A little Christmas babble

I'm answering questions for the Nebshit Game here:

1. Do you have a favorite Christmas tradition? Since he was around 6, my son has insisted on playing Santa and handing out presents. I insist he must wear a Santa hat while doing it. Mwah-ha-ha-ha. Last night, it was rather warm, however, so after about 10 minutes, he exclaimed "My brain is boiling!" and took the hat off.

2. When do you open gifts--Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? Christmas Eve. When I was little, Christmas morning was for presents from Santa and digging into stockings. We still do stockings--that's one of my favorite parts of Christmas.

3. What is your favorite Christmas cookie? My mom makes bar cookies with some kind of cereal on the bottom and chocolate-butterscotch topping. To DIE for.

4. Real tree or fake? Real. I know fake trees are easier, but I just can't give up a real tree.

5. Do you want something for Christmas that you know you will not get? I couldn't think of anything until I saw someone answer "a car" in Nance's comments, and a younger car than mine would be nice.

6. What’s the worst gift you ever got at Christmas time? For our first Christmas together, my ex-husband gave me huge, fuzzy Snoopy slippers. Ugly as hell, and my feet started sweating the second I put them on.

7. Do you write thank you cards for Christmas gifts? When I was little, I did to out-of-state relatives, but not now.

8. Do you get a Christmas bonus at work? I'm self-employed, so no.

9. How old were you when you found out the truth regarding Santa Claus? I don't remember a big dramatic discovery; I think it was more of a gradual realization. Maybe 8 or 9?

10. Do you buy your boss a Christmas gift? See #8. I buy myself a present--does that count?

******

I had such a nice Christmas Eve. Kevin had to work until 6:00, but I had dinner ready to go when he got home, and then the opening of gifts began. By the way, I was all set to take the advice a couple of you gave me about his presents that didn't arrive, but then I decided to ask him what he'd like. He said he'd really like a cellphone, but if I felt compelled to get him something else, we should wait until after Christmas and see whether any good sales are going on. He's frighteningly practical, no?

He was so thrilled with the Mr. Beer kit I got him, however, that I don't think I'll be able to top it. I bought it as somewhat of a joke because he's said several times he'd like to try brewing his own beer, and I always made fun of him for that, calling him "The Brewmeister." He was really tickled, though--he can't wait to try it out. As Janet told me, this means I'm going to have to actually try one of his beers and assure him it's delightful, no matter how awful it is. Heh.

Daniel's dad is picking him up soon, so I guess I should get out of my PJs. I'll write more tomorrow and post a few pictures, if I get ambitious. I'm looking forward to leftovers for dinner (no cooking--whoo hooo!) and a drive around town tonight to look at Christmas lights.

A Christmas Wish

Last week, Kevin found his old roommate, from when he was in his early 20s and living in Cleveland, on the Internet. Peter has a Web site created by another friend of theirs from that time, Scott. Kevin was the lead singer in their punk band, The Basiks, and has talked often about how much he'd like to hear from Peter and Scott. He left a message on Peter's site, and a couple of hours later, Peter had posted an entry about Kevin with a picture of him from 1979:

I can't believe that's Kevin! I keep looking at it and wondering whether I would have fallen in love with him back in 1979. Funny, we were both in Ohio at that time and wound up later in Indiana, a state neither of us ever foresaw living in. I started looking through old pictures to find one of the 20-year-old me for comparison:

Back then, I was attracted to older, jaded, angsty, artist types--and if they had a British accent, so much the better. Kevin was an artist, true, but he was so cherub-cheeked and cheerful looking; I'm afraid he would have been much too happy and normal for me. Heh. Now, however, I think he's pretty darn cute. (He's the one on the left, by the way. The other guy is a little too, uh, GREEN for my tastes.)

And here's me 27 years later:

My hair's almost the same, but everything else has certainly changed. Sigh. Well, I'm not the only one who's changed. Kevin pointed out that his friend Peter, who had thick, shoulder-length hair in 1979, is now as bald as Patrick Stewart, and Scott, who had women falling all over him back then, is no heart-throb these days.

