I Believe...

I believe miracles do still happen.

I believe that a positive attitude can change everything.

I believe that hard work and doing the right thing will be rewarded.

I believe in forgiveness and second chances.

I believe in self-reliance.

I believe in gratitude.

I believe that if you want something done right, you should do it yourself.

I believe that some things are better left unsaid.

I believe in consequences.

I believe in learning from your mistakes.

I believe that good things happen, but sometimes they take awhile.

Christmas

We had a low-key Christmas this year, just the 3 of us. The kids spent Christmas Eve lamenting the loss of their belief in Santa Clause, but they were excited Christmas morning to open presents. There were LOTS under our tree, even for me. My sister and my Dad made sure I had plenty to open as well. We spent hours playing Rock Band on the Wii, which was the "big deal" present my kids received this year. I made a nice dinner with a Prime Rib Roast and the green bean casserole and mashed potatoes my kids love. I spoke to my sister and my Dad on the phone, and we spent the day in our pajamas or comfortable clothes. No one to visit, nowhere to go, but that was okay. Sometimes it's good to have a quiet, unencumbered Christmas. While small in terms of attendees, the holiday was still large--filled with material goods, set in a large, warm house we can call our own.

I know Christmases aren't like ours for everyone, so I am grateful for what I have been able to provide. I love Christmas, but it saddens me, too. All the emphasis on buying gifts and having family must be so hard on those with no money to spend or no family to visit. Christmas has become so "over-hyped" that it becomes difficult to enjoy. So much pressure, so much to do. I'm glad I didn't go crazy this year trying to live up to the commercials. Some years I do, and it makes me irritable and stressed-out. This year, I just took it all in stride, accomplished what I was able to accomplish, and didn't lose sleep over the things I didn't accomplish.

Christmas still arrived, despite the fact that I never took the kids to the Botanical Gardens to look at the lights and never made it to the Christmas Eve service at Church. I forgot to take pictures of the kids opening presents Christmas morning, and I never got around to making fudge or gingerbread cookies.

But we still had Christmas; my kids are happy; I am happy, and, most importantly, I am also completely and totally relaxed. Maybe next year I'll go crazy over Christmas and get it all done, but this year, it felt good to just keep it low-key.

Late

What a timely prompt! Christmas Day is fast approaching, and I am late. Late finishing up my Christmas shopping, late getting started on my Christmas baking and candy-making, late getting my annual Christmas Newsletter printed and mailed, and staying up late trying to get everything done! I am also late posting this for Sunday Scribblings!

I could try to blame my job or my mood or the weather, but the truth is this happens to me every year. I always think I have plenty of time, but despite list-making and good intentions, nothing ever works out according to plan, so I spend the week before Christmas a stressed-out Mad Woman. I keep trying to "relax" and remind myself that I can pull this off. It's only the 3 of us for Christmas this year, so there really is no need to run around like a crazed lunatic, except that I do anyway.

My Mom never had these kinds of problems preparing for the holidays. She was so organized--the ultimate Project Manager and List-Maker. She mapped everything out, and she very strictly adhered to her Plan. I fail miserably with my attempts at the same. Of course, about 10 hours of my day are sucked away by the Job, so that certainly puts a damper on my ability to accomplish much. Some years, I make lists, but don't designate deadlines, so the list falls by the wayside. Other years (like this one), I never find the time to even make the list!

But, I forgive myself. I will get done what I get done. I'll make a list and start my Christmas cards earlier next year--I promise!

I don't want to be a crazed lunatic for the holidays. I made biscochitos and Santa Bread this weekend, and I have the day off on Monday and will do some more baking then. Most of my shopping is done--I just need to pick up a few stocking stuffers for my sister and my son. All of the gifts I ordered online arrived and are gift-wrapped. My grocery shopping is done. So, I still have a few days to enjoy and anticipate Christmas! Here are pictures of Santa Bread, before it is baked, so you can see how the dough is shaped.

And after it is baked, so you can see how cute it looks! Mmmm...my house smells like fresh-baked bread! Aren't you jealous?

