Looks like we’ve moved into a more seasonal weather pattern. Rain, some sleet, chilly wind. The snow was absolutely lovely, but I’m just as happy not to shovel. The photo opportunities in the snow are amazing and it has been a few years since I caught something so beautiful. Here’s me just missing Jack Frost the last morning of our big snowstorm.
Last night I dreamed I was applying to rejoin the Foreign Service. I took a multiple choice exam and wrote an essay (in longhand, no less) and Dana Carvey graded it on the spot. He had several comments on my essay, including several word changes. These are common in the Foreign Service, changing things like glad to happy and back again, sometimes simply to show your mark. Dana Carvey handed back first my essay (on which I got the ambiguous 4) and I wasn’t sure if I’d passed or not. Then he handed back the multiple choice test and I passed with flying colors. In my dream, I was thrilled at the chance to try for the Foreign Service again, and fairly certain I would pass the next phases of interviews. When I woke up, I was alarmed that I would even think such a thing, asleep or not.
Since I haven’t ever thought about returning, I let my mind run over the scenario in the shower. There have been changes, perhaps my partner and child wouldn’t be shut out of so many things. But also, there’s my irrational fear of the language testers. The mistreatment of officers doing management work. The overall poor supervisory skills and the age-old customs that make this a continuing problem. I pictured myself greeting another Head of State and the glamorous bits and pieces of traveling the world, showing my child and wife new and fantastic things, and having a salary that defies logic (for me). I wondered if the program continued that would let me back in at my former status. I wondered if I would care if it didn’t.
And then I got soap in my eye. At least, something made my eyes water.
I’ve made a choice – an excellent one – and I don’t regret it one bit. But I’d never let my mind wander like that before, to consider the very possible what-ifs. And as much as I’ll miss the chance to give my family the world, I’m so so happy to be able to give them me. And they wouldn’t have gotten that otherwise.
Every morning I wake up disappointed that it isn’t spring. Since last week, I’ve been cracking open one eye and measuring the light. It’s dim. It’s always dim. But I convince myself it’s early. Everyone is sleeping, it must be very early. I listen for the birds and I don’t hear anything. The birds would be tweeting wildly if it was lighter, less cloudy. If it was spring. I’m not convinced yet. I take a deep breath and stretch every muscle, feeling for a dry chill in the air, hoping that instead my toes and fingers will push into liquid humidity, warm sunshine, lazy dust motes.
It isn’t spring. I know that by the musty heat I’m breathing in. The way the sky peeps through the blinds looking overcast regardless of the hour. The birds are silent. Still, I lay there for an extra minute and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that when I open them I’ll see green grass and feel heat on the window pane. It hasn’t worked yet. I’ll keep trying for a few months. I suspect, with some dedication, I’ll eventually wish things warm.
My in-laws are in town today. They were here yesterday and will be gone tomorrow. I hope. My mother-in-law said something like, “Well, we packed extra clothes for about a week. You never know when you might want to stay a bit longer.”
You never know.
I know though. I know that I’m delighted they came to see us this year, given last year’s debacle. I know I’m very happy to have spent the holidays with family, instead of abroad as has so often happened. I know that I’m going to be an excellent mom and that I have a previously untapped well of patience for children. On the other hand, I know that I have a negative amount of patience for my mother and D’s mother. I know that some things will drive me to drink – like this:
Look folks, when you’re visiting someone’s house, it’s okay to keep your water glass, not wanting to dirty up someone else’s kitchen. But, if your host has taken your empty water glass from the evening before and washed it after you went to sleep, you are not justified in saying, “If I put this glass in the refrigerator, will it be safe? I’m just trying to keep it safe.”
You’ve got no excuse if you leave the house for the afternoon and when your daughter-in-law opens the fridge said glass is empty. It’s not holding any liquid, it’s not storing anything that you’re going to drink later. It’s empty. Put it in the sink and get a new glass dammit.
Well, it’s the small battles. I know tomorrow I can wash as many dishes as I want to.
In the time we’ve been together, we’ve been building traditions. We’ve got one or two here and there (a mix cd on Valentine’s Day, she scoops the pumpkin guts, staying home with appetizers on New Year’s Eve) but on Christmas, we’ve amassed more than a few. Some of them are traditional and come from our families. Some traditions we don’t manage every year. Some are more habit than tradition. Some are you and me, every year, I love you traditions.
An orange in the toe of my stocking. Chocolate coins. At least one silly gift (this year, terrified pickles). Stockings first, before breakfast even. She wakes me with “Merry Christmas”. If there’s company, then homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast and turkey for supper. Fried oysters on Christmas Eve (or tamales, depending on which side of the Mississippi we’re on). At least one gift from Santa. Marking the year on the bottom of new ornaments. Making cookies, candy, toffee. Small gifts (more expensive things happen on birthdays). Every year, a wind-up toy. Tears every single time I hang that reindeer ornament.
You might have some of these with your own families. I hope you do. Here’s to building more in the future.
Shirley Temple
Fill glass halfway with ice
Pour lemony-limey soda onto ice
Top off with a tablespoon or two of grenadine
Add one maraschino cherry
Serve, drink.
We had a fantastic dinner last night at a local high-end southern restaurant. The atmosphere was perfect. For someone with splitting headaches, finding the careful balance of ceiling lights, spotlights and candlelight is a precarious undertaking. Fortunately, there was nothing to interfere with my fantastic biscuits with honey, shrimp and grits or ribs.
