Questions for the new year

If I had a crystal ball, I would like to know what will happen in a few different areas of my family's life.

Will Sea King, our goldfish, grow another inch longer next year? He is already the King of the Aquarium at 10 and a half inches long. Perhaps I should start cutting back on the food before we need to buy a bigger tank.

My son will go on a school trip to Cape Cod, without me or his dad. He's only in fifth grade. I wonder if I will just happen to be vacationing in Cape Cod at the same time?

Will my new job be as wonderful as I think it will be? I am so hoping it will be.

How long will it take my son to buy enough new model trains to fill the new yards he and his father are building right now. Will his fascination with railroads ever end?

Will my husband get rid of his slice in golf?

Will my son succeed in convincing me to paint any of the rooms in our house orange? I am warming up to the idea.

Will my mother like her new living arrangements? Will she make new friends? Will she be happy?

Will my son successfully transition to middle school? Will he feel lost without that one special teacher?

Will I decide to plant flowers this year, or will I just read gardening magazines?

Will I figure out how to use our new digital camera? The instruction manual is awfully big.

What will I do for my family to create happiness in their lives?

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Think, think, think

New Year Resolutions 2006Inspire ImproveIntend

Do I need one?

What will it be? The usual? Something grand?

Why should I make one?

What would be the one small change I could make?

What change would make the biggest impact?

If I make too many resolutions will I be able to focus?

Should I encourage my son to make one?

Should I suggest one for my spouse?

Will I ever be able to decide?

Should I make the same ones as last year?

What if it’s private and everyone asks me what it is? What will I say?

What is the cool resolution this year?

What resolution would make me sound witty?

I wonder how many people actually keep their resolutions?

Why is this so hard for me?

Is there a resolution that is easy to keep?

Do I need easy?

Arrrghhhh!

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Joy

Tonight was a great night to visit my hair stylist. Gina’s been my stylist now for 16 years, ever since I moved to this area. She’s the epitome of a hair stylist, easy to talk to, fashionable, impeccably groomed. I always let her decide what haircut to give me because I trust her judgment. I have only one requirement – it must be low maintenance. Tonight she decided to change my hairstyle, nothing radical, just different. Gina knew the timing is right.

I’m getting a new job, at my current company. I’ll have to drive downtown now, but I don’t mind. My office probably won’t be as nice, but I don’t mind. I’ll have to pay for parking, but I don’t mind. I am just so happy to be getting a new job. My new boss is wonderful; she is the epitome of a wonderful boss. Things are changing for the better.

A new hairstyle, a new job, a new year, I am so happy.

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Thursday Thirteen

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Leanne Renee Running2ks Marie Raehan Minerva Karin Kathy Jennifer LadyBug Crossing Veronika Trinity13

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Megabloks Pyrates

My son received Megabloks Pyrates for Christmas. He decided to play with it today.

First we got the scissors out to cut the tape from both sides of the box. I had my son pull out the contents while I pushed. Then we cut the tape from both sides of the two inner boxes. Then we cut the tape that was over all the wires on the bottom of one of the boxes. Then we twisted all the wires open and removed the ship. Then we removed the wires from the ship. Then we cut the tape on the wires holding both skulls in. Then we twisted all the wires open. Then we removed the wires from the skulls. Then we ripped the skulls out of the plastic containers that were glued to the box. Then we cut open about 25 bags full of parts.

When we completed getting the toy out of the box (20 minutes), my son put the ship together in about 15 minutes. He loves it.

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Rhythms of Life

When Dad passed away I volunteered for the job of organizing his personal papers to help settle his estate. This endeavor proved to be a fascinating journey through my father’s life through the artifacts I found.

I didn’t know my father saved my elementary school report cards. I thought they were long gone. It was amusing to see the remarks of my teachers about my performance so many years ago. My fifth grade son had the most fun perusing these. His struggles with penmanship seem less worrisome knowing his mother got a ‘D’ in penmanship in the second grade. I swear the teacher was just trying to teach me a lesson; she wanted me to slow down. I was always rushing to get my papers in first. Lucky for me that grade has done double duty in teaching lessons. My son learned that his Mom is fallible, yet was still able to go on to a successful school career, and that he will probably do the same.

I found my father’s completed manuscript for a novel. I was surprised my father was a writer. He never mentioned this novel to me before. He wrote it around the time he ended his duty with the Air Force. It is a fictional work, but seems mostly autobiographical. The fictional Dave Black was in the Air Force the same years as my father and visited the same countries on the same timeline as my father. I never knew much about my father’s life in the service and reading his novel is providing insight into his young life. There are stories that seem incongruous with the family man with five young daughters that I knew while growing. I guess that is why I didn’t about this novel, but doesn’t answer why I didn’t know that he was a writer. I knew he was a private person, and that I am like him that respect. I guess I am more like him than I suspected.

Tucked away in his files were song-writing contracts and samples of poetry. My family used one of his poems on his memorial cards; it was a poem he wrote to my mother after they first met. I guess the song contracts and the abandoned guitar are relics of his youth. I heard rumors that my father had musical abilities, but I never had evidence of it before. It makes sense to me that his hobbies were interrupted while he raised his family. I think about the things I used to do before my son was born that I no longer do. I used to be politically active, was a member of a golf league and studied my genealogy. I can imagine my son someday saying that he never knew I did these things, especially since I’ve taken up new hobbies and may never get back to some of my old past times.

The journey through my father’s life helped me see my father as more than just a parent. I glimpsed into his life as a young unmarried man. He was a person who sang songs and wrote poetry. I understand now that he sacrificed all his hobbies to work two jobs to support his growing family. So it is as it should be; that I learn more about the rhythms of life as I get older. I’ve learned that life’s lessons are sometimes accompanied with sorrow, but that the sorrow is necessary to the lesson.

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Christmas Day

Our son could not wait for Christmas Day to begin. He woke up at 5:19 am, and was not to wake us up until 7:00 am. He had nothing but time on his hands, and he noticed a clock in his room that had not been set back at Daylight's Savings Time. He devised a plan. At 6:00 am he strode confidently into our room with the clock that said 7:00 am and announced that it was time to wake up. We didn't fall for it, so he went back to bed and waited for another agonizing hour. The clock struck 7:00 and the day began.

The day was filled with the sharing of gifts and a big Christmas feast. Phone calls and good tidings were shared with our families celebrating elsewhere. The warmth of hearth and home filled our hearts with cheer.

