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One of Mark’s favorite movies is Groundhog Day. 

Ned?  Ned Ryerson?

I’m not a fan but Mark says it’s because I don’t get it.  I did, in fact, get it but my failure to love it as much as he did was due to the fact that I got bored watching the same scenes over and over.  It is too much like my real life every February.

Get up, go to work, come home, drag myself into the kitchen to make dinner and then park myself on the couch.  I try to will myself to do something besides nothing, but though the mind is willing (sort of) the body is not.

All month long.

I wonder if this is how it went in pioneer days.  Working feverishly until the cold swept across the prairie and then Ma and Pa would settle in the cabin until the March winds blew the first hint of spring.

I wonder if Ma lounged on the sofa with her ipad scrolling Facebook and Pinterest while watching The Biggest Loser.  Did she become more alert when her phone dinged of a new email?  Groupon?  Thai food?  Goose Creek sale?

What is Goose Creek and why do I get emails from them all the time?  

Even Valentine’s Day does little to perk me up as I have always been disappointed by the expectations of that day.  While flowers are being delivered at a record pace I insist that it isn’t necessary to buy something for me on that day.  Do I really mean that?  I don’t even know the answer to that so how is my husband supposed to figure it out.

To add misery to a miserable month, I had to get a crown replaced.  I made dozens of excuses to put this off until it got to the point where the dentist’s office was no longer going to let me off the hook.  There I found myself on a dismal Friday morning with my shaky, anxiety-riddled self sitting in the dentist’s chair for a two-and-a-half hour appointment.

The old crown was not giving up the fight very easily and if my darling dentist drilled any longer I think she would have hit my spleen.  At one point, she gave me a break and her assistant (who happens to be gay and can talk hair products like a pro) asked us if we’d watched the Superbowl.  “I only watched if for the commercials,” the dentist said.

Looking at me, he then asked what my favorite commercial was.  “I loved the Coke one,” I told him and then the dentist piped in that Coke was always about being inclusive so what in the world was all the fuss about.

We all agreed, and then Cutey Patootie Assistant asked, “Do you guys want to know what my favorite commercial was?”

“Sure.”

“David Beckham.”

“Oh yeah.  I forgot about that one.  He is pretty hot,” I said.

“How could you forget about that one??!!!  Girrrrrrrrrrrrl……when I saw David Beckham running around in his underwear I was like I’ll take a pair of those whitey tighties and you can include him.”

That conversation has made me giggle all weekend, and though Cutey Patootie Assistant isn’t named Phil he sure felt like a welcome blast of fresh air.

When Will first came out to us he was a mere fifteen years old.  My first reaction was utter fear for him.  In one of our many talks that followed, I asked him if any of his friends knew.  They did…….for is anybody ever shocked to learn that someone is gay?

Rather early on I said to him, “I’m not asking you to keep it a secret, but I don’t think you need to share this information outside of your circle of friends right now.  Maybe down the road but not just yet.”

He agreed because besides being born gay he was born agreeable.

If I could take that back if I would.

While I will likely always fight the fear of somebody hurting him, the unspoken truth of my request was because the whole idea of him dating freaked me out.   All of my kids were late bloomers when it came to that, but sometimes I wonder if over time I made my problem his problem.

After high school he spent four years at college in rural Kansas which hardly offers a variety of dating options outside of straight, conservative, Baptist farm boys. 

Now he is home, employed, and confident and has decided to put himself out there in the dating world.  I am not holding my breath this time but being rather being pleady with my prayers. Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegod let there be one great guy out there who thinks he hung the moon.   One guy who makes him love life even more.  One guy that we can’t wait to cram around the table for Sunday dinner.  One guy that will embrace the annual-after-Christmas-family-bowling tournament.

Just one guy………

Recently, Will met someone for a beer and we all pounced on him for the details later.  What did you think?  What’s he look like?  Did you like him?  Are you going to go out again?

“Well,” he said, “it was okay except everything he talked about was being gay.  I mean I know I am, too, but that’s not all I am.”

A rising tide lifts all boats.

That kid is our tide.