I'd like to have a neat, tidy conclusion to this look back in time, something along the lines of we're all happier now and more comfortable in our own skins, yadda yadda. Speaking for myself, I know I don't suffer from the kind of melodramatic angst I did at 20, but I still have disappointments, worries, and uncertainty. Life doesn't automatically smooth out just because you grow up. However, I've gained some acceptance since then. I'm not as hard on myself or others as I used to be, and I don't think I see setbacks and failures as a reflection of my self-worth as much. Maybe that's the real miracle of growing up: not that you learn all the answers, but that you learn to be a little kinder to yourself.

So in the spirit of treating myself kindly, I'm not castigating myself for all the things I didn't get done for Christmas--for the baking I didn't do, the presents I couldn't afford to buy, the decorations I ran out of time and energy to put up, the cards I didn't send. Tonight, I'll have a nice dinner with my beloved and my son, and on Wednesday, my parents arrive for a visit. I'll be surrounded by friends and family who love me. What more could I want? I wish the same for all of you--and much peace and happiness in the new year.

Karma to me: Ho, ho, ho!

Oh, my God. Greg was absolutely right in my comments yesterday: My Christmas-readiness hubris DID come back to bite me in the ass. Barnes & Noble is chuckling at the karma boomerang! Don't ever say you don't believe in karma, people. Earl knows the score.

All right, I'm humbled. I'm crying "Uncle!" I will never, in this lifetime, be completely prepared for Christmas ahead of time. When I found out the other night that Kevin's presents wouldn't be shipped until after Christmas, I called him at work sobbing. (Not, by the way, the smartest thing I've ever done. W@lgreen's has been crazy-busy the past week, especially the photo department. Jabbing a stick in his eye repeatedly would have been kinder than a phone call from a distraught, hysterical woman.) The first thing he said was "Honey, I'm so glad it was my presents, not Daniel's, that got screwed up!" Gah. Sometimes I think I don't deserve him.

He said he'd take me to B&N or wherever I wanted to go today so that I could finish shopping. I think he knew the prospect of fighting the traffic and crowds alone was enough to do me in. However, I'm considering giving him a choice: I can get him the very cool CD, book, and DVD I'd planned, or I can add him to my cellphone plan and get him a nice phone. A phone would be more practical, now that he's traveling 90 minutes one way to Logansport a few times a month for work with Sam on the arts foundation. But is "practical" good for a Christmas present? I know the items I'd ordered from B&N are sure to delight him and aren't things he'd buy for himself. What do you think?

******

Ack, I need to run. I have to go to the doctor's and to exercise, and then brave the shopping madness. I'll leave you with a picture of my Christmas tree, which looks a little blurry because I used the night setting, but the lights are so pretty, I wanted them to show up:

Evil cats and even more evil online bookstores

I suspect one of my cats, Cairo, is evil--pure evil, I tell you. She's always been haughty and prissy and easily pissed off, but those traits are typically feline, I think. I first wondered about her evil nature when Kevin's kids started coming over for weekends. Cairo took an instant dislike to them and used to lie in wait for them to walk down the hall or up the stairs, and then pounce on them, hissing like a possessed she-devil. As the kids ran screaming in the other direction, I could almost swear I heard her chuckling "Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Look at this evil thang:

Lately, she's taking to skulking around my office, but not to be near me. No, she's waiting for an opportunity to steal Charlie's bed. Last night, she'd been hogging his bed almost all evening, and I was getting ready to leave my office for the night. I tried to shoo her out gently so that she wouldn't be trapped in my office for the night, but she wouldn't budge. Finally, I tipped the bed over and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. She gave me a look of hatred and ran off.

