it!

Merry Christmas!

I took a moment this morning and read my last post...and realized I was referring to the tragedy in Connecticut as happening in Sandy Hook. I should have said Newtown, apologies for the error. I was up really early and clearly the coffee hadn't kicked in yet.

It's another early morning. Seems I run contrary to the solar cycle...I don't need to sleep as much when the days are so short. Or, my body has decided to be a real asshole because I have no trouble wanting to sleep in when the alarm goes off. I don't have to work til after the first of the year, so of course my brain's in overdrive and wants me to GETUPNOW! at 5 in the morning.

Christmas Eve is finally here. Shopping is done, baking is (mostly) done, the house is (mostly) clean and laundry is in the dryer as I type. I still have some gift wrapping to do, but it shouldn't take long. I hope everyone else is organized and ready!

My husband and I were talking last night about Christmas's past. This is the first holiday in our new home, we bought this place and moved in May. We'd living in our other home for 10 years, and before that, I was in my historic downtown apartment for 7.  Last year was the first year my parents were gone and I think I was still in shock from all that had happened.  This year has been incredibly busy, we bought this house, had a kid graduate high school, we rented out our old house and have still be working on cleaning out my parent's house in Wisconsin.  This is our year to begin new traditions and let go of some old.  It's all good, just a little bittersweet.

Our new house is quite a bit larger than our old home with two fireplaces (its a two-sided fireplace) and mantles and bookshelves on the main floor. We have a big gathering space in our kitchen with a raised hearth fireplace, a cherry mantle and shelves. I have a large collection of Santas and they are displayed on that mantle.  It was great fun decorating that mantle because it's bigger than my old one and the Santas all have some elbow room, no one is jostling for attention or the best spot to show off. We have two leather sofas around the fireplace and the kitchen adjoins this seating area. It's pretty much the hangout spot when people come to visit.

In our living room, on the other side of the fireplace wall, is the other mantle, which is more formal, painted white with travertine tile.  That mantle and bookshelf area is a little more formal with my collection of Christmas bells and a silver serving bowl that has two big deer heads as antlers. The bells were gifts from my Mom, given to me over the years. We have two giant red poinsettias sitting on their side of the fireplace so that gives that are a nice pop of color.

Our tree is in the living room opposite the fireplace. Our furniture doesn't face the fireplace, it's turned to the opposite wall where we have a large three-panel bookshelf/entertainment center, which is festooned with real cedar boughs with lights across the top. The tree is in front of the right side of the bookshelf.  We brought home 4 big tubs of ornaments from my parent's and I don't think there is a single branch on the tree that doesn't have an ornament hanging on it!

At our old home, our living room was in the lower level with a 20' ceiling, so we have a 10' tree. I could lean over the railing in the dining room to perch the Santa tree-topper on it! Well, our new house has 10' ceilings and this tree goes right to the very ceiling!  It's been nice going to work and returning at night to find all the ornaments still in the same place on tree. Our three cats are all Martha Stewart wannabes and have a knack for knocking ornaments off the tree and rearranging our decorating. At our new house, the cats live downstairs and don't have access to our tree.  Years ago, when I was in my old apartment, I would have a live tree and would set it up in the big bay window in the living room. Walking home from work, I'd admire my tree in the window. More than once I would come home and there would be no tree in the window, to find it sprawled-out like passed-out party reveler on my living room floor, ornaments still rolling, garland strewn about and my then two cats and the dog wearing tinsel with pine needles giving me guilty, but not contrite looks. I came home once to find the two cats and the dog sitting on the couch watching Dr. Phil, so that gives you some idea of what I was dealing with.

 

 

I couldn't decide what to do for garland, so I twisted Costo wired ribbon into corkscrews and tucked them in everywhere! Cheap, cute and gives the tree character. I'm sure the cats would approve!

 

This is the original Elf on a Shelf. This guy is as old as me!

 

 

This Santa was from a very old string of busted lights we found

at my Grandmas. It's glass and very fragile.

 

 

 

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas!

In the Aftermath, Thoughts.

Well, I've left you all in great suspense, haven't I?  We ended up with about 7" of powdery light snow and some pretty ferocious winds. One large spot of yard in the back is completely bare and another had a pretty good sized drift.  We live in the city limits so the streets get cleared our fairly quickly. It's nice to have a fresh snow for Christmas, it makes everything so festive.

I'm pretty excited about the next several days, my husband and I are now on vacation until Jan. 2. Whoo hoo! We took this week off last year and really enjoyed ourselves. It was nice to have no plan, no design, no need to be anywhere other than whatever we decided to do that day.  As much as we love to travel, sometimes staying home and doing absolutely nothing is the best way to recharge.

I've been thinking about the families affected by the tragedy of Sandy Hook. This holiday season is going to be very difficult for them.  I've purposely not watched the news, the coverage of the funerals, the speculation about why...I just can't. I don't think the media has any business shoving a camera in the face of someone who's grieving, there should be ZERO airtime devoted to the young man who committed this awful act and frankly the speculation and yippy yapping and talking head pundits are making me want to move to the Arctic and take my chances with hungry polar bears. The NRA of course wants an army of weaponized guards in every school.  How about malls, restaurant, work places, places of worship, movie theaters and every other public area that's been targeted by those brandishing weapons and inflicting terror and mayhem? 