I like having a few days left to just enjoy the holidays--to watch Christmas movies, read books about Christmas, and drive around town searching out ridiculously extravagant (and, ultimately, tacky) Christmas light displays. The kids and I will have a relaxing, low-key day with a simple menu--prime rib roast, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and yorkshire pudding. Nothing fussy or difficult--all things my kids will actually eat (I wanted to do an updated version of Beef Wellington, that substitutes a chopped mushroom pate for goose liver pate, but my kids looked at me like I was crazy--so, maybe next year!)

I have the day off from work today--the first day off I have had in a loooooooong time, and it was very much needed. (Although, I am still checking in on my emails periodically because I am addicted to work.) Once the kids get up, I'm going to spend the day just doing stuff with them. My son has birthday money to spend, and my daughter wants to make a gingerbread house. I'm trying to savor the few remaining days until Christmas. I always feel sort of "deflated" on Christmas night--a feeling like the holiday ended too soon, before I had a chance to enjoy it. All of the scurrying about beforehand detracts from it somehow. It's like there is all this work to do to get ready, and then, suddenly, Christmas Day is here, and it's over.

So, I'm making a conscious effort this year to make these last few days really COUNT.

Traditions

This is going to be a long post, since I have Christmas on my brain, and a To-Do List a mile long to make sure we cover all of our family traditions this year!

My mother's father's family was German, and she spent her childhood Christmases with her grandparents, aunts, and uncles in Ohio. But, my great grandmother was a notoriously bad cook, so there are no "family recipes" on German cooking to pass down (perhaps that is a good thing). My grandparents moved to Arizona when my mother and her sisters were young, so, away from extended family, new traditions had to begin. Unfortunately, my grandparents weren't the warmest of parents and did not have kid-oriented Christmases, so when my mother had a family of her own, she compensated by creating our own Christmas traditions, which evolved over the years, through trial and error.

One Christmas, during my Little House on the Prairie phase, we decorated our tree by stringing popcorn and cranberries, which were later placed on the trees outside for the birds to eat. Another year, we did a Victorian Christmas, complete with "crackers," mincemeat pies, and Plum Pudding with Hard Sauce.

Living in New Mexico with a mother who was fascinated by local culture, artwork, and history, we adopted local traditions, like having posole, tamales, enchiladas, and other New Mexican fare on Christmas Eve. We also put out farolitos on Christmas Eve (brown paper lunch sacks filled with a bit of sand to weight them down, and a votive candle). Entire neighborhoods in our community would line streets and driveways with these "little lanterns" to "light the way for the Christ Child." (People in New Mexico argue all the time over whether they are farolitos or luminarias--I say farolito because "farol" means lantern and "luminar" involves bonfires, so farolito, "little lantern," seems more fitting than "little bonfire.") We would all pitch in to get the farolitos up in our own yard, and then we would drive around on Christmas Eve enjoying the miles and miles of farolitos in other neighborhoods, Christmas music playing in the car stereo. We have been known to wear Santa Hats, Elf Ears, or Reindeer Antlers while doing this! One year we all wore Santa Hats and Groucho Glasses (including the nose and moustache, of course!)

We never put up the Christmas Tree until the week after Thanksgiving, and we always put lights out on the trees and bushes in the front yard. Santa presents always made their appearance unwrapped, or in a plain white gift box tied with red or green yarn. We still received "Santa Presents" into adulthood. We watched all of the Christmas specials on TV with at least one viewing of It's a Wonderful Life. We read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas from a beautifully-illustrated book before bed on Christmas Eve, when we were allowed to open just one present. Some years, we were able to persuade my parents to let us open ALL the presents on Christmas Eve, but this only occured if we would be hosting Christmas Dinner with our good friends the next day, which required lots of cooking and table-setting, so sometimes my parents would relent.