The booth was cozy and under a heat vent – completely welcome on a chilly night. The air was cheery; chatter from the bar, low conversation from leather booths, clinking glasses and soft gusts from the swinging door. Normally, we’d have some inventive alcoholic beverage, but given we’re awaiting Vega’s* June arrival, we went virgin for this holiday. Suits me, that’s one less headache trigger to worry about. Neither she nor I could think of any virgin drinks to try aside from the super fruity ones, so I ordered a pair of Shirley Temples. I know, how 7 yrs old. We didn’t know what was in them but they were delicious nonetheless.
It was a perfect cap to a fantastic Christmas Eve.
I’m not sure why we don’t shop like this every year.
D and I usually exchange gifts on the 25th. Small gifts generally, things we think the other would like. We were going to skip that this year in favor of something bigger but scrapped it and were left with nothing. So we braved the holiday traffic and mobs to drive an hour to a place where there are a lot of shops crammed together. A mall I suppose, but outdoors. With a $50 limit, I was planning to buy a couple of smaller things and focus on not panicking in the crowds.
So, plans in place, we went to sleep last night excited about our plans. And then I woke up at 3 with a splitting headache. Sure, it was the same headache I’ve had off and on for four days but it had been gone for a few hours earlier and I was hoping I was off the hook. Lies. So I spent the wee hours wishing my ache away and watching infomercials. As you do. At 5, I fell back asleep, armed with advil. At 8, she woke me up and my headache jangled around in one eye, trying to shred my brain. At 10, we left to shop. 30 minutes in, we had to stop so I could buy sunglasses. 45 minutes in, we had to stop so I could toss my breakfast on to the side of the road. When we arrived, I gave in and took the medication that might be causing rebound headaches but it’s christmas and I don’t care.
I was prepared to possibly die today in clouds of aftershave, pushy, last minute shoppers and screaming children. In fact, the only crowds I encountered were in the tech heavy stores (along with overwhelming cologne – seriously guys, lay off in a public place) and the only kid that screamed had every reason to, being short one coat in the freezing cold. D and I shopped separately, leisurely, and both had a wonderful time finding things for each other. We capped it off with a visit to a pet store that miraculously had the special food our special dog needs and lunch with a queer server. Talk about a christmas score.
So, tonight we’re celebrating with a gift certificate to an upscale Southern restaurant that our realtor gave us and tomorrow we’ll unwrap those gifts bought with love and leisure. Who knew christmas eve could be so mellow?
Dear coworkers,
I know you’re going stir crazy. I know you haven’t been to the grocery store since last weekend because you didn’t go with the frenzied masses on Friday evening. You must be hungry, too. I’m sure you ran out of toilet paper, milk and bread two hours after the first flake fell. But that’s not important. What matters here is that you are trapped in your house and you couldn’t get out if you wanted to.
At first, I was deeply sympathetic. You mean they didn’t plow your road? Wow! I’m sure you can’t take your sedan out – two feet is a lot! Then, I was a little skeptical. You mean they didn’t plow your road yet? Wow…that must be difficult. And your driveway is all blocked in? Well, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow. But now, three days after the snow stopped, I’m afraid my patience has run out.
Look people, my road is slick too. There is slush and the snow is heavy. I spent a lot of time shoveling a path for the car, a path for the dog and a path for the mailman. But the key word is shoveling. You actually have to do it. You can’t wait for some miracle of weather conditions to magically melt your obscured walks and drives. I’m sorry you have only a garden spade. Use it. My neighbors did.
The point is, you can’t play on people’s sympathy if “the guy” didn’t come by to plow you out. He’s busy. He can’t even get the main thoroughfares plowed. He’s not coming to your house. You still have to work, shop, leave your house, and there isn’t any excuse not to put on some boots, come outside and do your civic duty. I’m sure the post office, ups, paper delivery and holiday solicitors would appreciate it. Most have us have managed to shovel. As each day goes by, you are losing goodwill. I’m much less likely to be understanding when I’m working alone, again, because you are too lazy to pick up a shovel.
Look, it’s not melting. Get to it. Love, me.
This gift giving season has been an awkward one for us. The people we like to give gifts to need things we can’t always give – groceries, elder care, a job, a visit from social services. We’re doing our best by providing toys, a weekend away from chaos, food and fresh fruit, and fun when there hasn’t been any. At some points we felt awkward about picking something not specifically asked for and at others we were elated to have stumbled on a stroke of gifting genius. Either way, we ended the day today happily confident we’d ended up more on the side of the latter than the former.
Somehow, we’ve let gifts for each other slide. We usually reserve bigger gifts for birthdays but this year we agreed to get one thing that we’ve wanted but was too expensive to justify generally. But you know, in the end it really was too expensive to justify and we can completely live without it. So that leaves us with nothing to give to each other. We’re both feeling it in the same way – I wish I had something to wrap and give to her. It isn’t really a holiday without seeing her face light up.
I’m stuck though. The things she wants are things she should pick out, costly, or intangible (and the same goes for me). I like to give her things she didn’t even know she wanted but I’m stumped this year. It’s not the end yet, we’re still mulling it over. The bottom line – I’m surprised that buying a shiny new mutual gift couldn’t replace the joy of seeing her open something I’ve picked especially for her. But it’s nice.
The news recommended not to spend more than one hour at a time shoveling. I get the point – overheating and all that. But once you’re out there, and you see the massive amount of work ahead of you, it’s impossible to come in and take your boots off. It’s like stripping off a wet swimsuit you have to put back on. Not at all fun. So I pressed through, Five hours of through.
If I’d thrown in the shovel at two hours, I might not be sunburned. Had I stopped at three, I’d probably still be able to walk. Stopping at four might have meant I’d be able to type without pain. So right, this is going to be a short post. There you have it. Stop every hour for a break.