What we need--rather than a call to arms--is an overhaul of our mental health system and how parents are supported when coping with mentally ill children.  We rally to support parents and families and children suffering from cancer or muscular dystrophy or other childhood diseases. Friends shave their heads in support of pals going through chemo. Teddy bears are donated, money is raised, walks are walked and banners hung, but yet with mental health, the stigma is so great that no one talks about it.

Mental illness has affected my family and those I love. I would suspect it touches more lives that any of us know, be it a case of SAD, or situational depression, eating disorders, addiction, or any other illnesses that manifest themselves that prevents the sufferer (and those around them) from living their lives joyfully, fully and with purpose. When any one of us is hurting, everyone suffers, society suffers and we cannot move forward without addressing this very real issue.

I don't know enough about the history of the care of those with mental illness, my opinions are based solely on what I've read and presume to know.  Years ago, those with mental illness were warehoused in institutions, often against their will. They were misdiagnosed, if at all, and left forgotten and alone without any rights. I'm sure it wasn't all bad, there is never all one or another, but by and large, the institutionalization of the mentally ill has a pretty poor history and record.  Rightly, this was changed and the system was overhauled to give those with mental illness the right to make decisions for their own care, their own outcomes and to be participants in their own well being. As I understand it, an adult cannot be taken into safety without their consent, unless they are in immediate harm to themselves or others.  I struggle with this to a degree because it seems that those in immediate harm tend to isolate themselves. How would someone know to help them or encourage them to seek help? The young man in Sandy Hook has been described as a loner, hard-to-reach and isolated. Was his mother trying to get him help? Is that way he triggered such a horrific response? Would he have been less likely to behave the way he did if he'd been institutionalized at some point a little farther back in time before he was "too far gone?"

I'm merely speculating that perhaps it's time for the pendulum to swing a little the other way. There has been advances in science and medicine that allow doctors to better understand the complexities of the brain and it's functions. Perhaps it's time to recognize that when someone is listening to the lies of mental illness, they aren't able to make good decisions for themselves and their care and have a way to intervene that keeps them and those around them safe. Are the rights of the one more important than the rights of the all?  I would hope that if I were behaving in a manner that gave my loved ones reason to worry, they would step in and help me and put me someplace safe to protect me from harm, but more importantly, those around me. I don't have the right to hurt others because my brain might be broken. Is it humane to stand back and let someone fail and be in pain?  I don't know if I agree with not my kid, not my problem, or they're an adult and they have to fail or succeed on their own. Don't we have an obligation, as one human to another to afford shelter, comfort, food and care?

Are people who commit evil acts evil? Was the young man in Sandy Hook just evil that had an opportunity to create chaos?  Was the devil working through him and mental illness is just an excuse to relieve him of culpability?  Am I throwing a theory out that time warps us back to the middle ages?

I think there are weak people for whom evil and wrong doing are an easier path than doing right and good. It takes courage and strength and character to walk a life of decency. I think there are a lot of children born to people who just don't give a damn. Children are treated as trash, or pawns or objects of abuse. Not every child born into a life like this turns out bad, nor do they turn out good and noble. But I have to wonder how many enter into our communities without the moral compass of knowing right from wrong, decent from indecent and removed from knowing love and compassion? 

Much has been said about gun control, violence in tvs or video games and our culture of violence. I think these are symptoms, but not the root cause. I enjoy violent video games but I have no desire to go hurt someone else. I enjoy apocalyptic scenario books and movies in a way that's nearly unseemly for a 50 year old woman, but I don't envision a world that is so bleak, nor do I desire it. If I had a gun, I bet I would enjoy shooting it. But I am very certain I wouldn't want to shoot someone with it.  I do not know what the root cause is, however mental illness and lack of mental health intervention and support--and too much freedom for adults suffering from mental illness has to be part of the cause.

The families of Sandy Hook will endure. There will come a day when the gut-wrenching, breath-taking, all-encompassing grief gives way to acceptance. Those darling children and courageous adults won't have died in vain. Their lives had meaning and dignity. There is nothing the loved ones can do to move through the process any faster, other than to abide. Abide and abide and one day, the sun will rise and they will begin to feel emotions other than despair.  God walks beside them, and will gladly carry them in their darkest hours, even if they don't believe in God or his love. The nation carries the burden with them and cries their prayers to heaven to help ease their pain.

Peace to them, peace to the rest of us.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

BLIZZARD!

Did that get your attention? Mine too.  The local weather people are blowing their minds over the big storm system churning up towards us. SNOW! BLOWING SNOW! BLIZZARD! LOCUSTS!!!