When the idea of Super Bowl parties were in their infancy, Mark was in graduate school.  One of the guys in his lab invited us to the home of he and his wife to watch the big game.

Mark was going to decline the invitation because of the general weirdness of the guy but I prevailed.  “No, we have to go.  These things are supposed to be fun and so what if he’s a little strange?  He’s probably going to invite the whole lab and the rest of those guys are always fun.”

Against my husband’s better judgement we drove to our first Super Bowl party hours before the game was set to start, and there in the driveway was our host anxiously awaiting our arrival.

“Well, this doesn’t look good,” The Big Daddy said after noting the absence of any other cars.

We went in with our beer offerings and dove headfirst into a long stretch of awkward small talk.  “So,” The Big Daddy asked, “who else are you expecting?”

“Nobody.  Just the four of us.”

The Big Daddy looked my way but I didn’t meet his stinkeye.  It was a party, nonetheless.  One doesn’t need a houseful to make fun.  Four can be fun. 

We mingled in the kitchen for awhile as they finished making the food and eventually went into the dining room to eat.  The hostess came out and said to her husband, “Bear, can you help me a second?”

“Sure, Penguin.”

Bear?  Penguin?

They both came out with more food and she put hers down and said, “I love my Big Bear.”  He growled and said, “I love my little Penguin,” and then she said ARARARARAR and shook her butt back and forth.  He said, “That’s what the penguin does,’ and they smooched.

And me and The Big Daddy said to ourselves, “What the f***.”

Every time she needed him for some help she’d stand in front of him shaking her rear and saying “ARARARARAR” and he’d get up and kiss her and they acted like this was the most normal thing ever.

Back and forth, in and out of the kitchen they would go and The Big Daddy and I didn’t know what the hell to make of this party.  Once when they were both in the kitchen Mark pointed to the salsa and said “ARARARARARAR” and shimmied in his chair.

And I nearly peed myself laughing.

By the time the game actually came on we had a few too many beers in us.  Whenever they would leave the room The Big Daddy would say “ARARARARAR” and cop a feel next to me on the couch.  I would growl at him and we would laugh and snort. 

“Well, you two sure seem to be having a good time,” the Real Bear said to us.  “We were going to invite some other people, but then we thought it wouldn’t be as much fun.  Isn’t that right, Penguin?”

“ARARARARAR,” Penguin said.

Since we were new to the whole Super Bowl thing, we didn’t know that it lasted for hours and that’s a long time to be drunk and all alone with a Bear and a Penguin.

When it finally ended we said our thank yous and goodbyes and got in the car.  “What just happened in there,” The Big Daddy asked staring out the windshield and into the window of hosts.

“I have no idea,” I answered back.

It’s been years since we’ve even been to a party for the Super Bowl.  “It’s too much socializing with my football,” The Big Daddy growls.

I twerk back.

ARARARARAR.

I painted all day Friday and Saturday.  I was going to finish Sunday but I crawled out of bed and everything ached.  Every. Single. Thing.  Since the only thing left to finish is the hallway with its five doorways I decided to take the day off.

Five doorways?  That is radonculous.

So is painting.

I thought that during my painting marathon I would come up with a couple of great writing ideas for the week, but instead I mainly thought about what it must be like to hire a professional painter.   Who even does that?

The random thoughts and observations that kept me from getting bored while I rolled…..

*Why do stores lock the dressing rooms so you have to track somebody down to try on clothes?  It drives me batty and if I hadn’t already determined that said frock was ABOUT TO CHANGE MY LIFE, I’d leave in a huff.

*I think Jennifer Lawrence is peaking too early which is never a good thing.  Look at Justin Bieber of late for proof on that one, although she seems infinitely smarter than him.

*Since Friday I have heard “Say Something” by Christina Aguillera multiple times on the radio.  New favorite song.

*I usually don’t watch the Grammys but Sara Bareilles is up for album of the year.  The Blessed Unrest.  I have worn it out.

*I never miss an episode of “The Good Wife.”

*Except for Will, we all had MLK day off.  Maggie, Nate and I met at Savers for some thrift store shopping @ 50% off.  I found an Ann Taylor jacket for $6.50.  It is going TO CHANGE MY LIFE and the dressing room wasn’t locked.