A few minutes later, I settled down on the couch to watch TV. Holly, my beagle, was snoring happily on the loveseat, when suddenly I heard her scramble to her feet and start snarling. I looked over but didn't see anything that would have upset her. Bad dream, I figured. A few minutes later, the same thing happened, and I looked over in time to see Cairo swatting Holly on the nose! She knew waking Holly up was mean, and she was getting back at me, the little devil. You should have seen the smug look she gave me when I scolded her. As I was telling Kevin this morning, my other cat, Picard, at least manages to look ashamed when I scold him and most of the time just radiates sweetness:

I'm telling you, that Cairo is a bad seed.

******

I'm so mad at Barnes & Noble's online store, I could just spit. I ordered most of Kevin's Christmas presents online December 6. Two items would be shipped within 24 hours, and one within one to two weeks, according to B&N. Even if shipping took two weeks, I had plenty of time before Christmas--or so I thought. Last night, I realized I hadn't gotten anything from B&N, so I checked my order status online. To my dismay, the report said all three items wouldn't be shipped until December 22 and would take three to eight days to arrive!

I called the customer service number and after hanging up on one rep who said snottily, "Well, there's nothing I can do for you," and then put me on hold for seven minutes, I finally got a supervisor. BIG waste of time. He couldn't get his story straight, first telling me item #1 was out of stock, which is what held up my order. I asked why the site said nothing about the item being out of stock at the time I ordered it and why the other two items weren't shipped, and he stuttered a little and then said item #2 was out of stock. I asked what he could ship NOW, and he said item #2. Uh. I said "Didn't you just tell me that item's out of stock?" No, he claimed, it was item #3 that was out of stock.

About at the end of my rope, I asked "Well, what CAN you ship me now?" He said item #1 (the one he originally said was out of stock). "Fine," I said. "Can you ship it overnight?" Here's the conversation that ensued:

"I'll expedite shipment," he said evasively.

"That's not what I asked you. Can you ship it out overnight tomorrow?"

"Yes, it will take one to two business days."

"That's not overnight. Can you guarantee it will get here Saturday?"

"Well." Long pause. "No, I can't."

"Fine. Cancel my entire order."

Jesus H. Christmas! Amazon at least has the good sense to display a warning in big red letters next to an item: "This item cannot be guaranteed to arrive by Christmas." And B&N claims it's rated the number-one online bookseller?? Hmmmmph. Well, I'll never use B&N's online store again, but now I have to go out among the hordes of crazed last-minute shoppers to find the same items or something comparable so that Kevin doesn't have a sucky Christmas. I am not a happy camper. Bah, humbug!

Survey says . . .

I saw this survey at Robyn's a while back, and because I'm feeling lazy today, I'm answering it:

1. What does your cell phone look like? It's a Nokia that was free with my Cingular service. I got on the cell phone bandwagon late, but I lurve my snazzy black and silver phone, and I even used it the other day to call Kevin from the grocery store to see whether he wanted me to pick up something for lunch--something I never thought I'd need to do.

2. Do you know what time you were born? Yes, because it's the time school let out when I was a kid: 2:45 p.m.

3. What do you want more than anything right now? A magic fairy to swoop in after Christmas, take down all the decorations, and put them away in an organized fashion.

4. What do you miss? Friends who aren't around anymore.

5. Hot dogs or hamburgers? Hamburgers, definitely. A hamburger with bleu cheese is one of my favorite indulgences.

6. Do you get scared in the dark? Oh, sure. I hate complete dark and prefer to sleep with some sort of light on, much to Kevin's annoyance.

7. The last person to make you cry? Daniel, indirectly (that is, he didn't do anything to make me cry--I was being a sentimental wuss).

8. Hair/eye color you prefer on opposite sex? I don't think they've ever mattered to me that much. I did go through a streak of redheaded men when I was younger, but I think that was coincidence. Redheads are pretty darn sexy, though.

9. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be? A really good fruitcake. With the nut allergy I developed a few years ago, I can't eat anything with pecans, and I miss fruitcake and pecan pie. Well, not that I could eat them now anyway, with The Diabetes and all.