When I was a kid we moved from Chicago to Milwaukee. We had a pretty nice grocery store about two blocks up the street from our house, which was an easy walk. I can remember a couple of pretty heavy snows where the cars were stranded and everything came to a standstill. My Mom would bundle up in her butterscotch colored knee length canvas coat, pull her cream colored knit cap low on her head and then wrap this long plaid scarf around her neck. Then she'd trudge up the hill to the grocery and trudge back home, cheeks flushed and snowflakes sticking to her eye lashes, laughing about the adventure and shaking snow out of her boots. Then my Dad would put on a big pot of my Aunt Julie's recipe for Cincinnati chili. Aunt Julie was one of my Mom's 4 sisters and she and her family lived in Cinci which is famous for their 5-way chili. 

Does anyone remember those red corrugated cardboard fireplaces? They were painted or printed to look like red brick? They were assembled, like a big box that was set up along a wall, and there was a cardboard mantle that went across the top. I had a friend in Chicago whose parents had one of those in their rec room basement. They would put some fake logs in it and set up their aluminum shiny Christmas tree next to it. The bonus was the tree was on a carousel that spun and played Christmas songs. I remember they had bubble lights on that tree as well. And I seem to remember a pink spot light on the tree which was dazzling.  They had a real tree up in their living room, like we did, but this special amazing shiny tree with the fireplace was just irresistible to us kids. We'd usually knock the fireplace over a few times and I'm sure their parents wondered why it was always half-cocked and falling over.  I remember another friend's family had a fake flocked tree that smelled like the plastic Barbie dolls came in. 

One of my favorite holiday memories (I am so lucky to have so many) was from my childhood in Chicago. My Dad would take a day off of work, we'd get dressed up and take the L downtown and walk State Street. We'd have lunch at some (to my little eyes) swank restaurant, marvel in the windows at Fields and sample Frango mints and look at the gorgeous tree in their store, and then we'd go to see a ballet or comic opera like Copellia, Peter and the Wolf, Swan Lake and of course, Nutcracker.  Even into my college and adult years, with my Mom tagging along, we'd head out to dinner and then to the Skylight Comic Opera for a little Gilbert and Sullivan. 

Well, here's hoping the storm tonight doesn't leave anyone stranded or in harm's way. I hope we get enough snow for the Christmas spirit, but not so much as to dampen retailer's much needed revenue.

If we get a LOT of snow, I might share this guy's attitude:

Talkin' TV

The enchiladas were a hit! We had our work potluck today and in spite of a sea of cream of something soup traditional Minnesota hotdishes, my enchiladas were pretty much wiped out! Sadly, no one brought jello, cool whip, pudding, maraschino cherry or mandarin orange concoctions.  Oh well.

I just baked off the last two batches of cookies I'd whipped up the other day. Crispy Butterscotch Spice cookies that smell like pralines and Edna's Eggnog Logs. I have no idea who Edna is, but she created a mean shortbread nutmeg cookie. I still want to make buckeyes, which are just putzy Reese's peanut butter cups. 

The Voice finals are on right now. I love that show... I watched it last season but missed several episodes. This year, I've watched every episode and am really rooting for Nicholas from Minnesota. He's a soulful funky character and I love his style. He reminds me of Paul Cebar. I have a feeling Cassidee Pope is going to win. She's talented, but her voice just doesn't have the warmth I like. I like Terry McDermott too. It's been fun listening him bring back the old rock classics. Ah...memories!!

I was telling my husband that I've been hoping to find some of the old classic Hollywood movies on TCM or AMC. I love movies like A Holiday Affair, An Affair to Remember, Since You Went Away. An Affair to Remember was on over the weekend and we watched that.  There she was sitting on the couch with her little shriveled legs...and he goes in her bedroom and sees that painting and knows...*sob*  I am dvr'ing (is that a word? I just want to say "tape") Christmas in Connecticut tonight with Barbara Stanwyck. 

Well, I don't have much to add to advance the cause tonight.  Hope all is well in the world and peace to those with troubling thoughts, comfort to the sad and a warm bed for those without.

Not Tonight, Deer.

First, I'd like to thank everyone who's taken the time to stop by and read my new little tiny corner of the innerwebz. I appreciate the value of your time and even more, the value of your comments!

Second, my fingers are pruney!!! I've had them in dishwater more times in last two days than I have in all the time since Thanksgiving!  Yesterday was baking day and I churned out 6 baked batches of cookies and still have two more chilling in the fridge ready to bake.  I made my Mom's A+ English Toffee Bars...

her A+ Snickerdoodles...

Mint M & M Cookies, Chocolate Crinkles, Triple Ginger Snaps and Cinnamon Drops!

 I still have to roll out Edna's Eggnog Logs and Crispy Butterscotch Toffee Cookies.  I still want to make Oatmeal Raisin, Buckeyes and maybe Chocolate Chip.  Oh, and Molasses cookies. The problem is that the cookies I like, my husband turns his nose up and the ones he likes, I'm kind of lukewarm to.  So we end up with lots of cookies! He's going to take a big platter to work later this week and we'll send some to California for my stepdaughter and I'm sure the two college guys won't let them go stale.