*I have friends who wouldn’t set foot in a thrift store.   They so don’t get it.

*I get up early in the morning so I can read the paper.  No matter how bad I’ve slept I still would rather get up early enough to read the paper than sleep in.

*My hairdresser got me to stop using shampoo.  I’ve washed my hair with conditioner only for nearly three years.

*I’ve never had a facial, pedicure or manicure but I have had an upper GI, CAT scan and three surgeries.

*Did you know that “How I Met Your Mother” is on 24/7?  Me either and then Mal had a long winter break.

*If I could rent a monkey to sit and pick the paint out of my hair I would.  Time for shampoo?

And lastly…….

I need a good book to get me through this cold, gloomy month.  Any suggestions?

My mom reads three different newspapers every day.  Most of them repeat the same news stories, but each of them caters to their local readers in different ways.  For my mom, a longtime obituary reader and at the mean age for that page, it is how she starts her day.

When I was a young girl, I remember her hunched over the kitchen table and spread out newspaper shaking her head over news of the death of a stranger.  Aloud to no one she would say, “Thirty five and three kids.  Good Lord.”

I have followed in her footsteps  Often I give the obit page a quick skim, but when time permits I linger over the Cliff note, published version of a lifetime story.

There have been a couple over the years that I have torn out and saved.  The one where a poem of the deceased was featured.

“But I am moving west along this superhighway, not to return.  I am following my fathers.  I have left nothing behind – no people, no possessions, no regrets.  In the old stories, the souls of the dying it was thought, vanished into the west.  I’ve always liked the sound of that.”

Or the English teacher…….

“She admired a well-constructed sentence, a strong character arc and a clever mystery twist: she would put her book down when it was time for Jeopardy or The Colbert Report.”

Sometimes obituaries go viral like this one.

“Those who’ve taken her lessons to heart will continue to ensure that a cold drink will be left for the overheated garbage collector and mail carrier, every baby will be kissed, every nursing home resident will be visited, the hungry will have a sandwich, the guest will have a warm bed and soft nightlight, and the encroaching possum will know the soothing sensation of a barbecue brush upon its back.”

Or this…………

“I believe we are each of us connected to every person and everything on this Earth, that we are in fact one divine organism having an infinite spiritual existence. Of course, we may not always comprehend that. And really, that’s a discussion for another time. So let’s cut to the chase: 

I was given the gift of life, and now I have to give it back. This is hard. But I was a lucky woman, who led a lucky existence, and for this I am grateful.”
 
After our friend, Vicki, died, some of us were discussing her funeral a few weeks later.  How it was so utterly perfect Vicki.  “I came home and started a death file,” one of my friends said.  “I want written directions that my family will have so they know everything I want.”  We all nodded and maybe we weren’t ready to start our own file, but we were certainly thinking about it.

The Catholics have put hard and firm brakes on eulogies during the mass.  They have found them disruptive to the service, but seeing as how death is the ultimate disruptive event I’m not buying that argument.  For who better than family and dear friends to tell a church full of mourners that one story that makes everyone smile through their tears and grateful to be among the heartbroken living?

There are some of us who will always start our day reading about the end of strangers’ lives.  In the course of that habit one is bound to come across that brief funny/sweet/poignant/loving story in black and white of a life gone too soon.

Moving west ahead of the pack until our own name appears on that page.

Mark is taking back-to-back business trips and so while he is gone I’ve decided to paint the living room and dining room.

This is a ridiculous idea, but since I cannot bear to turn this job over to a professional because they don’t love this house like I do (and since I am capable of painting)…..it is mine to execute.

So far my execution would make a professional cringe and I am having my usual freakout about color.

White.  It is going to be white because all the rooms I love in magazines and Pinterest are white, but it is making me jittery.  Who freaks out over white walls?  Unless there’s so much in-your-face-whiteness at the moment that it looks like the psych unit of the county hospital.

I needed a dose of Vic so I headed to my favorite paint guy at Ace Hardware.

My first trip was for supplies but I had an ulterior motive.  When I was home my mom showed me a tool chest that recently was given to her by my uncle.  Inside were carpenter tools that belonged to my grandfather and great-grandfather.