We always got out my mother's wedding china and silverware, which meant polishing the silver because it was silver-plated (one of the few chores I enthusiastically participated in each year because I loved her silverware and dishes). My mother passed down the wedding china to me a few years ago after replacing it with more contemporary Dansk dishes and a complete set of Christmas dishes. She knew how much I loved her china and was pleased to hand it down to make room for her current taste in dishes (her wedding china was really selected for her by my grandmother).

There were always craft projects and holiday ornament-making growing up. My mother often got these ideas out of magazines, and she kept us occupied all month long with these projects, which were often given away to friends and teachers as gifts. I still have several of them for my own tree--counted cross-stitch designs in frames, patchwork hearts, stuffed and trimmed with lace, Victorian Christmas scenes decoupaged onto wooden cut-outs).

My mother made homemade candy (taffy, prailines, caramels, peanut brittle, fudge) and cookies (shortbread, meringues, apricot-nut bars, and a half dozen others). The older we got, and the more accomplished my mother became, the "fancier" the cookie trays became. We packaged them up and delivered or mailed them to relatives and neighbors. Everything was always entirely homemade and while the recipes changed from year-to-year, they were always elegant and something we only made at Christmastime.

Christmas music was always playing in the house non-stop, and my mother had an enormous collection. My grandfather worked for Goodyear Aerospace and every year Goodyear gave their employees a holiday album, compiled by various popular singers. But my mother had all kinds of other albums as well--folk singers (Peter, Paul, and Mary's Christmas Album is still one of my favorites), handbells, music box collections, children's choirs, jazz, classical guitar, piano solos...the list went on and on. Her collection grew every year. I spent two Christmases in college working in a department store, listening to hour after hour of Christmas music while dealing with rude customers, so that experience kind of ruined Christmas music for me, so I don't listen to it much unless I'm decorating the tree or baking. There were also stacks and stacks of Christmas books--from childrens' stories to collections of Christmas traditions and celebrations around the world. Now I have a huge box of holiday books for my kids, as well as for myself. We get them out and flip through them all month long. I always read O. Henry's Gift of the Magi, and it still makes me cry, every year!

I still do most of these things with my own kids, but I have adapted them to fit into my reality which involves a full-time job and limited time to cook and bake and sew. We rarely do craft projects and homemade ornaments, for example. The only candy I make is Toffee, coated with chocolate and chopped pecans. Sometimes I'll do fudge and divinity. The only cookies I make are shortbread, gingerbread (to decorate), and biscochitos (a traditional New Mexican cookie--full of shortening, seasoned with anise, and sprinkled with plenty of cinnamon sugar). Sometimes I'll add macaroons or some fancy recipe I found in a magazine, but not often. Everybody I know seems to be on a diet anyway, and my kids aren't big cookie eaters (I know! They are so weird!), so I don't do nearly as much baking as I used to. I'd like to continue with the New Mexican Christmas Eve menu, but my kids aren't big fans of Mexican food (too spicy!), so I'll have to add quesadillas, and save the tamales and enchiladas for myself! Posole is a stew made with hominy, pork, chile, onions, and tomatoes--again not something my kids will eat, but it is so good with homemade tortillas, and I can always freeze the leftovers and have it on New Year's Day (for good luck)!

So much of our holiday traditions revolve around food. Now that I'm a "grown-up," I've developed my own specialties that I am known for, just like my Mom had hers. These are mine:

1. Homemade Egg Nog. The recipe I use has a cooked custard base (no raw eggs), and is absolutely "to die for." The kids drink it plain, the grown-ups add kahlua. My little nephew had his first taste of it last year, and he said, "Mmmmmm....more?" We called it "Christmas Milk" for him!

2. Cheese Ball. These are so easy, it's embarrassing, but people--including my kids--love them, so I give them as gifts to co-workers, and I always send at least one to my in-laws. My cheese ball combines cream cheese with sharp cheddar cheese, a couple cloves of garlic, chopped black olives, and a little evaporated milk. I shape them into balls and roll them in a mixture of finely chopped pecans and smoked paprika.