Good tidings to you, to you and your kin. Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year!


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Christmas Eve

The same as always Grandma came to visit, this year Grandpa will visit too.

The same as always we had fondue for dinner, this year we added asparagus.

The same as always our neighbors sent their children over with plates of cookies, this year I helped bake the cookies we sent to our neighbors.

The same as always we listened to Christmas carols, this year from the radio instead of from CD's.

The same as always we made a fire in our fireplace, this year my son tended it.

The same as always Grandma passed time doing puzzles, this year they were soduko puzzles.

The same as always there is joy in our hearts, this year tempered by Dad's passing.

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The Carnival of Christmas

Here's a Christmas present for you from Adam Graham of Adam's Blog

He has put together a very merry collection of Christmas posts.

He intoduces the Carnival with these words of greeting:

"Welcome to the First Carnival of Christmas. Below you will find a variety of postings. Many sacred, others secular, but they all reflect a Spirit of good cheer and happiness that has come in our world through Christmas."

The Carnival of Christmas

Merry Christmas!


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Seasons Greetings

There is a duality in how Christmas is celebrated. It is both inclusive and insular.

The holiday season begins with everyone celebrating together. There’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade Day and other parades where throngs of people line the streets. Merchants and shoppers greet each other with holiday greetings. The congenial spirit is shared with everyone. People start thinking of those less fortunate and charitable giving increases. There is a wealth of good tidings and cheer. People also share festivities with people that they have something in common with.

The holiday parties bring together people who share the same workplaces, church, school, club or organization. The parties foster a sense of togetherness. Friends and neighbors will gather together in each other homes, sometimes sharing small gifts and always sharing wishes for a great holiday and New Year. Greeting cards are shared with friends and family far and near. It is a wonderful time to foster community. Then the parties start getting smaller as the holiday draws near

Christmas Eve usually involves family members or close friends meeting for dinner, or perhaps opening gifts a little early. The focus starts to narrow to the people most important in your life. The days are special and the people you share them with are special too.

Christmas Day is shared with your closet family members and loved ones. This is the day that you insulate yourself from the world and hunker down with family. The stores are closed and the parties are over. It’s time for families to reconnect, to celebrate each other. It is a day of gift giving and feasts to share. It is on this day that families make memories and honor traditions.

There is something remarkable about a holiday that reconnects you with humanity, your community, your friends and neighbors and your family. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

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Gift giving – A little extra fun on Christmas morning

Gift giving and receiving is a Christmas morning tradition. Here are a few things you can do to make this tradition a little more fun and memorable.

Do any of your gifts have a remote control and make noise? Don’t wrap the remote control with the gift. Put the remote control in your pocket and every once in a while have the wrapped gift make a noise, especially while it’s getting unwrapped.

Did someone in your household get a gift last year that they didn’t use even once? Okay, go get that gift and re-wrap it and give it to them again this year. When they get that bewildered look on their face after opening it, explain that you thought the item needed another grand re-opening.

Wrap a gift within a gift. For example, if you get something for your spouse and a child size version for one of your kids here’s an idea that could be fun. Wrap the small version and label with the child’s name, then put the small and large version in a box together and wrap the box, put the adult’s name on it. When the parent opens their gift they find a gift for one of the kids. Your child will be surprised to find a gift for them presented in an unusual way.

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It's an honor

If you're not already reading Anita's Blog you should start today. She's original, she's funny, she's smart.

She gets herself into hilarious situations: Fighting Inertia: Little Miss Mishap

She bites off a little more than she can chew: Fighting Inertia: X Country on my Arse

She set off a small firestorm on Cruisecritic.com : Fighting Inertia: One Person's Nightmare is Another Person's Fantasy

She wishes to be right a little more often: Fighting Inertia: Right Again

And of course, she has her dreams: Fighting Inertia: Some Women Fantasize about Men, but I Dream of

What are you still doing here? Go read Fighting Inertia, guaranteed to make you laugh.

I want to thank Anita for nominating my blog for for Best New Blog over at The Best of the Blog Awards.

Remember to blogroll Fighting Inertia!!

Thanks!

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Candy

All Time Favorite Candy
Peppermint Patty * Caramel Cremes * Milky Way * Tootsie Rolls * Three Musketeers * Good & Plenty * Charleston Chews * Butterfinger * Milk Duds * Junior Mints * Bit O Honey * Sugar Babies * M&Ms

Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

ivoryfrog * Marie * Chickadee * TheMartins * Renee * SquashedToad * Kathy * Jennifer * Running2Ks * Kelly * Veronika * Leanne

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We are so busted!

My son has been complaining that his tooth hurts. It is one of his baby teeth and it needs to come out. He has not been eating well and complains that practicing his sax hurts. Worse yet, he tends not to brush in the area where a tooth is ready to fall out. My husband took him to the dentist today to get the tooth pulled in hopes of alleviating all these problems. It was a successful visit. We need just a little more luck tonight.

My son was dawdling instead of going to bed tonight. I went upstairs to expedite the process. He was trying to put an alarm on the door. Last year he bought this alarm from Scholastic Book Club; you stick it on your bedroom door, set it with a swipe of a card, and then if someone opens the door it goes off. I asked why he was fooling around with it instead of going to bed; he can play with it tomorrow. It had to be tonight.

Son: I want to see if you guys are really the tooth fairy.
Me: Why, don’t you trust us?
Son: Yeah but, it just doesn’t seem like someone so small can carry a pen with them and fly through the windows. Every tooth she writes me a note; one time she even did a maze I left her. I just want to make sure she’s real.

Darn, the notes foiled us. I helped him install the alarm and we tested it; it works and is really loud. You swipe it with the special card to set it, and then swipe it again to turn it off. It makes a sound so that you can tell it is set. He gave me the card, closed his door, asked me to set the alarm and then slide the special card under his door. The trap is set. Now what do we do? We better think of an idea and think it up quick!

If tomorrow, on December 22 he finds out that the tooth fairy is really his parents, what’s next? Santa?

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Some awfully good reasons why I don't have a tattoo

Quite a few of my family members have a tattoo, I don’t know why, but they do. Most of my nieces have tattoos, at least two of my sisters, and my mother has one. My mother’s is a little rose on the side of her hand, beneath her thumb. All their tattoos are pretty I guess, but I would never get one.