It was a collection of the working life of two men, and since there was precious little to hand down from one generation to another it holds special meaning.

Inside was this……..

…..and I told Mom that I had to show it to Vic because he would appreciate it more than anyone I know.

He did, too.  Loved it.  Called over the other helpful, hardware men to show them this little piece of paint history.

I put it back in my purse and Vic said, “That’s a nice Coach purse you’ve got there.”

“Thank you.  This was an inheritance, too, from my cousin’s wife.  I love it.  But, jeez, Vic, you’re a guy.  How did you know this was a Coach purse?”

“Because I know a lot about a lot and that purse needs a good cleaning.  Saddle soap.  Aisle two.”

When my mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas I told her a gift card from Pottery Barn.  There were three reasons for this. 

#1.  It’s The Barn.  Who doesn’t get their hearts a-flutter when the Pottery Barn catalog arrives?  The new one is all about indigo so I’m mulling over changing the entire house to an inky blue oasis.  With that going on it won’t feel like we’re in a Prairie Flyover State here, but more like corporatized eclectic charm.  The Big Daddy loves corporate.  Ask him sometime.  When you have a week. 

#2.  Mom is 85 years old, and though she is very active I don’t want her traipsing everywhere for a gift for me so I try to make it easy.  For my sisters who are often called upon to do her traipsing.

#3.  The Pottery Barn in Kansas City is closing, therefore allowing for anticipated deep discounts.  Along with my gift card this equals Consumer Strategerie to get the most bang for the buck.

I went after work to be greeted by 20% off signs for bath towels when I walked in the door.

20%?  For bath towels?  Who even cares about bath towels and why would you buy them from Pottery Barn?  I walked right by that bargain even though we could use a dozen new ones since The Big Daddy ripped one right down the middle the other day and I yelled, “Stop with the vigorous drying!!!   Bath towels don’t grow on trees, Mister!”

I was on the hunt for a WOW purchase so that when somebody comes in my house and says, “That is really cool,” I could say it was from Pottery Barn instead of from the curb barn.

I wandered around and found Christmas decorations for 50%.  Okaaaaay, but weren’t we over that before it even started?

At one point, a salesperson greeted me and she had the demeanor of a metro chic New York socialite who was forced to work because Grandpa cut off her trust fund.  Added to that she talked in low tones.  As I lingered over a footstool clad in leather she said, “Just so you’re aware, our furniture is an extra 20% off.”

And I said, “WHAT?”

“Our furniture is an extra 20% off.”

“Oh, okay, but I can’t find a price on this.”

“Well, you must have overlooked it because it’s on here.”

“No, it’s not on either one.”

She looked it over and there was no price and I resisted the urge to say, “Told you so,” because she kind of scared me with her cool, detached boredom.

“I’ll go find out and let you know.”

And I said, “WHAT?”

She left and I dug through the linens in the back of the store that had some serious markdowns.  The kind of markdowns that a Christmas gift card would cover.  When she came back she said, “It’s $299.00 minus the 20%.”

And I said, “WHAT!!!!” not because I couldn’t hear her but because that was a ridiculous price for a footstool.

“It’s $299.00” she repeated, likely resisting the urge to say, “YOU CHEAPSKATE.”

I came home with a diffuser, a pillow cover that won’t work and has to be returned and a candle holder.  There was no WOW purchase, only the realization that Pottery Barn is best done on the knock-off PB couch with a cup of tea where you can turn back the corners of the pages of all those things that make you dreamy-eyed.  After a few days of lingering in decorating utopia with the Sundance, Garnet Hill and Ballard Design catalogs, it will get thrown in a basket where it will eventually get tossed into recycling without another glance………

……..and the dream will be forgotten, but when you put a feather in anything you take it to a whole new level.  

Pottery Barn taught me that. 

 It seems I have won one of these………….

And I was like WHAT????  I don’t even win in bunco let alone a blog prize, but I got friends in the right places and my OSMA nominated me.  She is a blog/cyber friend.  Sometimes when something funny happens at work I think to myself, “Wait until OSMA hears about this!”  Then I remember that I don’t know her in real life and me thinking about her like that would sound kind of weird to other people.  And by other people I mean the police.