Tonight I made Chicken Enchiladas for my work potluck tomorrow. I use the rotisserie chicken from our local grocery store, vegan refried beans, corn tortillas and Monterey Jack cheese. I made a batch of homemade sauce with olive oil, a finely chopped white onion, 4 mashed cloves of garlic...sweat those out til soft, then add cocoa powder, oregano, cumin, hot smoked paprika, chili powder, Kosher salt, a large can of Muir Organic Fire-Roasted diced tomatoes and about 1 1/2 c. low salt chicken broth. Let that simmer, taste it and add a little cayenne and black pepper to just give it a bit of kick. You don't want to over power it with heat. I put a little sauce in the bottom of my casserole-just enough to wet the bottom of the dish. Then I heat the corn tortillas in a hot skillet with just a touch of olive oil, stack em up and then, put a stripe of beans, chicken and cheese down the middle of each and roll them up and pack them in. For a potluck casserole, I tuck them in very tightly. Then pour the remainder of the sauce over the top, then top with Monterey Jack and cover. I'll bake it at about 425 in a convection oven tomorrow for 35-40 minutes or until the middle is 170 degrees.  I am using a Staub Cast Iron roasting pan, which is like a 9 X 13 on steroids. That sauce smelled fabulous while it was simmering. MMMM Can't wait to dig into those tomorrow!

Don't you just want to stick a fork in these (after baking, of course...)?

I'm actually pretty tired. I was awake early this morning, fearing a case of the Mondays.  I was laying in bed and the moment I blinked, our dog was all TIME TO GET UP I WANT TO GO OUT! So, I got up. Shuffled on to the front door. Fortunately our dog is a good boy and doesn't wander off, he knows the yard boundaries and won't take off. Our front door is solid and bordered by two full length window side-lights. I usually look out the front dining room window before letting the dog out, first to make sure the neighbor's dog Finn isn't out (they like to bark HELLO! GOOD MORNING! to each other) and to assure no deer are in the yard. We have a number of deer in our neighborhood (two 8-point bucks sat in our yard most of Saturday) and while Shane doesn't bother them, I've seen Youtube videos of deer kicking dog's fannies. No thanks.

Anyhow, I glanced out and didn't see any deer, so I unlocked the front door and flipped on the light and got the surprise of my life when a deer peeked around the door and looked right in the sidelight window about 3" from my face.  We have the Gladys Cravitz of deer living in our neighborhood.  We both stood there staring at each other. I stepped to the right and looked out the dining room window and also standing on the porch right behind Gladys was her friend Edna and in the yard lining up to get a look in our window where their two cousins, Eunice and Dorcas. Four deer all ready to come on in and have a cup of coffee with me.  Shane of course had his legs crossed and couldn't figure out why the usual routine of unlock-light on-door open-go pee isn't happening.

I ran down the hall to get my husband because I knew he'd never believe that a deer was ready to ring our doorbell or at the very least, check under the welcome rug for the key. So he came out to the hallway and looked, but by now Gladys was off the porch and walking down the sidewalk to the yard. I opened the front door and clapped my hands and rather than flag their tails and take off, they just looked at me. I think they were expecting an invitation in.  I stepped off the porch and waved my arms and said.."Shoo! Go on, git!!" (Yes, Minnesotans say "GIT") (Usually followed with a "yah, you betcha") So they sauntered, no, really, it was a stroll, over to the vacant lot across the street.  At last I let Shane out and the deer just stood there watching him. I'm sure they are currently plotting how they'll kidnap him and make him give up the secrets of the garage door code so they don't have to fuss with keys.

We suspect they were either trying to eat the fresh greenery boughs we have hanging on our porch railing or nibbling on the cedar and eucalyptus in our wreath on the front door. 

Good thing hunting season is over, I can't imagine some hunter bagging a deer with Vicks breath.

Go on, Git, Gladys.

Nails on a Chalkboard

I got my nails done yesterday.  It's one of the few little personal pampering extravagances I indulge in. I've never been a clothes horse and the whole shoe thing is lost on me. But my inner-girly-girl gets recharged with a fresh coat of polish. Getting manicures and pedicures are even a new discovery for me, I was raised by practical folk whose big indulgence was dental cleaning and haircuts.

I headed off at 11:30 highly anticipating the bliss of 45 minutes in a massage chair, the warm jetted tub my tootsies were about to soak in and the following blissfully relaxing hand and foot massage that makes the whole ordeal of beating my cuticles in submission worth every little pinch. Visions of sugar plum purples and candy cane reds or sparkling golds and silvers danced in my head.  I was nearly giddy with the excitement.

The salon is 5 minutes from our house in a small strip mall development. I've been going for a couple of years and the nail stylists are all lovely women with quick smiles and ready conversation. The place is far from fancy but that's part of the charm. It's small and intimate with only 6 work stations.  There is a small shrine to Buddha, always laden with oranges, candy, some bills and coins, a cigarette and tea bags. The philodendron reaches to the ceiling and around the window.  Shiny fabric shower curtains double as swaths of fabric arches leading to the spa chairs. Someone takes pride in lining up the hundreds of bottles of polish by color and tone, almost as a beautiful tonal display of color on a small wall. Each work station features pictures of families and children. It's homey and warm and welcoming.

As I was finishing up with my pedi, a pair of young women came in to get acrylic nails put on. With them was a young girl of about 8 and a very little boy, a toddler still in diapers. People come and go out of the salon and sometimes girls accompany a mom or grandma or big sister in getting their toes or nails painted. Unfortunately,  my manicure work station was right next to the station belonging to one of the young women getting the acrylics. 