Tattoos are just too permanent for me. I can’t think of any tattoo that I would like for my entire life. Several times I’ve redecorated a room in my home and have loved the results, a few years later I’m ready to change it. I couldn’t do that with tattoos. I would probably end up hating my tattoos. I would start wearing clothing that strategically hid my tattoos. Imagine if I had a tattoo on my hand, what could I hide it with besides gloves? Band-Aids? I guess I could wear shirts with really long sleeves, but I would start to hate them too. What if I’m the wrong body type for long sleeves? Besides, the sleeves would find their way into every plate of food set before me. I would be limited to food colored shirts. Food colored shirts with long sleeves would be just too limiting, so I definitely won’t be putting a tattoo on my hand. However, aesthetics is not my only concern.

What if the authorities want me? I don’t want them to be able to easily identify me. I don’t want the distinguishing features section of my APB to say: Butterfly tattoo on right shoulder, rainbow tattoo on left wrist, cute little teddy bear tattoo on ankle. How embarrassing would that be? It’s not that I plan on taking up a life of crime, but sometimes innocent people are persecuted. What if a radical group called “Crazy People Who Hate Tattoos” overthrows our government? What would I do then? Live on the run? I would be terrible at living on the run; I would get too hot running around in my long sleeved shirts. I would need to keep a stash of permanent markers and color over my tattoos, and then I would have ugly stains instead of tattoos. When it rains the marker ink would start to smear causing a big ugly mess. I don’t want stained clothing for my booking photo in jail. That would annoy me. People would start annoying me too.

I can hear them now, “Oh can I see your tattoo?” I would be expected to disrobe for any yahoo that wanted to see them. Worse than that, I would be forced to politely listen to every tattoo story that pops into their heads. I bet there are people out there who critique tattoos and will make comments like: “Oh my cousin has a spider tattoo that is much better than yours.” These people would drive me nuts. I would end up hiding my tattoos so I could escape from the inane comments, then what would be the sense of having one?

But your tattoo is awfully nice, of course.

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Baking Christmas cookies isn't so hard....

I am going to make an admission that will not come as a shock to anyone who knows me well; I am terrible at all things food. I don’t cook well, I don’t bake well, I don’t even grocery shop well. Look in my refrigerator and you may find food that’s been forgotten, for a long time. I find it when it begins to smell, then I throw it out, container and all. This is the preamble to my Christmas-cookie baking story.

It’s Saturday afternoon, a friend calls and asks if I will be home later, she wants to drop something off. I told her that I’d probably be baking cookies, so she can stop over any time. She said, “Great! I’ll bring my camera.” I’ve only made Christmas cookies a couple of times in my life, but really, it can’t be that hard. I took a ton of math courses in college and know all measurement systems well. I know how to halve or double a recipe, heck; I could probably multiply it by pi and take the square root. The rest is just following directions. So I began.

The recipe is one that my husband and son regularly do at Christmas time, so my husband is familiar with it. I started mixing the wet ingredients together by hand. My husband very gently suggested that I use the beaters, so I do. I was glad he suggested that, the shortening mixed easier with the beaters. Next I had to blend in the dry ingredients, so I started adding them as I continued beating the mixture. I could tell my husband was holding back from saying something, so I asked him if I was doing it right. He very diplomatically told me that he would have used a spoon for this part, so I switched back to the spoon. I had a little trouble rolling the dough out, but my son helped me out and told me to dust the dough with more flour. So, with just that little bit of help I was able to make a batch of cookies. Now that I knew how to do it, my son and I made plans to make more today.

I had the day off from work, but since there was a big problem brewing I made sure that everyone at work knew they could reach me at home, either at my home number, or my cell phone. My son woke up and was excited to start in on those cookies. I asked him how many he wanted to make and he said two double batches. So, two double batches it was. Only a couple little mishaps making the dough; I absent mindedly added two teaspoons of mint extract instead of two teaspoons of vanilla, no biggie, we like mint. My son, not me, added the baking soda to the wet ingredients, not the dry ingredients. He also added a little too much flour, but since a double batch calls for five cups of flour a quarter cup extra can’t hurt, so we didn’t bother to re-measure. That batch went into the refrigerator to chill, and then we made the second double batch of dough. The second batch went perfectly, thank you very much. Then work began to call me.

The big problem at work was becoming a gigantic problem, the VP wanted answers, now! I set my laptop up in the kitchen and started working away while we waited for the dough to chill. Since we had already done the hard part of mixing all the ingredients I decided to bake cookies and work on the problem at work at the same time. I couldn’t disappoint my son now, could I? The dough from the first batch was really hard to roll for some reason. My son was quality control and made sure that the thickness of the dough was kept to 1/8th inch. If I handed him a cookie that was too thick he tossed it right back into the bowl of dough. Dough pieces started to drop on the floor from the roller. Flour somehow made it’s way to my clothes. The kitchen was quickly becoming a mess. If only I had time to clean all the bowls and stuff while the dough was chilling, if I wasn’t working on the big problem at work I would have. Then things started getting even worse.

I learned that when you make two double batches of cookies, the cookies start piling up fast. Soon every piece of counter space in the kitchen had something on it, cooled cookies, warm cookies, mixing bowls, ingredients not put away yet, that kind of stuff. I was still having problems with the dough, so I decided to knead it with my hands, the old fashioned way. All of a sudden I felt like I was in an I Love Lucy episode, everything started to happen at once. I’m standing there with dough-covered hands when my son, standing by an open hot stove calls to me, “Mom, where should I put these cookies?” I picked up a cooling rack with one hand to make space for the hot cookies, and then my phone rang, because of the gigantic problem at work I had to answer it. So I take my free dough-covered hand and answer it. Before I can even hear who it is my boss calls me on my cell phone, so I place the cooled cookies on top of my work papers so I have an extra hand to answer my cell phone with. Now my cell phone and the house phone are covered with dough. Clearly something has to give, I decide to put a halt to the cookie baking.

The monstrously huge problem at work demanded my full attention all afternoon, so we didn’t get back to the baking or to the clean up of the kitchen. I think my son watched Sponge Bob and played Runescape all afternoon, I can’t be sure because I was preoccupied. My husband came home this evening to the glorious mess that was formerly our kitchen. I could tell what he was thinking as he looked about at the dried cookie dough on the floor, he knew he shouldn’t have left me alone to bake four batches of cookies.

