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Wednesday, December 31, 2003
blissfully content indeed
I must be one of the only people in the world for whom today is just another day. We never do a lot of New Year's celebration -- not being the types who look for any excuse for a good party these days, we'll probably just go to bed at our regular time, which may or may not be after midnight. It is a bit interesting to look back on one year and forward to the next, but considering that one will be very much like the other, that's not something I spend a whole heck of a lot of time or energy doing either. Really I'm not a stick-in-the-mud, I swear, I've just never done much for New Year's since the days that my friends and I would stay up watching movies and then call the operator at midnight to wish her (always a her!) a happy new year (we also once called the operator to ask her, because we were curious, where the operators went to work. Turns out they were in the basement of our local phone company's offices).
This year has been just amazingly happy for us. But every year generally is. I was really wondering about that yesterday -- why do I get to be the one? What caprice made God look at me and say, "that one, she's the one who gets to marry the man of her dreams, stay madly in love with him, have a beautiful family, endure just enough hardship to make her a better person without making her a nutcase, live where she wants to live, be surrounded by people she wants near her... yes, her." I look around at so many women my age, and they're full of angst about men, about their biological clocks, about whether there is someone out there who will make them happy, about the marriage they're in where they have all this dissatisfaction, about living far away from their families, and then I look at my life and I'm almost afraid to even admit I exist for fear that they'll mail-bomb me out of envy. Not that I'm the only happily married family woman in my late 20's in Western civilization -- but it does seem like I'm inordinately blessed. It was actually my husband walking around in his black work turtleneck with his sleeves pushed back that started me thinking about it last night. Oh, man, that is a good look on him. Whoever had the brilliant idea that the casual-dress Park Service uniform would include a black turtleneck in the winter has my unending gratitude. He comes home, takes off his outer khaki button-down, pushes up his sleeves, and rrrowrr. RRROOOOWWRRR.
[several minutes staring into space, fantasizing]
Yeah. What was I saying? Oh yes, looking at my husband. I feel like the school geek in some coming-of-age teen book, this nerdy awkward girl who somehow gets noticed by the guy all the girls want to be noticed by. Girls like I was just don't get to go out with men as, well, as rrroooowwwrrr as my husband is, they just don't. And the heady thing is, the thing that makes me dizzy and that I have a bit of a hard time wrapping my brain around, is that he looks at me and thinks that I'm, well, rrowwrr, for lack of a better descriptive term. Yeah, we're a pretty happy couple. Bring on 2004.
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Saturday, December 27, 2003
a long ramble, about nothing in particular, really
I've spent the day having a little private growl at my husband's boss, whose extreme need to be The Man Of The Hour has resulted in him calling my husband in to work with him for the last two days on something that could just as easily be done on Monday. This is the only time my husband has ever had a five-day weekend without having to take leave to get it, and for two of those days he's been in at work. His boss is just a big blue Meanie. [deleted long and sometimes funny tirade re: boss out of fear that either a) he would happen upon my diary and know he was being described and fire my husband on the spot or b) someone who knows both of us would read this and, in the usual way of our town's magical gossip mind-reading chain, without anyone ever verifiably telling anyone ANYTHING, the grapevine would carry my tirade to him, with the same end result as option a]
Other than the periodic loud, angry apostrophizing on my part towards the absent boss, the day's been quiet. If T were home it would be a perfect day -- cold outside, warm inside, nice and relaxing.
Ironic, isn't it, that I had just typed those words about fifteen minutes ago when my darling son managed to knock over a nearly-full gallon of milk? Imagine the chaos that began even as I typed the "g" in "relaxing", and it's almost funny, even to me. However, I have a question: At what age or stage do human reflexes improve to the point where a person will simply and quickly pick up, say, a gallon container of fluid when it's been tipped, rather than standing and staring in apparently impotent horror for a few seconds while the fluid obeys the laws of physics and goes glug glug splash splash onto the floor? I really want to know this. (at least the floor needed mopping anyway; it could have been worse).