As I sat with my fingers soaking (Madge and Palmolive are never far from my mind!)  I was trying not to be entirely put off by the overwhelming odor of cheap cigarettes and cheaper perfume radiating off the young woman seated next to me. She couldn't have been more than 21 and already had a smoker's voice and cough. Her tank top was scooped so low it was impolite. She was wearing pajama pants rolled down below her hips and the arm nearest to me had a large tattoo that read "Fuck YOU."  She struck me as someone for whom every day is a battle.  She was getting long artificial nails with a design on them. I asked her what the design was and she replied, "Hundred dollar bills."  I chuckled and said, "Oh, feeling rich today?" She shrugged and looked back at her cell phone that was in the hand not being worked on. I spent a lot of time pondering the significance of hundred dollar bill nails. I also wondered how someone could be dressed like that in Minnesota on a cold, wet day and not have pneumonia.

The other young woman was seated across from me. She had a great deal of facial hardware, nose ring, eye brow ring, a couple of lip rings, a cheek stud and neck tattoos. She was wearing sweats and was built like a linebacker. She had a coarse loud voice and spoke in a "ya, gotta, ain't," manner that always strikes me as lazy and not terribly bright.  She was the mother of the two children. I spent a great deal of time trying not to have judgemental thoughts. I can't say I had a great deal of success.

After the first 5 minutes of observing these two, the kids got my attention. The little boy was impossible to ignore as he ran screaming through the salon, running from one customer to another. Little boys and nail salons are not a happy combination. Off the wall came the perfectly lined up polish bottles. The spigot on the Culligan water dispenser was turned on and off and on and off. Little plastic flip flops were pulled out the basket and flung about.  The four salon workers were so busy keeping an eye on the kid so he wouldn't hurt himself they were really not giving the customers, including myself, the attention we were paying for.  Not to mention, the toddler-level shrieking. My inner-Scrooge was thinking...oh the noise noise noise!!!

Metalhead mother kept telling her daughter to look after her son. This little girl apparently had been promised a manicure if she kept an eye on her brother. A herd of Super Nannies and Mary Poppins herself, would have been hard pressed to keep this kid in line. To his credit (because I have to force myself to find some) he was a joyful little kid. No matter how often he was corrected or told to sit or told (not very convincingly) NO, he never lost his smile or his engaging manner. The daughter  continued to engage him in some iPhone activity which would hold his attention for a split second and then he'd be off in another hurricane of joyful destruction. At one point he was trying to open a door that has a tricky hinge and two of the salon workers leaped up to grab him from amputating his fingers in the door. The mother continued to berate and belittle her daughter for letting this kid misbehave.

To say that I was losing patience would be an understatement. Fuck YOU next to me was busy texting and would randomly look up and tell her friend/sister/cohort that the next time, they leave the kids in the car.  The stylist working on my nails looked up in alarm at me with a "did you just hear that???" look.  Finally the daughter convinced the little guy to sit with her and watch a movie on the iPhone. It got very quiet and the salon seemed to relax just a little. I breathed a little sigh of relief and sat back a bit to enjoy the remainder of my visit.  Until the moment when the little guy scrunched up his face and grunted. And then he grunted some more. I'll spare you the details, but I'll end with this; the odor was not unlike what I imagine the more ripe walkers on The Walking Dead must smell like.

That was it. That was the end of any enjoyment on my part. I am not a Mom. Squishy stinky body excretions, fluids and spewage are not in my wheelhouse at all.  I have pets and have trouble cleaning up after them. My husband does the cat boxes. He's also the primary poop picker upper. I was at the point in the manicure of no turning back. I couldn't get up and leave. I had to endure the application of three layers of polish, a top coat, the curing under the UV lights and a rub down with alcohol. My eyes were watering. My nose was trying very hard to evacuate. I thought about breathing through my mouth but imagined how bad it would taste if it smelled that bad. 

I wish  I could say this story had a happy ending. It didn't. Metalhead Mother made it clear she didn't have a clean diaper on  her and while complaining loudly about the odor, didn't make any attempt to make it any less unpleasant for the rest of us. Fuck YOU had plenty to say, none of it polite. There was no snickering, no potty humor, no "oh I hate it when this happens" camaraderie. It was abject horror.

My nail stylist finished up my manicure. I paid my bill and tipped her well. I caught a glimpse of jealousy in her eyes as I hastened out the door. I stepped outside and breathed and gulped and cleansed my head of the foul odor of stale cigarettes and loaded pants. It was sweet sweet nectar.

Oh, and I ended up with Cranberry Red with Gold Sparkly gloss.

Potluck and A+ Recipes

We are having our annual Christmas potluck at work on Tuesday. I need to start looking for inspiration for something to take.  The work cast of characters brings an assortment of cookies, chips and dip, BBQ Meatballs, BBQ Smokie Links, Pulled Pork and dessert. And being devoted Minnesotans, someone can be counted on to show up with the ubiquitous jell-o-cool-whip-fruit concoction. I hope it's one with mandarin oranges and not something green. The mandarin orange ones are always a welcome refreshing palate cleanser between bites of liquid smoke and pork fat.