3. Santa Bread. This actually evolved from one of my Mother's ideas for Teacher Gifts one year. We bought frozen bread dough, and using instructions from a magazine, shaped the dough into Santa faces--we rolled out a large oval, then cut "fringe" all around, about an inch wide and two inches deep. Then, we twisted the strips and made them into "curls" that looked like hair and a beard. A few small pieces of dough were rolled into eyes, a nose, and a twisted moustache. The dough was brushed with egg white and water (for "shine") and baked to perfection. I do the bread dough from scratch now, using a dinner roll recipe that requires more sugar than most, eggs, milk, and butter for a rich, sweet dough that tastes great on Christmas morning with butter and jam. These used to go to family and friends, but sometimes the list includes co-workers and neighbors. I still make one for my in-laws every year and also for the kids' teachers. The teachers love it so much, that sometimes we have to make a few extra for the Teacher's Lounge, so their previous year teachers can have it again! I make anywhere from 10 to 18 Santa Breads each year--that's a lot of bread dough! But, people rave about it, and it costs next to nothing, except time, plus it's good for my ego. (Amazing how nutty people can be over something so simple as homemade bread!) The kids love it, too, and now they even help make it--they like making Santa's curls and eyeballs! They'll ask me, "when are we going to start making Santa Breads?" and people around us will ask, "What in the world is Santa Bread?" And then we have to tell them the story. It's taken on a life of it's own--it's practically legendary at the kids' elementary school! Some of my friends and co-workers will actually call me up and ask, timidly and hopefully, "Are we getting a Santa Bread this year?" Honestly, it's beginning to get out of control! I work full-time! I can only do so much! I have to start early in December and keep half of them in the freezer in order to get them all done by Christmas Eve. Fortunately, each recipe makes 2 Santa Breads, but still...! Ah, well, I love the attention, so I do it every year, without fail.

Divorce hasn't had too much of an impact on our holidays. I still have 2 weekends of the month to cram in holiday festivities with my kids. If I don't have them for the week of Christmas, we just wait and celebrate when they return. We lose the Christmas Eve ritual, but that isn't as important now that they are older--at least they always had it when they were younger. Not being a part of my ex's family has altered my traditions somewhat--he had a large family, so they were the people I made cookies and candy for, since my Mom had our side covered. I do miss being a part of my in-laws celebrations and baking for them.

I hope that when my kids are grown, they will look back and associate certain things with me, just as I do with my own Mom. Traditions are meant to be shared and repeated--they should bring people together, whether it's watching movies or driving around looking at Christmas lights. There should be elements of music, food, and story-telling.

My Dad is going to Arizona to spend Christmas with my sister this year, and I was thinking I could make up some of Mom's cookie and candy recipes to send along. I have most of her recipes, but I'm not sure I can do them justice, and I'm not sure any of us can enjoy them without a tremendous feeling of sadness and loss. I'll have to think on that for awhile.

I also have to figure out what to do about Christmas lights now that we are in a new house. This house has a very stark, barren front yard without trees or bushes, so that means my only option is to put lights up on my house, which will require a ladder, and multiple extension cords, not to mention actually FINDING my boxes of Christmas lights which are still buried in my garage, behind all of those boxes from my move that have yet to be unpacked.

Perhaps I'll just wait until Christmas Eve and do farolitos instead...

A Winter's Tale

I have spent my whole life in New Mexico, so I don't truly know winter. I grew up in the Northern part of the state--the part that actually gets snow and has ski hills and outdoor ice skating rinks. We often experienced snowstorms that left multiple feet of snow on the ground, and we would wait for my Dad to finish shoveling the driveway, so we could build caves and forts in the snow piled there. We would head to the school and sled down the steep hills, right into the street! Once I moved to Albuquerque, though, snow was much more unusual. Most of my neighbors don't even own snow shovels because the snow usually melts within a couple of hours. My kids have never built a proper snowman because when there is only two inches of snow on the ground, you can't do much with it. One year we built a "snow alligator" instead. We broke off the tips of icicles to use as claws and teeth! Because it doesn't snow often here, the city is ill-equipped to deal with a major snowfall. Only the main roads and highways get plowed and sanded, the side streets are never cleared. Ice is more of a problem than the snow. Two inches of snow can cause school cancellations around here because the buses can't get to their stops. Since it is never cold enough for the snow to really "stick," it starts to melt right away, but then freezes at night. We always hope for the snow to fall in the morning, so it will be gone by the afternoon!

