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My friend Catie sent me this wonderful assortment of Christmas treats, and, as you can see, we quickly tore into the spiced nuts. Dee-lish!
I’m enjoying the post-Christmas calm, and this surprise package added a sparkle to the day.
Catie is the best. And not just because she sent me treats!
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I don’t usually do these, but what the heck? Bold type means that I’ve done it.
1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job (laid off, really)
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Totally copied a post from someone else’s blog to your own
Now you try it!
To be honest, I should’ve taken a picture of poop to describe today. The rundown: an AM greeting of three blops of cat vomit, ice balls pelting the car on the way to work, a frazzled blast of little crises the minute I stepped into my office, impossible knotted projects piled onto my (full) plate, the finger from another driver on the way home (why???). Poop. Pure and unadulterated.
In an effort to shake the sourness, we headed to the downtown art museum to see “Man On Wire,” about Philippe Petit. In 1974, he rigged a wire between the Twin Towers, 1350 feet above the ground, then danced back and forth on it for 45 minutes. Impossible, it seemed. But no, it wasn’t.
Lesson learned.
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All is benign.
Suddenly, my annoying day seems much less annoying.
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About Boo and the balloon…all Fred’s doing. Boo is, of course, perplexed. As am I.
Excedrin, I love thee. I’ve been trying to shrink a massive migraine since yesterday afternoon with no success. Even Imitrex wouldn’t kick it. Just took an Excedrin and I think it may do the trick. Should’ve taken this much sooner. My stomach will probably be all riled up because of it, but at this point, I’ll take it.
Work is insane this summer. (Why do I always think that I’ll be able to dig into all kinds of projects??) Summer research kids are the nicest kids on campus (I may be biased), but there’s just SO MANY of them. And the needing stuff never ends. I’m panting and sweaty by the end of the day. Taking tomorrow off, though, so for now, all is calm.
It’s probably good that I’m busy as it gives me less time to think about my dad’s upcoming endoscopic ultrasound. He has a lesion/cyst on/in his pancreas that needs a closer look, and quite frankly, this keeps me up at night. I don’t like to hear the words “lesion” and “pancreas” in the same sentence. Could be nothing. Could be something. I guess we’ll know more after July 8th.
Today…a walk, some groceries, the patio. Exhale.
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Remember these?Originally uploaded by Mary’s picsIf there are baseball sundae bowls in our dish drainer, can spring be far behind? Ummmm…yup.
We’re in the middle of a squall. And it’s been squalling since last night. No shortage of squalls here in central NY. So spring? Not looking good. (Spring’s sort of over-rated anyway. We’ll deal.)
Dinner tonight: Baked ziti with homemade meatballs. And awesomely fresh Italian bread straight from the bakery. It’s the perfect dinner to weather the storm.
Let it snow.
Where the hell have I been? Hmmmm. Well, there was Christmas and all of that family stuff, then some days away in Philly for a training thing, then work got crazy, and there were all of those minutes to write up for church, and then we saw movies, and grocery shopped, and lounged at Panera, and watched too much BRAVO, and read parts of a couple of books, and had the neighbors over for chili, and balanced our bank accounts. Or something like that.
Good day today. “Why?,” you ask. (No, you didn’t, but I’ll tell you anyway.)
1) I had an iffy(ish) mammogram back in July. The paper, then, said “Probably benign.” That word “probably” has been kicking around in my head ever since, occasionally prompting me to sketch out what kind of funeral I’d like. (I’m an optimist like that.) I had the six month follow-up on Monday and got my doctor’s report today. “Normal.” I have to follow-up again in July, but the funeral plans have been back-burnered.
2) My Kindle shipped today. It’s in Kentucky (or Kansas) tonight…one of the “K” states, anyway. I’ve been waiting nearly a month. That’s long enough.
3) My new LL Bean Outdoor Comfort Mocs arrived today. They’re moss green and quite comfy. Nice arch. It’s also swell that they fit. Mail-ordering shoes is always something of a crapshoot.
4) Aretha Franklin will be performing at the college on April 5th, as part of the Sacerdote Great Names series. That’s a FREE performance, and free Aretha is nothing to sneeze at.
5) It’s Friday. Monday through Wednesday kicked my butt. That is, by the end of each of those days I felt like that squirrel in the road that the crows are picking apart. Today was calmer, and tomorrow morning there is sleep. Capital S. And maybe French toast. Capital F. And T.
The planets have obviously aligned correctly, if only for a day. Imagine that.