10. Who is the last person who was mad at you? Kevin, who was upset that I was impugning his skill at connecting cables for the home theater.

11. Do you speak another language? A little French and a smattering of Italian.

12. What was the first gift anyone ever got you? Uh, baby gifts, I guess? The first one I remember is the tiny rocking chair my grandma gave me the Christmas I was three. Having my own chair was a big deal to me. When Daniel turned three, I fixed it up, painted it, and made a new cushion for it, and he rocked in it while watching TV.

13. Would you fall in love with someone knowing he or she was taken? If I did, I wouldn't act on it. I don't think. I hope I wouldn't.

14. Best way to tell people how much they mean to you? As I've gotten older, I find saying "You mean a lot to me" to mean less than actions showing you value someone else.

15. Your weaknesses? Lord, too many to list. I suspect impatience is at the root of most of them, though.

16. Ever made a prank call? After we both read Harriet the Spy, my friend and I decided there was something suspicious about a small business in a brick house up the street. We'd call them pretending to be adults and, uh . . . ask stupid questions trying to find out what kind of business it was. We never did find out anything.

17. If you could get plastic surgery, what would it be? A height insert.

18. What do you get complimented about the most? My mad editing skilz.

19. What do you want for your birthday? I don't know--it's almost a year away! I can't plan that far ahead.

20. How many kids do you want? I'm happy with the one I have.

21. Do you wish on stars? Falling stars, yes.

22. Which finger/s is/are your favorite? I've never, ever thought about my favorite finger (who writes these questions??), but I suppose my middle finger has come in handy many times.

23. When did you last cry? Didn't I answer this question in #7? OK, I lie. I cried last night while listening to Christmas music when "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" came on. That song does me in every time I hear it, for reasons too long to explain here.

24. What is your most embarrassing CD on the shelf? I'm almost too embarrassed to say, but I actually own a Yanni CD. I've never listened to it, but because of the person who gave it to me, I can't bring myself to throw it away.

25. If you were another person, would you be friends with yourself? Sure, why not?

26. Have you ever told a secret you swore never to tell? Yes, but for a good reason.

27. Do looks matter? In a general sense? Yes, in the sense that making an effort to look nice reflects your opinion of yourself.

28. How do you release your anger? Stewing, fretting, and muttered swearing for smaller upsets; for the big stuff, I might resort to throwing objects, stomping my foot, and generally acting like an asshole.

29. Do you trust people too easily? I'm afraid so.

30. Favorite toy as a child? The dollhouses I made from shoeboxes.

31. Where were you 6 hours ago? Sleeping.

32. Who will be your next kiss? Kevin or Daniel.

33. Anything pink within 10 feet of you? Yes, a hot pink felt-tipped pen.

34. What are you wearing right now? Tan velour sweatpants (I'm ensconced in velour!) and a white T-shirt for exercising.

35. Last sporting event you watched? Jeopardy! What? It's competitive question answering, ergo a sport. In my world, anyway.

36. What is/was your favorite class? I liked most of my classes in graduate school. One I enjoyed a lot was a class in the history of socialism and communism, but that could have been because I had a wild crush on the professor.

37. How old are your parents? My dad is 77, and my mom is 69.

38. Do you miss anyone? Yes, quite a few people.

39. Were you an honor roll student in school? Yes.

40. What do you know about the future? It's inevitable.

41. Do you have a tan? Bwah! Good one.

42. How old do you want to be when you have kids? I was 29 when I had Daniel. I wish I'd been a little younger.

43. Last time you got stopped or pulled over by an officer? Honestly, I don't remember. I've never gotten a ticket for a moving violation (that I can remember, anyway).

44. How do you like your drinks? Caffeinated.

45. Are you someone's best friend? I hope so.

******

What a shame Marvin Gaye had such a short life. I'm sitting here listening to a CD of his, and the man had a voice like an angel.

******

I'm still dreading the prospect of giving myself shots, but if I have to, I have to. And as Von pointed out the other day, it could be worse (heh). OK, I'm off to exercise and get those damn BG levels down. Ugh.