Two years ago, we got 18 inches of snow just after New Year's. It was the most snow Albuquerque had received in 56 years! It shut down the highways and brought everything to a grinding halt! I was glad the snow came on Friday afternoon because I didn't have to drive anywhere! I had to shake the snow off of my trees and bushes to keep the branches from breaking (trees and bushes here are very spindly because they are usually drought-tolerant species). My neighbor came out and offered to help me shovel my driveway. I just laughed and told him I grew up in the Jemez Mountains, so 18 inches was nothin'! Two days later, I had to go to the grocery store, and the parking lot was a slushy mess--it was never plowed, so cars driving through just packed down the snow, and it would start to melt and then re-freeze. People were sliding all over the place! Because the interstates had been shut down for days, trucks couldn't make their deliveries, so the shelves were bare. They were out of potatoes, bread, and even milk! I was disappointed because my kids were spending that week of their Winter Break with their dad, and I had so wanted to play in the snow with them, the way I remembered doing as a kid! My neighbors drove up and down our street, pulling their kids on sleds attached to the bumper of their SUV with ropes!

Winter here is pretty mild, as are all of our seasons. It generally stays in the high 40s and 50s by day, and rarely gets below 20 or 30 degrees at night. Because we are at a high elevation (5,200 feet), we get our share of freakish storms. The year we made the snow alligator, the snow had come in April, and the week before it had been 70 degrees! Three years ago we had a bitter cold snap that lasted several days, and it actually got down to 10 below! Of course, that was the night I got a flat tire driving home after midnight. I had to call for Roadside Assistance and, thankfully, the guy was really fast at changing tires! (I had to wait 45 minutes for him to show up, though.)

I don't like the starkness of winter. We have sunny days throughout the season, but the trees all look so barren without their leaves. With our desert climate, there is already so little green in our landscaping, that I hate to lose any of it! I do like the coziness winter brings, though. We eat soup and grilled cheese sandwiches a lot, and I make hot chocolate from scratch while we watch movies on the weekends. I love to watch the snow fall when it does appear. There is something inherently magical about falling snow--but only when you are inside with plenty of heat and comfort food! So, I guess Albuquerque has the best of both worlds--we get to enjoy snow once in awhile, but it doesn't usually stick around long enough to be a problem, and our coldest temperatures are gone by March!

3-Word Wednesday: Corrupt, Intellect, Tension

This is Molly. She is a Welsh Terrier, complete with papers (which means her parents had Goofy Showdog Names that I would mock here, except I have no idea where the file folder is with her "papers" and Doggie Birth Certificate to look them up. I do remember that one of the parent's names had "Cinnamon" in it and sounded to me very much like a Stripper Name).

Don't let the charming smile fool you. She is corrupt with questionable intellect. Terriers are supposed to be smart, but this terrier is, at times, dumb as a box of rocks.

She is over a year old and still pees on the carpet...frequently. And not because she doesn't know better (I paid $200 to a Handyman to cut a hole into the side of my beautiful new house for her Doggy Door). She does it to retaliate against me whenever she feels neglected or unappreciated, or perhaps just because she feels the need to piss me off (no pun intended).






This is Molly after a haircut. She does not find this picture to be at all humiliating. She thinks she looks fabulous. In fact, she LOVES going to get her haircut because she gets to visit "Other Humans" who make a big fuss over her and tell her what a sweet, little cutie pie she is!

Little do they know...

This is Molly demonstrating her "Death Grip." She has eviscerated a number of stuffed animals, some of them her own, some of them my daughter's Beanie Babies. She has also gnawed on the heads of some of my daughter's dollhouse dolls.