Most years I bring an entree because it's easy for me to make it and have access to a full kitchen to finish it off. I've brought casseroles, pork carnitas with all the fixin's, Caribbean Curried Chicken with Rice..you name it. I try to jolt the taste buds of "ketchup in a spicy condiment" crowd out of complacency.

Last Christmas season was the first without my parents. I finally had full possession of my Mom's legendary recipe collection. Ironically, my Mom didn't really like to cook, she left that to my Dad. She'd joke that she loved three ingredient recipes, especially if two of those ingredients were salt and pepper. She was a good cook and made some wicked good pot roast, gravy, popcorn and cookies. But she would leave the creative and heavy lifting food prep to my Dad, who was a devoted recipe-follower and excellent cook. I learned my mad skills from him at his side from childhood.  He would measure and scoop and weigh and eyeball. If the recipe called for some obscure ingredient, he would go out and find it and use it rather than substitute another ingredient or leave it out.  We had a running joke that when my Dad would, on the rare occasion, tinker with a recipe (adding 4 more grains of salt, for example) he'd proudly announce he'd "gussied it up."

But my Mom's passion was accumulating recipes. She had binders and filing envelopes and shoe boxes full of clipped recipes.  Often recipes would be clipped in a magnet clamp on the side of the microwave or fridge. Those were recipes that sounded good and were awaiting a test run. Those in boxes were recipes that sounded good but maybe too exotic or made too many portions for just the two of them. In their hall closet, there were no less than 50 assorted cookbooks, from '50s recipe pamphlets to Joy of Cooking and Moosewood and Restaurant Recipe Knock-Offs.  Stacks of Bon Appetit and Cooking Light and Midwest Living were tucked into bookshelves and baskets.  The cookbooks were categorized by type; Taste of Home lined up neatly by year, Chinese, Japanese and other Asian inspired cookbooks lined up alphabetically by author (maybe my Mom was a frustrated librarian. I should take a closer look, there may be Dewie decimal numbers on the spines!) and other cookbooks lined up in assorted organized systems known only to her. Oldest to newest. Most used to least used. Repaired and beat-up to never opened with the Barnes and Noble receipt tucked into the pages.

The treasure of this collection is a brown accordion pleated filing envelope that's the length and width of an office envelope. The edges have been taped and repaired over the years, the binding ribbon replaced with two large rubber bands and the organization tabs inside identified by carefully typed and taped labels. This was my Mom's dearest recipe collection. These were jewels of her collection. Recipes handed down from her Mother, her Aunts, her Sisters, her dear friends and me. Well-tested and tweaked, shared and copied, recipes made for parties, holidays, celebrations and funerals. Recipes of the heart and home, recipes that evoke certain memories. Comfort food in an unassuming brown accordion pleated filing envelope. Each recipe in this file, save one, had earned an important designation, in the top right-hand corner was a notation in her hand-writing; A+ or VG. Of course, A+ was the highest honor bestowed on a recipe that exceeded all expectations for taste, preparation, presentation and acceptance. VG was right behind it, but perhaps someday would warrant the coveted A+ with the proper "gussying up."

During my Mom's final days, when I was caring for her as she was slipping away and giving her life over to God and cancer, she and I spent an afternoon going through this brown accordion pleated envelope.  My Dad, not in much better shape, sat nearby. We shared memories around those recipes. Who gave my Mom that recipe, what event she made it for, who's house she first had it, how it had been passed from sister to sister and where they were when Aunt Julie made that shrimp recipe or how every year at Thanksgiving, that dessert was the first to disappear. We laughed over the recipe without the A+ or VG designation that my Mom deemed God awful but Mom never had the heart to get rid of it for sentimental reasons.  We cried over that brown accordion pleated filing envelope.  I held her and told her I would treasure those recipes and share them with others whenever I could. 

As I sit this Saturday morning wondering what I'll make for the Holiday Potluck, I think I'll spend spend some time finding an A+ or VG recipe from my treasured brown accordion pleated envelope. I think it's time to start sharing.  Here's to you Mom.

Relative

I have been embroiled in an ongoing debate here at work for the last 24 hours or so.  A professional peer heard a comment I made through a very emotional and reactive filter and responded to me in a highly emotional and reactive email. 

I was stunned by her response. My comments were not intended to be hurtful, nor did they carry any negative connotation.  To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. This particular peer has a history of being reactive and unpredictable and I've had plenty of experience treading carefully around her, tip toeing or avoiding landmines.

Given the email was sent at the end of business day yesterday and was full of reactions, accusations and misunderstanding, I replied with an email that, in my mind at least, was calm, non-reactive and hopefully setting the record straight.

Unfortunately, this professional peer has lastworditis and couldn't resist the lure of a good tit for tat and fired back yet again with an even more emotionally charged and reactive email. That's where I stepped out and said over and out. No more from me. Radio silence at this point speaks louder than a retort.

Needless to say, I got pretty fired up when I shared these emails with my husband who felt as I did--that the peer was being pretty ridiculous in her reactions and needed to calm the hell down.  My night was shot, I slept terribly and was ready to come to work and do battle.