Anyhow, it’s a baton that’s handed off from blogger to blogger to promote the little engines that could and not the big ones everybody knows about.  You must nominate eleven other bloggers.  My OSMA cheated so I will, too.  A combo of little and big blogs that are my go-tos on a regular basis………

An Inch Of Gray
I found Anna after her son died in a tragic accident during a seemingly harmless storm.  When you are a blog reader and someone is going through a tragedy it makes its way around pretty fast.  That was the case with me and Anna’s blog, but I am in for the long haul with her and her family.  She raises the bar on writing and her Jack…………oh her Jack was something to behold.

The Simple Wife
I came across this blog in the same manner.  A fit, 40-something mom, wife, and author has a massive stroke and during that time it felt like you were right in the middle of it.  Her husband posted updates on her condition and though she made it through, everything about their life has changed.  They post rather sporadically now (for obvious reasons) and after a long spell of no updates she recently wrote something that breaks my heart.  There’s problems, people, and then there are problems.

Anecdotally Yours
This darling couple are friends of Maggie and Nate’s and were the photographer and videographer of their wedding.  They are an incredibly talented powerhouse of talent.  I look at their postings of photos and videos and cry………..and I don’t even know anybody they’re featuring.  Stop by and see them and their new son, Ben, the cutest baby to ever rock a winter hat.

The Gardener’s Cottage
A friend sent me this link and I’ve been hooked.  This woman is all about simplifying her life and tells you how to do the same.  Closet full of STUFF?  She shows you how to pair it down, edit your furnishings, trim your roses and make a vegan Thanksgiving.  This blog is the calm in the storm.

A Beloved Life
This is my friend, Amy’s blog.  Amy was the HR manager where I work and left to pursue other interests as they say.  She has become dear to me and was my saving grace in the choppy waters of a new job.  She practices yoga and meditation daily and is so in tune with herself that I am in awe.  She does the work of being her and shows you how to do the same.

A Work In Progress
This is my friend, Mary’s blog.  I met Mary at a mutual friend’s Christmas party about five years ago.  Once a year I would see her and we would chat.  From someone else I found out she was a writer and I screeched at Panera’s,”I NEVER KNEW THAT!!!”  Then Mary moved to California thus preventing the long friendship I had planned for her and me.  We are mutual admirers from a distance and supporters of this hard work called writing.  Her husband has a blog, too,  I love to read both of them.

Now the big ones which you probably already know of and don’t need any explanation from me.

Miss Mustard Seed

The Lettered Cottage

Momastery

Victoria Elizabeth Barnes

Does Huffington Post count?  No.

People I Want To Punch In The Throat

Next post…………..the Q & A
         

The other day our Christmas cards came and unbeknownst to me at the time of order, they required additional postage.

Oh dear baby Jesus, why oh why is everything so hard for me this year?

I decided not to go to my usual post office but rather one in a cute little shopping district with lots of small, independent shops so I could finish my shopping.  I started at the post office even though I was warned not to go to that one because it is so slow.  The warning was accurate.  There were about fifteen people in line and one person working the counter.  I got in line and scrolled my phone while I waited.  At one point, I heard the cheerful postal worker say, “Oh good, they finally sent me some help.”  With that the not so nice newly arrived postal worker said to those of us in line, “We close at 4:00 so not all of you are going to be able to go through so you may as well leave now and go to another post office.”

I didn’t care so much for the new help seeing as how I’d been in line for twenty minutes.

The older woman ahead of me in line said, “Oh dear.  Oh no, honey.  I don’t think you and I are going to make it.”

Me and everyone else just stood there.  My new friend made it to the counter with a minute to spare and my eyes were pleading with her to hurry it up.  Cranky Mr. Postman started pulling the metal doors closed by the counter when the post lady said, “Stop.  We’re going to stay late and we’re going to wait on these people because they’ve been in line and they have things that need to get mailed out today so they arrive by by Christmas.”

And I was like,  “Dear baby Jesus, that woman is an angel.  She is an angel.”