Inez and Me

Last week, the inexpensive little home theater system I had wheezed, coughed, and gasped its last; it had been sickly for a while but struggled on a few more months after a nice man at the local Sears outlet tinkered with it (and it's not a Sears machine--he just took pity on me because no one repairs electronic components these days). With little hope, I took it to Mr. Nice Sears again, but despite his valiant efforts, the thing was well and truly dead. Really, most sincerely dead, even. Ding dong.

However, a Sony system was on sale there at half its already discounted price. Kevin suggested we go in on it together as a family Christmas present, which seemed like a good idea. It's been sitting in the living room since then, until last night when I decided to start untangling speaker wire and going through the complicated "Quick Start" setup. Finally, I thought it was ready to play a DVD and popped in a disc from season 2 of Star Trek: Voyager. (Shut UP. It's good! And that Chakotay is mighty fine.) The system read the disc just fine--whooo! Before I could get cocky, though, I realized the picture was in black and white. Arrrghhhh. I read the manual, I consulted the Sony Web site, I messed around with cables, I lit candles to the Gods of Electronica . . . nothing. I muttered "Why does everything have to be so hard?"

And then I sat there with that question reverberating in my head. Hard? I'm bitching because a machine that lets me play movies IN MY HOME isn't easier to set up?? What the . . .? When did I get so spoiled?

My rather unattractive fit of petulance got me thinking about how much easier my life is than my grandmother's was. I often think about her when I'm feeling sorry for myself because if ever a person deserved to complain about a hard life, it was Inez. She raised five kids during the Depression, suffered three miscarriages or infant deaths along the way, and endured the uncertainty of her husband never being sure what his next source of income would be--a decent tobacco crop, a livestock sale, odd jobs he could pick up here and there. She kept a clean home and sewed most of her family's clothes without the luxuries of electricity or running water. I began comparing the differences in an typical day for us, based on her recollections and my dad's reminiscences of his childhood:

Inez wakes up in the chilly dawn. She yawns and sighs, then eases out of bed quietly so that she doesn't wake her baby, Joan, who's sleeping nearby in her cradle. She lights the oil lamp and gets dressed quickly, shivering. She carries the lamp into the kitchen, starts a fire in the woodstove, pumps water into the kettle, and puts it on to boil for coffee. While she's waiting for the water, she goes to the chicken coop and gathers eggs for breakfast. Her husband Jeff is up now and out in the barn milking the cows. Inez checks the stove, and then makes coffee and mixes a batch of biscuits. Before she can get them in the oven, though, she hears Joan crying. She runs back to the bedroom, changes Joan, and then carries her to the kitchen to nurse her.

I wake up, look at the clock, and decide I can snooze for 15 more minutes. I get up finally, carry Charlie downstairs, and let the dogs out, sipping my first cup of coffee that's already brewed before I get up. I check the clock and call upstairs to make sure Daniel's awake.

Inez's four boys stumble into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed, and go out to do their chores. She finishes making breakfast and feeds Jeff and her boys, managing a few bites herself, standing up, while bouncing Joan and fetching butter and jam. She gets her boys off to school finally and puts on water to heat for washing a load of diapers.

I take a frozen waffle out and stick it in the toaster oven for a couple of minutes. While I'm waiting, I check my blood sugar and take my medications. When the oven dings, I take the waffle with another cup of coffee to the living room, turn on the TV, and watch the news while I eat. I kiss Daniel good-bye as he leaves for school, and then walk into my office with another cup of coffee to surf news sites and journals online and check my e-mail.

Inez puts diapers in hot water and bleach to soak for a while, and then heats more water to wash the breakfast dishes. She gets some potatoes and onions out of the root cellar to use later for dinner. The water is finally hot enough, so she cleans up the kitchen, and then scrubs the diapers on her washboard while listening to the radio. She rolls the diapers through the wringer and hangs them outside to dry. Joan starts fussing, so Inez carries her back inside, nurses her again, and settles her down for a nap so that she can start washing another load of clothes and mend Jeff's overalls. She hopes she has a few minutes to sit down and write her cousin a letter; she hasn't heard from her in months. She'd love to see Ruby, but traveling 30 miles away is out of the question these days, even if they could afford the gas for the truck.