Of course, battle ensued. More emails from the peer. Mostly radio silence from me until she started lobbing rockets across my bow and targeting my management team.  Take me on, leave my team out of this. I don't squabble and I expect professionalism, respect and courtesy.  By about 10, I'd had enough and forwarded the emails to our shared administrator (who is out of the office today but working remotely) and said this has to stop. This is inappropriate, unprofessional and not in the spirit of mutual respect.  He read them almost immediately and within minutes had booked a meeting between the three of us for next Wed. It is not my nature to run and tattle, nor is it my desire to get this peer in trouble, but I have my back to the wall and the only way out is through land minds and hand grenades.

My husband knew of the day I was having and offered to take me to lunch at my favorite downtown place. I happily accepted and had about 15 minutes to finish up and head over.

Of course that's when my phone rang and of course, that's when I picked it up thinking it was my husband. Guess who?

My professional peer screaming in my ear "so you had to get Admin involved in this??" I continue to be baffled by someone who takes an innocent "we should review this event in a few weeks and make notes for next year...it went really well but I'm sure there's some details we can work on to make it even better" as the Mayan Doomsday Apocalypse and create so much passive aggressive drama I could fill reams of PassiveAggressiveNotes.com archives. Get a freaking grip, lady.  So, I lost it. It takes a lot to get me really pissed off but that was it. The gloves came off and I told her exactly what I thought of her reaction, her behavior, her emails and YES, I involved our Admin because I need him to mediate this discussion.  I finally ended the conversation by telling her I had to go.

I know I have the power to control my reactions...I can be calm and cool and not let this bother me. But I'm angry and it's tough to let it go when the other person so clearly enjoys pushing buttons and being defensive.

By the time I hung up, my husband had texted me that he had to give up our lunch reservation and he was heading to the hamburger place by his office and he'd see me tonight.

Then,  I burst into tears.

He was busy texting me his support and outrage and bless his heart, his shining armour was blinding me with it's radiance.  Yowza. Stand back, HB is on a tear!  I actually had to text him back off the ledge because he was heck bent on making sure someone at the top knew about this! Calm down, HB...cheeseburger, stress and 50 don't make a good combination. Last thing I need is a husband in the ICU with a heart attack.

Moments later, I got a CNN notification of a school shooting in Connecticut.

CNN is saying 30 are dead. Many of them children. I'd add the dramatic component of "a week before Christmas!" but really? 30 dead in a school shooting, most of them children...doesn't really need any more dramatic enhancement. So, I kept right on crying. My heart is breaking for those families. My heart breaks for the shooter and his family. It's not politically correct to feel bad for the shooter, but he was a human with a heart and soul and something inside of him was very broken. His family will have to live with what he did forever. I can't imagine that burden.

My little drama is nothing compared to what some families will be dealing with in the coming days.  My peer has a new grand baby she is off to see tonight. In my heart I wish her safe travels and the joy of her family and to be surrounded by her loved ones. Our differences are nothing.  She can be in the embrace of her relatives. There are families tonight that can't.

In the end, it is all relative.

Day Two. A Work in Progress

Well, it's day two of this experiment. So far, I've mentally written about 100 posts about various topics ranging from the weather (it's Minnesota...what did you expect?) to beer making, to how much I miss my parents, to thoughts about my dog (if he could talk, what would he say?) and how much I hope we can get the Mazda to my stepdaughter in California without it costing $BIG BUCKS or my husband having to take 3 days and drive it there himself.

Instead, I've decided to write about entitlement and gratitude. They are at opposite ends of the spectrum, aren't they?

First, the entitlement. I work in a CCRC, or Continuous Care Retirement Community. It's a large facility in the heart of our small city's downtown and affiliated with a world-famous health care system. Go ahead, google it, I don't mind. I'll wait.  I am the Director of Dining Services here and have been in this position since 1995.  Our residents are retired professional people from all over the world. Most are extremely wealthy and many are emeritus staff from the world-famous health care system across the street.  There are over 200 residents living in the independent living apartments, another 48 in assisted living and 32 in supportive care, and another 30 or so in the sub-acute unit that serves the world-famous heath care system. We have a very upscale menu in our dining room and at some point in the future, I'll delve into the process and systems we have created to deliver exceptional creative and nutritious foods to our residents. 

We have what is called a Resident Dining Services Advisory Committee that meets once a month. It's a formal meeting with a chair, a secretary, a liaison to our Resident Council and minutes that are kept and approved. The committee is the voice of the independent living side to Dining Services. We've worked very hard to develop this committee into a working group of dedicated volunteers who speak for the whole and the good of the all, rather than the personal preferences of the few and the nit picky complains of the really petty. At least that's what I tell myself when promoting the cause. In reality? It's the personal preferences of the few and the nit picky complaints of the really petty. 