I think I need a good dose of Austen to return to my former relaxed and happy state. As soon as I figure out what I'm making for dinner I'll indulge. And speaking of indulging, I have been outright avoiding my scale lately. It is looking resentfully at me every time I go past, but I just can't get involved with it right now. This is in large part the fault of my darling brother, who found the recipe for the world's most amazing clam chowder and brought the resulting big-bowl-o-bliss to our family Christmas dinner. Oh. My. Gosh. It was so good. And then how was I supposed to turn him down when he offered to send home leftovers? I swear this stuff probably has five thousand calories per serving (seriously, it consists mostly of equal portions heavy cream, half and half, whole milk, and bacon, if I remember right, with the requisite clam juice and all that as well. Well, here, here's the recipe), but it tastes so good that I was willing to eat it and face the consequences. I've finally finished the rest of the leftovers and I have sworn an oath on my size 12's not to make more than two batches of this heavenly stuff a year. Yikes. And January 1st, I am stepping on the scale whether I like it or not.
I bought a pair of inline skates with some Christmas money. I have all these grandiose plans of skating along with the kids as they ride their bicycles on bike paths. First I have to actually, um, put them on, and see if I can remain upright in them. I haven't stood on anything that rolled since roller rink trips in junior high, and maybe high school once or twice. Hmm, perhaps I should have bought the helmet as well as the knee pads, elbow pads, and gloves. If I suddenly disappear, you'll know it's because I'm in a Rollerblade-induced coma.
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Friday, December 26, 2003
old letters
Short entry tonight, I'm very tired. But I had fun this afternoon/evening, reading some old letters I'd written to a friend years ago; she sent them to me and I'm to send them back. I was quite a pitiful person at 18; so many plans that fell apart (and were pretty stupid to begin with), so many vows to get over the same worthless idiotic guy, so many execrable poems. OK, so four poems. At least, four that I'd sent her that she sent back to me. gag. Anyway. It was really fun to read them, and I'm amazed how much neater my handwriting was back in the days when I actually, well, wrote things. I was inspired to buy a really chintzy $1.99 pad of stationery at the grocery store and start actually writing letters. We'll see how long that lasts. The first one is going to be a thank you for the opportunity to stumble down memory lane like a loon. :)
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Thursday, December 25, 2003
template problems (and more)
My template disappeared. I guess I'm not the only one this happened to this week. I'll fix it when I get home. I'm at my parents' now. Meanwhile, here are four signs that you're a diaryland addict:
1. You mentally plan a diary entry about what you're doing, while you're doing it, all day long.
2. You log in on your parents' computer on Christmas, just to see what your diary looks like on their system.
3. You have dreams with other diaryland people in them (had dinner at Denny's with sundry in last night's episode, for example).
4. You spend more time typing about your experiences than you do experiencing them.
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Monday, December 22, 2003
my birthday party, and a resolution
recent googles: "altering driver's license" (!!); "Muleshoe Twiggy" (??); about eighty hits in the past week on "80's Music Quiz"
I haven't updated much lately; sorry about that. We had a busy and fun weekend; today was my birthday party (day itself is Thursday). I got some fun and thoughtful presents (darling cards from the kids too), and what's even better, we spent a nice day together as a family. We had a nice lunch/party and then drove to the city and walked down Christmas Tree Lane with my parents and my brother's family.
We're gearing up for Christmas. Still haven't wrapped a THING for the kids or T; all the presents are hidden around the house. That's going to be a project for the next few nights, needless to say.
I am also going to attempt to turn over a new leaf and really get on the ball (ack, I always mix my metaphors when I'm exhausted, sorry) about housework. Everyone in the house is happier when it's clean; shouldn't that be enough motivation to keep it that way, even if it means actually working at it, whether I feel like it or not? T in particular has been a bit on-edge lately, with a lot going on in several areas of his life, and I know (because he has told me in so many words) that everything feels so much lighter when he can come home to a clean house and move around in a clean house and go to bed in a clean house. So. The kids and I will work up a schedule and JUST DO IT. (and no computer for me till everything's checked off for the day! ack! Did I just say that?)