See how she pretended to love Augusta, my son's giant stuffed duck that he has had since he was 2? I returned home from my last out-of-town trip to find Augusta's innards strewn about the living room (but Molly hadn't peed on the carpet...yet...she waited until I had unpacked my suitcase and was starting the laundry, and that's when she strategically-placed a giant puddle in my bedroom, next to "my" side of the bed, where I was sure to step in it.)

This is my son doing homework. (Yes, I found this to be a strange position for completing homework--lying on the couch, using the end table for a desk--but at least he was doing his homework, so I won't complain). Molly is keeping him there until he is finished.

She "owns" him!

I am a sucker for Pound Puppies--dogs in need of "rescue" with questionable lineage. The "muttier" looking the better. I fall for dogs with eyes that don't match and multiple markings--dogs that leave you guessing what breeds could have possibly crossed to create such a dog--dogs with checkered pasts and unsurpassing loyalty and devotion to you, their rescuer. I am NOT one for purebred anythings that cost hundreds of dollars and have all kinds of grooming and special dietary needs.

Instead, we have Molly. Molly was my mother's dog. My mother previously owned Cocker Spaniels--the dogs we grew up with--but she had always wanted a Welsh Terrier, because she had a Great Aunt that had one (named Molly, of course) that she remembered fondly from her childhood. She bought books on terriers and did all of this research, and then she paid hundreds of dollars for a professional dog trainer (not to mention hundreds of dollars on toys, treats, crates, training tools, etc.) She even sewed Molly her own polar fleece blanket, along with dog bed covers, and blankets for the couch. Molly was only 8 months old when my Mom went into the hospital for her ill-fated (and deadly) surgery, so Molly came to live with us--a temporary situation that became permanent. After my Mom died, my Dad was going to give Molly away--he couldn't take care of her and still work, because he didn't have a fenced yard, and he lives "out on the Mesa" with hawks and coyotes that attack small dogs. But my kids, who visited their grandparents frequently during Molly's "puppyhood," were totally attached by now, so absolutely Molly was going to stay with us.

So, Molly is now firmly-entrenched as a member of our family. My parents were initially "crate training" her and providing her with structure and discipline and rules (something terriers need in order to modify and control their behavior). But, my household has 2 children in it--children who cannot bear to "punish" their dog by making her sit in her crate when she has been bad. Because there are children in my household, it also means that I have old, crappy furniture, and washable bedding, so Molly is pretty much allowed to jump on whatever she wants to, sleep wherever she wants to, and shed wherever she wants to. I have never been one to run a household filled with "rules and structure." Kids, dogs--no difference.

And despite the fact that I find myself muttering, "damn dog," under my breath a lot, I have to admit that having Molly around is a great cure for tension. She can sense my moods, and when I plop down on the couch after a hard day or a difficult telephone call, she doesn't just curl up next to me, she climbs right up and drapes herself across my lap, demanding petting and cuddling and sweetness. She is, in every sense of the word, an "Alpha" dog, but she sees me as the "Alpha Female" in our little pack, and despite her love for the kids, she really sees them as playmates and recognizes me as the "Alpha Human"--the Pack Leader. She misses me when I am away, and showers me with plenty of love and attention when I return. (It's good to have a dog in the house again!)

Or maybe she's just "playing" me, knowing what a sucker I am.

Grateful

As I was thinking about what to write for this post, I was reminded of my favorite Ann Lander's Column that ran sometime around Thanksgiving:


Things to Be Thankful For

Be thankful for the clothes that fit a little too snug, because it means you have enough to eat.

Be thankful for the mess you clean up after a party, because it means you have been surrounded by friends.

Be thankful for the taxes you pay, because it means you're employed.

Be thankful that your lawn needs mowing and your windows need fixing, because it means you have a home.

Be thankful for your heating bill, because it means you are warm.

Be thankful for the laundry, because it means you have clothes to wear.

Be thankful for the space you find at the far end of the parking lot, because it means you can walk.

Be thankful for the lady who sings off-key behind you in church, because it means you can hear.

Be thankful when people complain about the government, because it means we have freedom of speech.