I yawn, stretch, and walk into the kitchen. I put breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and look to see whether I have enough to run a load. I don't, so I go downstairs to the basement, toss a load of towels in the washer, turn it on, and go back to my office. I check the weather online and then pull up the chapter I'm currently working on. A couple of hours later, I take a break to eat some yogurt. I hear the UPS man at the door, so I fetch the Christmas gifts I bought online. Then I change into my workout clothes so that I can drive to Curv3s because getting a little physical activity every day is important. Before I leave, I call my friend Lynn and chat for a few minutes. We decide to meet for lunch tomorrow at the Chinese restaurant.

******

And that's just the morning. I'm exhausted thinking about the rest of Inez's day. I wish I could call and ask her how she managed--and how she kept her faith and her sense of humor despite what life handed her. She's been gone five years. I still miss her, but remembering her gives me strength and the perspective I so often lack.

If editing doesn't work out, there's always catalogue copywriting!

I hope my Christmas-readiness hubris in my last entry doesn't come back to bite me in the ass. I'm very superstitious about jinxing myself by boasting. With my luck, the shirt I bought my dad will fall apart the first time it's washed, and all because I couldn't keep my yap shut! If you're listening, O Karma Gods, I take it back. I'm completely unprepared and stressed out about it.

******

Actually, there is something I'm worried about. Despite exercising, losing weight, and taking higher doses of my medications, my blood glucose levels aren't coming down as well as they should. Dr. Bambi wants me to start taking Byetta, which isn't insulin but is injected (eeek). It's a new drug that helps your body produce more insulin and slows the absorption of food after you eat so that your BG levels don't rise as quickly after eating. Good side effects: BG levels are regulated better, and you tend to lose weight. Bad side effects: Nausea and sudden drops in BG levels (hypoglycemia), which can be dangerous.

Of course, this wonder drug is hideously expensive, and I don't have insurance. So the first step is seeing whether I qualify financially; often I fall just over the cut-off line for any kind of medical assistance because drug companies seem to think I'm fabulously wealthy and could jet off to Fiji anytime I like (please). I refuse to worry about the prospect of injecting myself with a freaking NEEDLE until I know whether I can even get the stuff. (I'm lying, of course. You know I'm sitting here sweating at the thought of poking myself in the stomach or leg with a sharp object.)

******

As I mentioned, I bought the Il Divo DVD for my mom's Christmas present, but she also hinted she'd like a new address book because her current one has lots of crossed-out entries. So I thought, no problem--I'll pick one up. Do people not use paper address books anymore? I've checked bookstores and even the dreaded H@llmark store, and I can't find anything decent and appropriate for a 60-ish woman, unless I want to believe my mom would adore a Hello, Kitty address book (and that would be a NO). The H@llmark store had two: one a bright turquoise and the other hot pink, and very plain with no illustrations. My mom prefers pastels or more subtle colors, and she likes pretty pictures of, you know, flowers and shit. (Why I'm not writing catalogue copy, I don't understand.)

I was bemoaning the dearth of mother-appropriate address books to Kevin the other day, and he came home from work Friday practically giggling. He handed me an address book--marked down to $3, even!--with silly photos of dogs dressed up in all kinds of costumes. The funniest one is a little terrier dressed up in a gondolier's outfit standing over two other dogs going for a gondola ride. It's truly the tackiest thing I've ever seen, and my mom will be horrified. I can't wait to see how hard she'll try to pretend she loves it before I tell her it's a joke. I'd like to find a nice one to hand her after telling her the other one's a joke, but even if I don't, it's still funny. Yes, I'm chock-full of the Spirit of the Season. Heh.