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Other posts you may enjoy:
Rockin Christmas eve
Ode to an Artificial Christmas Tree
Warning: Do Not Let Children Read This

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The tack

My mother stepped on tack a few days ago. She just got out of the shower when the phone rang. With no slippers or shoes on she raced to the living room to answer the phone. While in the hall, she stepped on a tack. She’s lucky she didn’t step on more.

My husband, son and I got into our van to visit my mother today. When we got there I picked up twenty tacks from the floor in the hall. I noticed that all the photos she kept tacked up on the wall were gone. She had packed them away a few days ago, preparing for her move to a senior living apartment.

While the family was together for Dad’s funeral we talked about whether Mom should stay in the house or move to the nearby apartments for seniors. My niece and I visited the apartments, they seemed perfect for my mother, and we picked up an application. The waiting list was four to six months before an apartment would be available. I wondered if that was too soon for my mother to start making any major changes in her life, losing her husband after 47 years of marriage seemed like enough stress for her to deal with.

We approached my mother about possibly moving to the apartments some time in the future. We went over the pros and cons of the idea. She agreed that moving there was probably a good idea. She decided to apply right away. I really have to give her a lot of credit; I know some senior citizens stubbornly refuse to leave their homes, even though it is clearly a good idea. If she felt differently in a few months, she could always say no when they called her.

Four days after she put in her application the director of the apartments called her, there was an apartment available in ten days. The director asked her if she was ready to move, she had a few days to decide. My mother called me, she didn’t want to lose a chance to get in, but this was just too fast. I agreed with my mother, it was happening too fast; she could wait for the next opportunity. She decided to accept; she would move things in slowly over the course of a month, spending one more Christmas at home.

We went to visit my mother today. We wanted to see her apartment and maybe move a few things in prior to her official move at the end of the month. I still think this move is happening too fast, but in a way I am glad. There are people around to help her if she needs help. My mother lives about 100 miles away from me, I plan on visiting her frequently. I promised my Dad I would take care of her, and someone needs to pick up the tacks.

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Just an idea

I listened as intently as possible while a young student described the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. I did get distracted watching the children, my son among them, squirm and fidget while they listened to the speakers talk about the holidays their families celebrated. Large uncovered yawns graced the young, innocent faces. Then I heard something that started me thinking.

The young student speaker said that during Ramadan all family feuds are ended. I thought about how having a time each year to put family feuds behind you could strengthen families. So often a family feud will linger because neither side wants to give in. Just imagine if your religion mandated the end of a feud. Each side could claim moral victory by reestablishing peaceful relations. The idea of ending feuds could spread outside the family.

People could stop feuding with neighbors; friends could make up with each other over unintentional slights. Politicians could even call a truce. Imagine politicians clamoring for the moral high ground and ending feuds, at least during the holidays. People all over the political spectrum declaring peace over the holidays would be a wonderful holiday gift. Wouldn’t that be sweet?

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

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Hamster heaven

Henry was running around in the kiddy pool we set up for him in the basement. My son collected paper towel rolls and other objects that a hamster would find interesting and set up a hamster playground for his pet. Henry seemed like a particularly active hamster, so we decided to be extra special nice to him and let him spend the night in the kiddy pool. We even put his regular cage in the middle of the pool so he could snuggle up in his favorite spot when he got tired. We felt like the best hamster owners ever, ready for the Good Housekeeping Hamster Owners of the Year award.

The next day my son went down to the basement to visit Henry. A minute later he came running upstairs and exclaimed tearfully, “Henry isn’t moving.” My husband and I ran downstairs in a mad dash to perform hamster CPR. Sure enough, Henry wasn’t moving. My husband picked Henry up and whispered to me, “He’s toast.” He said Henry felt cold, and then Henry took a little breath.

Now that Henry was gravely ill and not dead we scurried to set up a hamster emergency room. Henry took a breath every one or two minutes and was still not moving. I sprang to my keyboard and scoured the Internet. His symptoms most closely matched a cold or the flu. We should keep him warm and give him fluids. My husband held Henry cupped in his hands to warm him up. I got an eyedropper and mixed some milk and warm water in a cup. I placed a drop near Henry’s mouth. We waited and waited. Henry breathed a little breath every once in a while, but seemed near death. I typed more feverishly, my husband held Henry, my son held vigil. I tried to comfort my son and prepare him for Henry’s last breath.

Suddenly Henry jumped. Jubilation erupted. Then Henry lay motionless again. I typed more; my husband and son gently petted Henry. Henry started to breathe a little more regularly, and then he started drinking the milk. Then he seemed perfectly normal, just like his old self. There was much rejoicing but something was very odd here and I was going to find out what it was.

I went back to the Internet and read, and read about hamsters. I became a treasure trove of hamster lore. Finally, I began to piece together this mystery. The basement was dark and cold. Henry the hamster was hibernating. He was perfectly healthy. Some pet owners would have mistakenly buried their hibernating hamsters. Lucky for Henry, we didn’t.

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What should have been a much shorter story

I turned it on and it didn’t work, no picture, no sound, nothing. So my husband and I took the TV back to where we got it, Sears, where Americans shop.

A few days later we picked it up at the appointed time and the repairman said he couldn’t find anything wrong with it. That seemed odd, so we brought the TV home.

I turned it on and it worked fine. I turned it on the next day and it didn’t work again. So my husband and I took it back to Sears.

The repairman could find nothing wrong again. We took the TV home again.

I turned it on and it worked fine. I turned it on the next day and it didn’t work again. So my husband and I took it back to Sears, but we didn’t bring it in. We just drove it around the parking lot at Sears and then took it back home.

I turned it on and it worked fine. I turned it on the next day and it didn’t work again. So my husband unplugged the TV, then he plugged it back in.

I turned it on and it worked fine. I turned it on the next day and it didn’t work again. So my husband and I took it back to Sears. This time we told the repairman to let it play for a while, then to turn it off for a while, and then see if it works.

This time the repairman said he fixed it.

I turned it on and it worked fine. I turned it on the next day and it took a minute to warm up, but then it worked fine. The next day it took couple minutes to warm up, and each successive each day it took progressively longer. Unplugging didn’t help it anymore either.

I had to start making plans to watch TV. If I wanted to watch a show at 9:00, I would turn the TV on at 8:30. It wasn’t long before I would just turn it on in the morning before I left for work.