Before I go, here's my irritation du jour (this one's been festering a long time): Seeing cartoons, movies, pictures, cards, etc. wherein people are holding HOLLY over their heads pretending it's mistletoe. ARE YOU DOLTS? Holly: bright green; shiny; spiny leaves; red (poisonous) berries; grows in bush form. Mistletoe: subdued green color; very matte; round leaves; tiny, almost invisible white berries; actually a relatively ugly fungus-related parasite which proliferates on trees, to their detriment. It is nobody's best friend, and not very picturesque. But even so, please. PLEASE. Artists, filmmakers, etc., if you're gonna depict someone standing "under the mistletoe," for freak's sake get or draw some actual mistletoe! OK, I'm done. Back to your regularly scheduled holiday cheer.
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Thursday, December 18, 2003
life is good!
I hope putting this here doesn't completely tweak out my template for this entry (you can click on this picture to see it in better detail). I just had to post about how good my life is:
Note: I am relaxing on the couch. I am reading a nice thick WONDERFUL book. I have a diet Coke. It is lovely autumnal woodstove weather and I am wearing my red ribbed sweater and my new schoolgirl skirt (which, don't you just know, T just can't stand. Um, that's sarcasm). Also, this is one of the first pictures taken by our new-to-us digital camera.
Pardon me, must dash back to the couch; I just wanted to share.
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Tuesday, December 16, 2003
hypochondriac, airline tickets, and a runaway freight train
C has a cough. This doesn't bother her a bit; I think she actually enjoys it. She is always kind of hoping she's just a little bit sick -- not sick enough to be really miserable, but enough to get some attention. To illustrate my point: she just coughed, and then said to her brother, "I sure have some big coughs, don't I? Poor me!" Those words exactly! I worry about her future; she has potential pill-fiending tendencies (oh, Mommy, please can I have some red medicine? I think I might have a sniffly nose...)
I have just done a very exciting thing. Last night, for the first time in my life, I actually purchased airline tickets. Yes, I, who have never been in an airplane, never been further east than Kansas, never seen the Atlantic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico, am GOING TO FLORIDA IN AN AIRPLANE in about a month and a half, along with T and both kids, to visit my best friend. She and I met in a Christian chat room at WBS Chat. Does anyone else remember WBS chat? Chat-room chatting is kind of an Internet-newbie staple, and it's the kind of thing we all look back at with embarrassment (I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning doing what?), but by the grace of God, in January 1997, I "met" a kindred spirit there, in among all the sig lines and little icon pictures and server-push text scrolling up and up and up. Yay for WBS. ;-). And I finally get to go see her, after mentally planning this trip scores of times (she's been here once, in the spring of 1999).
Can everyone please join with me in a minor panic? Christmas is a week and two days away! It's not that I don't love Christmas, because I do, and it's not that I'm not ready for it, because I am (well, pretty much. THe house needs a little tidying before we can achieve the Norman Rockwell Christmas-morning scene), it's just that it came running up so fast! What happened to November and December? For that matter, what happened to 2003? It makes reasonable sense that the years keep seeming faster and faster -- after all, when I was ten, the time between Christmases was one-tenth of my life; at 30 it's only one-thirtieth of my life -- but still, if it keeps up like this, by the time I'm fifty I'll go to sleep on Christmas night and wake up on the next Christmas morning, another year older. This is insane, and more than a little frightening. There's got to be a happy medium between that desolate childhood December 26th feeling of looking across the unending desert of the year to come at the tiny little Christmas oasis that is so depressingly far away on the other side, and this runaway freight train where the years fly by so fast we can hardly see them. Maybe I passed that happy medium when I was 19.3 years old, or something. sigh.
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Saturday, December 13, 2003
the Nutcracker ballet
Things I will be sure to remember after tonight:
No matter how glad you are to fit into a dress you haven't been able to wear for years, you really should try sitting down in it before you wear it to an event where you will be sitting down. That way you can find out ahead of time if it magically transforms your midsection into a fairly decent imitation of the Michelin Man anytime you relax in a sitting position, and plan around that.
Floor-length crepe skirt + calf-length wool coat + tights = more static cling than you've ever seen outside a Bounce dryer sheet commercial. Just FYI.
Wearing heels when one hasn't worn heels in a really long time should be approached gradually, like working out. Overdoing it the first night out is not a wise idea. Attention to this would also eliminate the possibility of discovering as you're getting dressed that the only pair of navy-blue shoes you possess are a half-size too small.