When my time came I thanked her a meeeelion times over, wished her a Merry Christmas and if the postal bouncer wasn’t so pissy already I’d have hopped the counter and hugged her.

Moral of the story:  Don’t lose your cool.  It’s all going to work out.  The angels are ready to swoop in and give respite from the Christmas storm.  The people behind the counter are worn out.  They probably haven’t been off much at all for the last month so be kind, be kind, be kind. 

Okay, a couple of last minute gift ideas to consider…………

This book.  Oh my goodness, I love this book.  It has seeped into my being and set up camp for, hopefully, a lifetime.  The last page???  I’ve read the last page about thirty times.  I talk about this book all the time so go get it for somebody you love and do a little holiday self-love and buy one for yourself.  The movie version is in production and stars Reese Witherspoon, but we all know that the book is always better.

I’ve wanted this perfume forever.  Loved the name and loved the Philosophy.  If I was at the mall I’d go into Sephora and spritz myself with it but could not lay my money down because it seemed like such a luxury.  My lovely daughter dragged her dad to the mall last year to shop for my birthday and made him buy me this.  I wear it almost every day.  It comes in all sizes and price ranges but Sephora sells a roll-on for $18.00 if you want to take it for a test drive.

                                                  

This was the other thing I got last year for my birthday and I use it every day.  I think it’s about $125.00.  It exfoliates your skin so that all the anti-aging stuff gets deep into your pores, and when you wake up in the morning your husband thinks he’s in bed with a twenty year old.  True story.

Some favorite things………….there’s more but it’s midnight and my copy and pasting skills quit a few hours ago.  Take note, friends, you will always be at the top of the list.  Now go be merry and bright then prepare him room.

As soon as they said there was one less week this year between Thanksgiving and Christmas I knew I was doomed.  I will never get everything done in time was my immediate thought.  So much to do……

I have shopped but not finished.  I ordered Christmas cards that haven’t even been shipped yet.  We thought about having a party and a week after Thanksgiving I threw in the towel on that idea.  I am trying to keep on top of holiday chores, work, the house, the laundry and the finances and have failed at all of them.  Three nights in a row we were invited to some kind of holiday event and I was so happy, not because we would be spending time with people we love but because I didn’t have to cook dinner.  I have written one crappy paragraph of the Christmas letter I have sent out for twenty years.  The dog can barely get up and my heart knows it is time for him to move on, yet I do nothing about that either.

I miss my dad.

Twenty three years since he’s been here for Christmas and this year has knocked me for a loop.  I have watched interviews with parents of kids killed at Sandy Hook and I still can’t believe that happened in this country and we did nothing about it.  I see commercial after commercial that caters to the affluent in such a way it feels obscene to me.  I wonder how typhoon misplaced people in the Phillippines are doing but that news has been replaced with November retail sales figures.

I am searching for the joy.

A few weeks ago we went to the funeral of a friend.  He was 53 and died of brain cancer.  I have never been to a funeral with so many people which goes to show you how many lives he touched.  The loss of him to his wife and sons is enormous..  The community he was a part of will feel his absence in profound ways.

The minister was a friend of his and said to the mournful congregation …….”Death did not claim him.  Cancer did not claim him.  God said this man is mine and I claim him.  I have prepared a room for him and he is mine.  He is coming home to my house.”

A funeral will make you think about a lot of things.  A beautiful funeral for a good man will make you want to change a lot of things.

While my own holiday spirit does more ebbing than flowing this year, I keep circling back to the words of that minister and think of my own dad.  Like the friend gone too soon, neither cancer nor death claimed him.  God did and that thought has given me peace.  He was always his and nobody lived a life more ready for The Day than my Dad. 

If I could wrap peace in a box and tie a ribbon around it I would give it to everyone I know.  The mall and the aisles of Target are crappy substitutes for the gift that most people desperately want.  Before long Christmas Eve will be here and everything that needed to be done will be.  Or not.  My restless, worried mind will relax and if nothing else the pressure to provide the perfect holiday will have dissipated.

I will tether my soul to the Prince of Peace once again.

I will sing Joy To The World…….

…….and I will mean it.