Every day I passed Sears on the way to work; one day I stopped in and bought a new TV.

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Thirteen Things - All time Favorite TV Shows

All Time Favorite TV Shows
All in the Family * Carol Burnett Show * Cheers * Dallas * Desperate Housewives * Flamingo Road + Friends * MASH * Seinfeld * Star Trek- The Next Generation * Survivor The Tonight Show * X-Files

Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

Neville Farm Lazy Daisy Log: Thursday Thirteen #2 Diary of the Nello: Thursday Thirteen #2 YellowRose's Garden: Thursday Thirteen #3 - Christmas Memories Happy at Home: Thursday 13! Jen's Horde: Thursday Thirteen #8 HeartSongs: Thursaday Thirteen Lameass Edition A Day In The Life Of Veronika Ocean Lady's Island fefyfomanna: OOOOh lookie! it's Thursday 13! True Blue Semi-Crunchy Mama: A Thankful Thursday Thirteen The Shizzle My Single Mom Life: Thursday Thirteen #1 Whisperings From The Wings: A Day Late............Thursday Thirteen Cozy Reader: Something New --Thursday Thirteen (but on Saturday this week!)

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Harvest moon

I pushed my doll carriage towards the back corner of the lawn. My sister, Janet, pushed hers towards the other corner. We were trying to get as close as possible to the giant moon at the end of our yard. I shouted “The moon’s closer to me!” Janet shouted, “No, it’s closer to me.” We switched sides, guiding our buggies across the lawn, giggling as we passed each other, and the moon followed each of us. This clearly amused both of us because we switched sides several times. Once when we met in the middle, we stood side by side and thrust our fingers as high in the sky as four and five year olds could and pointed to the moon. I could clearly see that the moon was closer to me than it was to my sister. We argued gleefully about it until our mother called us in for night.

Oftentimes I returned to the backyard of my childhood for family picnics or just a visit. Memories of that harvest moon, hanging low in the sky usually accompanied me. The picnics usually played out the same way, Dad at the barbecue, my mother running back and forth from the house ferrying food to the picnic table. My sisters and I would amuse ourselves watching our children play in a kiddy pool or spray each other with the hose. The best of the picnics were bountiful in food and laughter.

Now that Dad is gone, Mom will be selling the house. What will happen to the harvest moon in the backyard? Will it follow us?

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My father was a poet and I didn't even know it

The desk had some unopened mail on it, diabetic supplies and a few mementos. My mother placed my father's wallet on the right side of the desk. I sat in my father's desk chair for the first time. He had converted one of the bedrooms into an office after most of his five daughters had grown up and moved out. I thought about where to start, so I started with his wallet. I never saw the inside of his wallet before and it felt really strange to be looking in it now, like I was invading my Dad's privacy. If he caught me looking in his wallet he would be furious, it was something I never contemplated doing, until now of course. I felt like a guilty child looking at his credit cards and license. I was paranoid that he was going to walk in, but he wasn't going to of course, because he had passed away. The funeral director had instructed me to collect a few things to bring to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I was looking for life insurance policies and service records from when Dad was in Air Force, and other things necessary to settle his affairs.

So I began the journey through my father's desk and other files. This was going to be tougher than I thought. I thought I would open a desk drawer and there would be a neatly filed folder under I for insurance. I was wrong. I seriously doubt the man ever threw out a piece of mail. Every utility bill from 1963 through 2005 was present and accounted for. The bills weren't always in the same folder, same drawer or even the same room, but they were all there. I soon forgot the purpose at hand and started looking at letters and pictures and all kinds of things I had never seen before. I was getting the first glimpse into my father's private life. I found some old faded song contracts from 1962 and then I found thirteen neatly typed chapters of a book. I didn't know he was a writer! I asked my mother if she had read it, she said she had; I asked her if it was any good, she said, "Not really." My sister suggested, at that moment, that I should be the one who reads it and lets the rest of the family know what it is about. I plan on getting to it soon. The next discovery was some poems he had written and published on poetry.com. My Dad was publishing on the internet and he didn't tell his family about it. I read the poems, and I have to concede that my Dad was not a poet laureate. None the less, one of them has become my favorite poem. I've included it below.

Father

A father is something one must have,
to live a rich full life.
There is just one other thing,
he must also have a wife.
A father does many things,
to make you happy true.
Tell him your problems.
For his wisdom will always help you.

A father has to make a home,
fill your stomach every day.
And he doesn't seem to mind,
if it takes all his pay.

He feels in his heart a little hurt,
when the weddings start to roll.
For on his face appears a smile,
he has reached his goal

-My Dad

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The Holiday Cheer Finds Me

Why is it that some people dislike the holiday letters that come with Christmas cards? I’ve always loved reading these letters. I’ve heard the most common excuses for not liking them and I just don’t buy into any of them.

I feel if you're someone who I care to know about, I'm going to know what's going on in your life throughout the year; I don't need a letter to update me.

There are plenty of people I’ve lost touch with but enjoy getting an update on their life. I’ve moved around quite a bit and over time the people I live near and can do things with become closer. I like to keep ties to my old friends, and holiday letters are one great way to do it.

They are too sickly sweet and everything is so perfect, my family pales in comparison.

I think sickly sweet is charming, besides, who wants to write a depressing holiday letter? Seems to me that the people who complain about cheerful letters would complain even more if people wrote about their problems in the letters. The whole idea of comparing my family to the letter writer’s family is something I’ve never done. I realize they are trying to put their best foot forward on a generic letter with wide distribution. Besides, the people I get letters from are my friends and I’m inclined to think favorably about receiving any kind of letter from them. Since they are my friends, I know they had the normal trials and tribulations of life when I was closer to them, and they probably still do. I’m glad they don’t clutter up a letter that is supposed to be spreading holiday cheer with that stuff.

They're too boring, monotonous and self-centered.

Well, maybe some are boring, but not the ones I read. I am truly interested in reading about their life. Since the letters are an update on what is going on with them, I’m glad they are self-centered. I’m not interested in hearing what they have to say about others.

Holiday letters are an excuse to brag.

Not every one of my friends is an accomplished writer; the so-called bragging just may be a clumsy attempt at sharing some positive news. I don’t automatically label friends braggarts on the basis of their holiday letters; I would need more proof of their boastfulness. If they don’t brag in person then I give my friends the benefit of the doubt. If they do brag in person, then they are likely not my friends.