In spite of these few minor lessons, and the fact that I found a restaurant NEVER to eat at again as long as I live (I have never seen jambalaya look quite like that. eew), C and I had an absolutely smashing time tonight. I won't go into a ton of details and bore you all, but we looked pretty, we were treated like ladies everywhere we went, C behaved perfectly, the ballet was superb, the music was amazing, and I even managed not to feel like a dolt once (thanks to the fact that once I discovered the static-cling thing, I just didn't take my coat off when I was walking around). Not ONCE the whole evening, not even when I was parking or driving around in a semi-unfamiliar area or anything. THAT is a huge accomplishment for me.
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Friday, December 12, 2003
it's tomorrow!
No way should I be up this late. This is really dumb of me. But since I'm here, I have to tell you the wonderful, wonderful news:
Diet Cherry Coke has come to our town.
Yes, I know it sounds too good to be true. But it is true, it really is! I have one of those new funky-looking fridge packs in my refrigerator to prove it. My dad (I have the best dad in the world. I really do, and not just because he has been such an ally in the quest for diet Cherry Coke) brought me some today; I was just going about my housewife-ish business, making my Christmas card list and getting lunch for the kids or whatever, and the doorbell rang and there he was like Santa Claus in overalls, with a brown paper bag from our own little small-town wannabe supermarket, containing a 12-pack of nirvana just for me. yay! My only fear is that now that they've teased me in this manner, the northern CA bottler will stop making it for some reason, and I'll be left with a serious addiction, instead of a simple craving, and I'll have real withdrawals. But I'll stop borrowing trouble and just go load up on it while I can. Carpe Diem! (Carpe... colum? carpe colum non calorum cum cherrium? You can tell that the full extent of the Latin with which I am familiar came from Dead Poets' Society, phrases in books, and high-school chorus, can't you?)
Anyway. I just had to share the joy.
Speaking of joy, today (since it IS today; it's 1 AM almost) is Nutcracker Day, which means, in my daughter's way of reckoning time, it's actually Tomorrow. Whenever a day arrives for which she's been waiting eagerly (like, for instance, Thursday which is Awana day, or a Saturday on which DACY THE MAGNIFICENT is going to be home all day), she sprints out of bed, clobbers me awake, and says, "Mommy, I just remembered! Today is tomorrow!!" It's very Little Elizabeth in Anne of Windy Poplars, really, don't you think?
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Wednesday, December 10, 2003
We're in the money
We got something in the mail today from "Check Processing Center" -- a generic-looking envelope; I was almost sure it was going to be yet another junk-mail-disguised-as-something-important-in-a-spammish-attempt-to-make-you-open-it-instead-of-throwing-it-out-on-the-way-out-of-the-post-office scam (dang, I know I do a lot of those hyphenated adjective phrases, but that has GOT to be a record, even for me. Thought about switching to quotes halfway through but I'd have had to go back and change all the hyphens to spaces and I didn't have the energy. Yet I had the energy for a six-line parenthetical statement. Never said I was logical. Well, yes, actually, I have said that, come to think of it. Shut up, Rachel.). Yet it (what? oh yes, the envelope. I was talking about mail) turned out to actually contain a real honest-to-goodness check. Yessir, we are in the money; all our worries are over; we have been a member of the winning party in a class-action lawsuit against a credit-card company, to the tune of... drumroll please...
seventy-four cents.
Why even BOTHER? Why? Seventy-four CENTS? Sheesh, just the absurdity of cashing or depositing a check like that will probably prevent me from doing so. Can you picture it at the credit union? Maybe I'll add a penny so I can get it in quarters and let the kids put them in a candy machine.
no, I won't, I think I'll just be one of the thousands of people who screw up the lawyers' accounting by tossing it in the woodstove.
Also, in other news, did you hear about the global warming on Mars? Next thing you know they'll be finding SUVs and industrial complexes there, since those, like, cause global warming, right? Oh, wait, Mars is just having a cyclic climate change. Earth stopped having those at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. I forgot. Otherwise a whole lot of environmentalists could be out of a job.
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