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A long, long time ago my sister and I, immobilized by snow pants, snow jackets, and heavy knit caps, were bundled into the family car, a hulking 1960-something Chevy. This was WAY before the age of “rear seat entertainment systems” so as the car lumbered through our Ohio suburb, we entertained ourselves by watching the road whiz by through the rotted floorboards and by holding a pointed finger a millimeter away from the other’s jacketed arm. “MOM- she’s touching me!!!” one of us would yell. The other would predictably scream, “NO I’M NOT,” which while technically true, was not helpful. After some parental swatting in our general direction, we’d eventually call a cease-fire, divide the back seat into two absolutely equal sections separated by an imaginary demilitarized zone and ride along in silence, steaming up the back window with our breath.
And then there we were—at the Christmas tree lot. Row upon row of balsams, Scotch pines, and Frasier firs leaned against temporary fencing while massive spotlights swept the evening sky. My mother was a Scotch pine kind of gal, so she quickly narrowed down the choices, and then settled on a nicely shaped six-footer. After the lot attendant heaved the tree into the car’s trunk, my father used a healthy length of rope and an improvised system of knots to keep the tree in (hopefully) and the trunk lid down (sort of). We bickered our way home, but this was happy bickering for we had our tree. And if we had our tree, Christmas couldn’t be far away.
Then suddenly it was morning. THAT morning. Christmas morning. For the first few seconds, the day felt like any other day, full of oatmeal and routine, but then a switch flipped in my brain and the tingle of Christmas buzzed though me. Instead of oatmeal, there’d be Pillsbury Orange Danish. And instead of routine, there were presents and the tree.
Oh, the tree! Santa always decorated the tree after we went to bed (smart parents), and this year he’d outdone himself. In the dull morning light, the all-blue tree blazed and shimmered. Carefully placed strands of tinsel draped each branch while bulbs as big as my little sister’s fist, backed with dazzling metal reflectors, threw off amazing heat and blinding light. It’s a wonder the tree didn’t spontaneously ignite.
And the presents! The Christmases of my childhood were celebrated before safety was invented. You could tell that from the toys. That morning I tore into an erector set, full of sharp metal edges and 20,000 swallowable screws. And a wood-burning kit. (“Here, you’re six, go play with this and try not to brand your sister.”) And the coveted Thingmaker. Oh the joy of the Thingmaker. With the Thingmaker, you could make “Creepy Crawlers” (caterpillars, butterflies, and spiders) by filling the metal molds with Goop, and then baking the plates in an open heating element until the Goop solidified into rubbery bugs. (Young children. Hot metal. What’s not to love?) Burn-potential aside, I loved that Thingmaker. Loved. Capital L.
My father filmed all of this—the breakfast of messy buns, the blinding tree, the frenzied unwrapping—with his shoebox size 8 mm movie camera. As he filmed, he urged us to hold up this, put down that, stop squinting. Stop squinting?! Didn’t he realize that looking into the beam of that camera was like staring into the headlight of an oncoming freight train? That the light was searing our retinas? That even after he turned OFF the camera, we saw white fuzzy blotches where the tree used to be? Of course not, because he was never IN the movies, he just filmed them. My mother, in her bathrobe, struggled to keep up with the growing pile of tossed around wrapping paper and my father filmed that too. She, at least, knew enough to keep her back to the camera and her retinas safe.
And then it was evening. Christmas was over. My parents sat stuffed and glassy-eyed on the sofa, like lions after a kill. Calm. Happy. Tired. The tree cast its blue glow around the darkened room, and candles flickered on the coffee table, lighting a tabletop manger. Tangerine skins littered the floor, where we lay on our stomachs, coloring in new coloring books, warm in new pajamas.
It was a long, long time ago. It was 1965. But sometimes it feels like yesterday.
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Yes…Christmas is less than a month away, but geez, there’s still plenty of time. The store fliers, the online ads, the catalogs…they’re ALL trying to whip up a plateful of panic. The cover of nearly every catalog screams (in their boldest “scream font”) “THERE’S STILL TIME,” implying that there isn’t. But there is. So let’s all calm down.
Know what I also hate? The TV ads that try to make you think that getting a luxury car (or having one on your “wish list”) is as normal as getting…oh…a new sweater. A Mercedes E350 with a big red bow and a happily gasping spouse? Does that really happen? Apparently, as I’ve heard two such Mercedes ads in the last ten minutes.
Silly me…looking forward to getting books…and maybe a sweater.
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You know what doesn’t work? Cooking on the radio. I keep giving the late afternoon cooking show on Martha’s Sirius station a try on my ride home, and nope, it’s just too frustrating. No drool inducing images. Just sizzling sounds and narration.
One day they tasted olive oil (slurping sounds). Another day they tried bourbons (more slurping).
The cake says it all.