Holiday letters are written in the spirit of generosity and good will, as a way to keep in touch. Accept them in that spirit; let them brighten your life. They brighten mine.

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Rockin’ Christmas Eve

My mother roused me from my sleep and whispered for me to be quiet. Groggily, I followed her out of my room, down the hall to her bedroom. This was unusual, the only previous time she had awakened me in the middle of the night was when the Beatles were on TV. That night my sister and I sat on the couch, yawning in our white flannel nightgowns with a little pink bow decorating the fronts. My stomach hurt from the shock of being awake so late, but I didn’t say a word because my mother might send me back to bed if I did. I cared not at all about the Beatles, but I was not going to miss a chance at watching TV late at night, that was somehow important to me as a child. Mom thought that this was an item of cultural importance and didn’t want us to miss it. So there I sat, suppressing yawns, sick to my stomach watching some people I didn’t know sing on TV, and loving every moment of it.

So now, when my mother asked me to follow her in the middle of the night, I did so happily, eager for what the night would bring. She swung open the door to her bedroom and the grandeur of what I saw made my jaw drop; the entire bed was covered with toys! It was Christmas Eve and this year, for the first time, I was going to help my mother wrap the presents. Where she had hidden the presents before that night was a mystery and with five young daughters in the house it was quite a feat. I felt so special conferring quietly with my mother about which of my sisters would receive which toy as I helped tape the Christmas paper around the packages. It was an acknowledgement that I was growing up, that I could be trusted with matters of great importance. It was the best Christmas present my mother ever gave me.

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Other posts you may enjoy:
Ode to an Artificial Christmas Tree
Baking Christmas Cookies isn't So Hard
Warning: Do Not Let Children Read This

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The CAT Scan

The Phone Calls
The First Night

It was raining as I turned onto my parent’s street, the street I grew up on. Construction crews had removed the black top from the street as part of an effort to replace the water pipes in the neighborhood. The driveways were a foot higher than the street and the crews put rocks and gravel near them so residents could get their cars in. It was the middle of November, and luckily the weather was extremely warm allowing work to continue. The weather also allowed my father, who was retired, to supervise the work from his front yard. He was a familiar fixture to the work crews and the neighbors, making sure that the roads were passable so that he and his neighbors could get into their driveways. I navigated my way around construction vehicles to my parent’s house. I got out of my car and looked at the large puddle in the driveway right behind my father’s van. Lying discarded on the grass was the large wooden pole my father used to keep the door open while he loaded his scooter into the car. My mind started to reconstruct the events of the previous afternoon, my father’s collapse while loading his scooter into the back of his van, the puddle where he landed face down, the construction workers who came to his aid. As I returned the pole to the garage, my mother emerged from the house and we headed to the hospital.

I hit the button for the sixth floor as we entered the hospital’s elevator. We passed by the room labeled Family Meeting Room. I imagined my mother, myself and my sisters gathered around the table, a doctor in a white coat guiding us through difficult decisions. My father did not have a living will, nor had he explicitly expressed his wishes. Nonetheless it was a foregone conclusion what he would want, for his family well understood his motivations.

The long hall to the cardiac care unit took us past a nurse’s station. The nurses were talking gaily to each other, a sharp contrast from the nurses in the cardiac unit where the warning bells from their monitors needed their constant attention.

My father had a nurse assigned only to him, his condition warranting round the clock constant care. This nurse was male, as was the nurse the night before. I inquired about my father’s condition. Dad was running a fever and his blood pressure was very low. The nurse was busy putting icepacks around his neck and groin to bring his temperature down. They were trying to stabilize his blood pressure using drugs. They were embarking on the fourth drug, the previous three having no effect. The CAT scan of his brain was going to start soon. I watched as they prodded and pushed at my father in their efforts to keep him alive. I thought about how much my father had disliked being in the hospital. I left my mother and father to go to the lobby to call the rest of the family to update them on the morning’s news.

When I returned the technician who was going to perform the CAT scan showed up. He wheeled machinery into my father’s room and they began connecting the machinery to my father. My mother and I were in the way so we headed toward the little staff conference room where we spent the previous evening. The head nurse informed us that the room was off limits because of problems they had been having with theft. We stayed in the hall around the corner, away from the action. My mom uses a cane to walk so I looked around for a chair for her. There was an abandoned wheel chair nearby, I locked the wheels and had her sit there. I leaned against the wall and passed the time studying a hospital floor plan on the wall. After some time had passed I asked about how the CAT scan was going, the nurse said it would be complete in about forty-five minutes. My mother and I headed downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch. My sister Janet joined us there.

My mother, sister and I headed upstairs to my father’s room. The CAT scan was just finishing up, I asked the technician about the results. He said he just performs the tests and a neurologist analyzes the results. So we waited, my mother, Janet and I. We watched as IV’s were replaced, monitors checked, while hospital staff talked in hushed tones about what the monitors were telling them. We left Dad’s hospital room when the nurses needed to reposition him for one reason or another.

The head nurse came in to talk to us. The CAT scan showed low brain activity. She informed us that my father’s kidneys had shut down and that it was likely other organs had shut down as well. I asked her if I should have my sister in North Carolina come up, the nurse nodded. I went down to the lobby and called my sister Liz. I gave her the news about Dad, I told her to hurry and get here quickly. I went back to my father’s room, his nurse was there, still prodding, still working to save Dad’s life. I thanked him for working so hard; he quietly told me it was a losing battle. I called Liz again; she found flights that would get her and her daughter Tiffany into the Syracuse airport at 9:30 that night. I told her to prepare for the possibility that Dad would be gone before they got here; the news was breaking her heart. I called the rest of my family. My mother was tired and wanted to return home. I spoke to the head nurse; I told her that I would return with my sister and niece tonight, around 10 pm. I drove Janet and my mother home, leaving my father there at the hospital, alone.

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The First Night

The Phone Calls

It is easy to drive along the New York State Thruway, even at night. It would take about an hour and a half to reach the Upstate Medical Center in Syracuse. I left the radio off so I could think without distraction. Thoughts of my father, my mother and my childhood ran through my mind. I concentrated on the past, the future was uncertain.