We met yesterday and right off the bat, we got hit with complaints about the Thanksgiving Buffet.  We served well over 300 people, by reservation, in 2 hours. The cruise industry should take lessons from us. The food was delicious! The servers were lovely and the residents loved their festive Thanksgiving uniforms! However, the "gravy, or lack thereof, was dreadful."  We asked, "what made it dreadful?" "It wasn't the usual thick turkey gravy one expects on a Thanksgiving holiday!"  Chef explained that (as per the well published menu) the gravy was a recipe that included cider, sage and white wine. It was called "Cider Herb Pan Gravy." 

We then moved to the discussion of the GRATIS Christmas Eve Shrimp Chowder event to be held in our large meeting space following Vespers Service. It's an annual event where we offer free sandwiches, shrimp chowder, tomato soup, fruit salad, potato salad, slaw and Christmas treats to residents, family, friends and employees. It's a lovely way to ensure those who have no where to go on Christmas Eve, or who are here at work, have a chance to enjoy some cheer.

When we shared the menu (which hasn't changed in years because it's tradition) the question came up about "Will there be diabetic and low-sodium options available?"  Needless to say my tongue was firmly clenched between my teeth and my brain was working overtime to shut down the snark that was working it's way between hemispheres.  Do you know how hard it is to remain emotionally neutral and keep a straight face when the only word that leaps to mind in the giant EFFENHEIMER?  It's a FREE meal. FREE. If you don't like it or don't find something you want, you aren't obligated to partake! It's FREE!!  Twee little turkey sandwiches on twee little silver dollar buns!  Twee little bits of fruit floating in some creamy pudding-cool whip concoction that put Minnesota potluck on the map! And it's all FREE!

We endured that hell for an hour. I am sure those living in the East Coast in Sandy-ravaged areas will be happy to know that somewhere in this great country, some people have so few problems they can fuss about the wrong kind of gravy and the offerings on a free buffet.

Which leads me to gratitude.

I am grateful for my husband. He told me about a little encounter he had last night on his way home from work.

He also works for the world-famous health care system and as he came out of his building to head to the parking ramp where he was parked, he encountered an elderly priest in a long black winter coat, his priest collar and a dark fedora pulled low. The Father was walking slowly and looking very lost. My husband said he looked like he was crying, with tears rolling down his cheeks. My husband asked him if he could help him. The Father said he had been at the clinic and came out a door and didn't recognise where he was and needed assistance finding his friend's condo where he's staying.  My husband said, "oh that happens a lot! There's so many different doors and exits that you can go in one and come out another and be really turned around!" He gave him some directions (it was only a few blocks away) and the Father thanked him and headed on down the street, slowly, but with more purpose.

My husband shared that moments after he walked away he thought maybe he should keep an eye on the priest to make sure he arrived safely at his destination, so he ran to his car in the parking ramp and was able to navigate around the rush hour downtown traffic to the street where he'd directed the priest to walk. Sure enough, the priest was still working his way up the hill so my husband drove into an adjacent parking lot and pulled up next to him and got out of the car and asked him how he was doing.

The Father looked up very surprised to see him! He asked my husband if he'd followed him. My husband said he did, and that he wanted to make sure that if the Father was lost, it'd be much warmer in his car driving up and down looking for the condo than continuing to walk around on a cold winters night. The Father said he recognised where  he was and that the condo across the street was his friend's.  He blessed my husband and thanked him profusely for keeping watch over him.

When my husband shared this story, I saw God working in him and through him. I am grateful to have a man like him in my life. He watches out. He looks over. He keeps others close and cares for them even when they don't know how much they need it.  I got pretty teary-eyed when he told me this last night. My husband wasn't looking for recognition or thanks or gratitude, he was just sharing a story of an encounter he had with an elderly man lost in a confusing city.  I pictured my father, my dear sweet Dad, perhaps turned around in a strange place, frustrated to the point of tears and some kind soul reaching out to him. Or my Dad doing the same to help a friend who was lost.

In a day that started out dealing with my frustration with entitlement ended with gratitude for the blessings in my life, including the big guy, Shane:

Welcome to Fiftylandia!

The weather is lovely, albeit with momentary flashes of heat and humidity.  The road is not well travelled and sometimes the souvenirs are tacky and crazy-overpriced!  This is a crazy adventure with confusing street signs and strange customs but it's totally worth the price of the ticket!

My plan for this blog is to share my observations of life at 50. Half a flippin' century. Where did the time go? I'm smack dab in the middle of the Jones Generation. I've been tumbling down the rabbit hole of ancestry research and finding out all sorts of interesting things about myself and my family. I am an only child to recently departed beloved parents. I'm a stepmom. I have a career. I love food. I love my husband. I live in the upper Midwest and complain loudly in the summer about mosquitos the humidity and the fact that it's light out til 10. I complain even more loudly in the winter when it's so cold snot freezes IN your head. I have a great golden retriever and a fabulous life. Yes, I have first world problems but I try not to be a narcissistic whiner who complains about them. I do my own windows and toilets but my husband cleans out the catbox. We have the balance.

I've been reading blogs of all kinds for many years, often lurking in the shadows and as part of my inner "Damnit I'm 50!" dialogue, finally decided it was time for me to stop treading water and take a dive into the deep end! 

Want to go on this crazy ride with me?  Come on, let's go. It'll be fun. Mind the toll money.