I entered the large, white lobby of the hospital and walked towards the information desk. I told the woman I was there to see my father, he was on the sixth floor, in the cardiac unit. She gave me a little green badge to wear and directions to my father’s room. I showed my badge to the security guard in the lobby. I had never encountered a security guard in a hospital before, was this something new since 9/11?

I took the elevator to the sixth floor and towards the cardiac unit. I passed through the heavy metal doors at the end of a long hallway. There was a long u-shaped desk flanked by machines and monitors. I told the woman behind the desk I was there to see my Dad, she pointed to the room right next to the desk. I glanced towards the room, there was a man turning my father over. I quickly averted my eyes because my father was sans clothing. The woman behind the desk, sensing my discomfort, directed me to a little room where she said my mother was waiting.

I reached the small staff conference room where my mother was sitting on a chair, my niece Becky beside her. Small metal lockers covered one wall of the room; a conference table, chairs, refrigerator and sink were crammed into the remaining space. My mother relayed the days events to me, how it was that we here, waiting. She told me of Dad’s collapse near his car, how a construction worker lifted my Dad’s face from a puddle lest he drown. She spoke of how the worker held my Dad, until the ambulance came. The chaplain from Oneida City Hospital visited my father that afternoon. My father’s condition was grim, and they transferred him to a larger hospital in Syracuse. He was unconscious since his collapse. I asked my mother what the doctors were saying; she said she had not talked to them yet. Becky and I started calling my sisters, giving them updates. I scribbled their cell phone numbers into my address book, where before tonight, just their home phone numbers sufficed.

I decided to go see Dad again; this time he had a hospital gown on. Two nurses were attending him. They were a flurry of constant motion. They were trying to stabilize his vital signs. Whistles blew and IV’s were changed. Alarms sounded and adjustments were made to the machinery keeping him alive. He was not breathing on his own, his eyes were open, his gaze fixed. I was in the way, the gracious hospital staff kindly working around me. I went back to the little room to wait with my mother and Becky.

Another hour passed, I tried again to see my Dad. The nurses were still with him, never leaving his side. He needed constant care; I went back to the little room with the lockers. Becky and I made another round of calls to our family.

A little before 11:00 pm a doctor came in to our little room and asked my Mom for the details surrounding his collapse. She was trying to ascertain the length of time between his collapse and the arrival of the ambulance. It seemed that if the number of minutes were greater than four, her suspicions were confirmed; it was likely that my father’s brain had been damaged. The minutes were greater than four. Suddenly another doctor appeared and he began asking my mother the same questions. This doctor began explaining my father’s likely condition in more detail. Suddenly a large knot formed in my chest as the doctor was speaking. My forehead began to perspire and I felt very warm, so I removed my jacket, I glanced towards the small sink in the room, there were no cups and I was very thirsty, I needed to lie down. The two doctors in the room noticed my distress and quickly came to my aid. I was lying in a reclining chair with a cold glass of juice within 20 seconds. Unfortunately this ended our session with the doctors. They said that after they stabilized my father that night, they would run a CAT scan to determine whether his brain suffered any damage from his fall. Becky and I made another round of phone calls, and then we left the hospital.

The CAT Scan

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Thursday Thirteen: What I like about Christmas

What I like about Christmas
Our neighborhood Christmas party
Peanut butter cookies with a Hersheys Kiss
Gifts under the tree
Brightly colored wrapping paper
Christmas cards from friends and family
Christmas letters from distant friends
Our Christmas tree
The ornaments on our tree
Outside Christmas lights
Christmas stockings
Santa Claus
"Twas the Night Before Christmas" story
Christmas carols

Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

Leanne Wildermuth : Artist by Nature Blog » Blog Archive » Thursday Thirteen #16 HeartSongs » Thursday Thirteen - Holidailies Edition Happy at Home fefyfomanna: My silly car stories... Thursday 13 Jen's Horde: Nativity Thursday Thirteen Lazy Daisy Log: Thursday Thirteen True Blue Semi-Crunchy Mama :: 13 more memories about the holiday season :: December :: 2005 City Soul: Thursday 13 peri's postings: Thursday Thirteen Mrs. Fun Daydreams and Musings: Thursday Thirteen - Mood swing edition Suspension of Disbelief Shake it Like a Polaroid Picture: Thirteen Thursday-It's Getting Closer! The Shizzle VIP: Thursday ThirteenHollys Happenings: Thursday ThirteenFireflies & Frogs: Thursday Thirteen Through the Storms to the Horizon: thurs 13
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The Phone Calls

I drove into the garage, stopping only when my windshield hit the little red ball suspended from the ceiling, hanging there so I wouldn’t park too close to the end of the garage. I had a long night ahead of me, the presentation at work the next day needed much more work.

As I opened the side door into the house, I hit the button to close the garage door; the grinding gears announced my arrival home. My son walked hurriedly toward me, shadowed by the bright lights from the kitchen behind him. I greeted him with my customary “Hi Sweetie”, expecting his customary “Hi Mom” back. This evening he had no time for greetings; he said only “Your father had a heart attack.” He looked at my face, studying it for my reaction. I turned quickly towards the kitchen, looking for my husband; I needed confirmation of the news, before I would fully believe it. He was on the phone, I moved swiftly towards him, he handed me the phone and said, “It’s your mother.”

She spoke quickly, starting with her customary “Barbara, it’s me. Daddy had a heart attack this afternoon, I’m on my way to the hospital, they transferred him to Upstate. Can you call Liz, I couldn’t get a hold of her.”

“Mom, Mom, wait, how is he? Is he okay?”

“It doesn’t look good, he was putting his stupid scooter in the back of the car and he collapsed. Pam from across the street saw him and came and told me. I got a blanket for him and then called 911. I gotta go, I gotta get to the hospital”

“Should I come?”

“No, you don’t need to do that, it’s late. He’s at the University Hospital, sixth floor, area 6C. Call Liz.”

“Okay Ma, I’ll call Liz.”

I hung up the phone and stood frozen in the darkened family room. My father had been in the hospital many times before, but somehow this was different, it seemed more urgent. A few moments later, the phone rang, it was my sister Liz, she was crying.

“Barb, what happened?”

“Dad’s in the hospital, he had a heart attack.”

I told her the small amount of information I knew. Then I asked her, “Should I go to the hospital?”

She said, “I would if I lived closer.” I could tell that she regretted, at that moment anyway, that she moved so far from home. North Carolina seemed farther away from New York than usual.

It was decided; I packed up a suitcase with enough clothes for a couple of days and got ready to leave. My son asked me what his grandfather’s favorite candy was; I told him he liked Butterfingers. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with three small Butterfingers from his Halloween candy. He asked me to give them to his grandfather. I promised him I would as I slipped them into my purse. I left for the hospital.

The First Night
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Ode to an Artificial Christmas Tree

My husband and I both call upstate New York home. It’s snow country and pine trees are big and plentiful. It’s a beautiful marriage for those in the Christmas tree business. I just saw my neighbor unpacking one from the back of his SUV last night. I imagined the happy faces of his children when he brought it inside.

My husband and I were engaged under the light of a real Christmas tree. That is certainly a wonderful memory. We were definitely "real tree" people.

Early in our marriage we decided to move to New Jersey. Our first Christmas in the Garden State we set out full of holiday spirit to buy a Christmas tree. When we got to the place that sold them, something wasn't right, it just wasn’t the same as we were used to. The selection of trees was small and they seemed well, puny. One thing that wasn’t puny was the price; we were getting sticker shock. The trees cost nearly five times what we were accustomed to paying. My husband’s family usually cut down trees from their property, for free! There was no way we were going to shell out that kind of cash for a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. We contemplated driving to New York to buy a tree, but instead we decided to look into the possibility of an artificial tree, at least while we lived in Jersey. Lo and behold, the artificial trees cost less than the real trees, and we could reuse it. Jersey inhabitants are big on recycling and reusing, so we felt like we were doing our duty as citizens of the fair state buying that tree.

It was a big glorious tree, it didn’t scream artificial at you. We brought the tree home and set it up. First we set up the base, and then we took each branch and attached it to the tree. The branches are all had little colored tags that match to a diagram indicating which branch goes where, the longer branches at the bottom, the shorter near the top. You fluff up the branches before attaching them to the tree. When you are done the tree stands up, with no ropes attached to pieces of furniture or the walls, and without a single swear word. You know what else, the tree fit inside our home without having to get a saw out. But the fun didn’t stop there, the tree looked great decorated. It was symmetrical and realistic. Our friends and family thought it was authentic until we told them otherwise.

There were many other things that we learned to like about that tree, it didn’t need watering, didn’t shed needles, lasted the whole month and didn’t end up littering the side of the road when we were done with it. After Christmas we simply took the ornaments off and packed it up with the rest of the holiday decorations. My cat didn’t like climbing this tree as well as the real ones. I do have to admit he looked cute peering out from the middle of the real trees, however, having the tree toppled over from his shenanigans was tiresome.

The next year we decided to put the tree up early, just because we could. We didn’t need to get in the car and go anywhere; we simply pulled our Christmas decorations out from storage and went to work. Once again we had a beautiful tree, no fuss and no mess. This artificial thing was growing on us. The next year was just as easy.

We moved back to New York after three years in New Jersey, back to the land of cheap and plentiful Christmas trees. We had to think about whether we were going to go back to a real tree. After three years of living with the advantages of the artificial tree, we just couldn’t go back, our tree had grown on us. We continued to use our artificial tree without apology.

Nine years after we bought the artificial tree our beloved son was born. We took pictures of him under the Christmas tree as a baby playing with the low hanging ornaments. We strategically placed the child-safe ones near the bottom of the tree just so he could enjoy the tree up close. Every Christmas of his ten year old life we have followed the same tradition during the holidays. On the night before Thanksgiving we set the tree up. Thanksgiving morning, while watching the parades on TV and waiting for the turkey to cook, we decorate it. We hang the ornaments we bought as souvenirs from our vacations while reminiscing about the good times we had. We also have many beautiful hand-crafted ornaments my husband’s mother made that we enjoy decorating the tree with, they are family treasures. A few years ago my son decided we need to put every one of our hundreds of ornaments on the tree, we liked it so well it’s now a tradition. So we load up the tree with ornaments, then we set up a train track and model train to run around the tree. We then bask in the glory of the newly decorated tree while we enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner. We all look forward to Thanksgiving because our spirits are high with the promise of the holidays before us, as we gather round the Christmas tree.

We’ve had that tree for nineteen years now, the same exact tree. Christmas wouldn't feel right without our tree. It's part of our family’s traditions, it’s beautiful.

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Other posts you may enjoy:
Rockin Christmas eve
Baking Christmas Cookies isn't So Hard
Warning: Do Not Let Children Read This

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Holidailies

I made a brash decision and decided to join Holidailies 2005. Bloggers that join pledge to create a blog post daily from December 7 until January 6. The best posts will be featured on the Holidailies site. I heard about the Holidailies over at Michele : The Holidailies Are Coming.

One of the newer bloggers on my blogroll, Minerva from A Woman of Many Parts, has joined. It will be a real treat to read her blog every day.

Registration for Holidailies has ended, but you can still participate by joining Holidailies: Holidailies at Home.

One of the great writers from the Thursday Thirteen crowd has joined Holidailies at Home, YellowRose of YellowRoses Garden.

Update: Karin from HeartSongs has also joined Holidailies at Home, she's another outstanding author from my blogroll.

Bloggers can submit pictures as well as the written word. Luckily for me we just got a brand new digital camera. I hope to get a few decent shots up on my blog.

Wish us luck!

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Teh Blogfather: My Blog Review

Teh Blogfather: The Latest Blog Reviews 5 :: Free Blog Promotion :: Blog Review

I kissed teh ring! Teh Godfather reviewed my site. Click the link above and scroll about 40% down the page to see my review.

You can now call me "Barbaraaaaa "Tha Catcher" Accountinatooooor!"

Visit Teh Blogfather and get your review.

Related Link: Trying to Catch Up: Teh Blogfather

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Thursday Thirteen - Places I've Lived

Places I've Lived Amarillo, TX * Jersey City, NJ * Wampsville, NY * Canastota, NY * Parsippany, NJ * Morrisville, NY * Poughkeepsie, NY * Hewlett, NY * Wappingers Falls, NY * Wiccopee, NY * Edison, NJ * Irondequoit, NY * Webster, NY Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

leanne Running 2K’s Tommi Craig MommaK Yellowrose Squashed Toad Uisce Dawn Renee J&J's Mom Angie novaks8 TC Texas_Ivy10 Sallwood Jessica Jen Better Safe Than Sorry Rashbre Lisa Veronika

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