Be thankful for the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours, because it means you're alive.



When I read this column, it sort of slaps me in the face because it reminds me that all of my complaints are petty and small compared to all of the things I have to be thankful for--especially during these times of "gloom and doom," with daily news reports about lay-offs and bank failures and veterans with traumatic brain injuries--all of which are far removed from my own situation.

I joke that I lead a very boring life, but the reality is that I lead a life that is free of hardships, and for that I am thankful. But, I also recognize that I got to live this sort of life not just through luck, but through the choices I made. The choices I made were largely based on certain values that had been instilled in me at a young age. I would not be where I am today, if it weren't for certain people, and I am most grateful for having them in my life.

I am grateful that my grandparents lived through the Depression and valued hard work, responsibility, and financial security through saving your money and living modestly.

I am grateful that my father, whose parents only had high school educations, was raised to value education and encouraged to go further than his own parents had, even if it meant struggling to pay for that college degree.

I am grateful that my parents had high expectations for their daughters and allowed us the independence to succeed or fail based on our own actions and decisions--there were no bailouts in our household. If we chose not to study for a test and failed, there would be no phone calls to the teacher to ask for a grade change. If we failed, it was our own fault. Consequences were always discussed in our household.

I am grateful that my fear of consequences kept me on the "straight and narrow." I did not place myself in risky situations, nor did I engage in behavior that could have negative results. Unlike most of my friends, I was always thinking about the "What Ifs." I still do.

I am grateful that my parents did not hand out compliments and praise for nothing. It made me very recognition-oriented because the only time I got the attention I craved was by achieving something significant, like straight A's or Leadership Awards or a full-tuition scholarship to college.

I am grateful that my mother lectured us in our teens--unabashedly discussing very adult topics like sex and drugs with an attitude that we were mature enough to handle it, even though, at the time, we were horribly embarrassed and uncomfortable with it. She certainly scared us, but that fear kept me a "good girl." She spoke to us and treated us like mature young adults--not like we were stupid teenagers, incapable of having anything intelligent to say. They say children will rise to your level of expectation, and she had very high expectations of us, and we certainly did not want to disappoint her.

I am grateful that my mother spoke to us about her own hopes and dreams--and her regrets. She wanted us to go further--attain all the things that she didn't, and so we did. Her honesty, while sometimes painful, taught us many valuable lessons.

I am grateful that I was the "Main Breadwinner" during my marriage because it kept me from quitting a job that sometimes I did not particularly like. I stuck it out for 10 years because I had to "pay the bills," but during that time, I established a reputation with my co-workers and managers as a hard-working employee, and I volunteered for other assignments--mainly to get out of doing the work I didn't like--which gave me more experiences, new skills, and greater "exposure." It laid the foundation for my career, and I was rewarded with a new job as an analyst that suited me perfectly. And, because I didn't change employers, my pay increased, and my benefits increased, and my retirement plan remained intact because I didn't have to start over somewhere else. Responsibility and patience pay off, and just because you don't like your job, that doesn't mean you should do shitty work. My job may have been shitty, but my work never was.

I am grateful that I have always had managers who cared about my development and encouraged me to take on different assignments. They recommended me for Teams and Special Projects, and allowed me to go on Details that altered the path of my career, even though it made their jobs a little tougher while I was away. I have never, ever had a "bad" boss.

I am grateful that I have two healthy children who are growing up to be interesting and funny people, and that I knew enough about parenting to know it was important to just "be myself" with them. They don't just see me as "Mom," but also as a human being who makes mistakes, laughs at inappropriate things, and isn't afraid to tell them the truth about things. They have seen me cry; they have heard me rant; they have been subjected to my lecturing. There are no surprises in this house--I may not be perfect, but at least I'm consistent because I'm not trying to be a phony.

I am grateful my Dad lives nearby and can still come to "rescue me" when a pipe bursts or my car won't start. (He also buys me tools. Whee!)

Most of all, I am grateful that whenever I am fumbling around, feeling like a helpless failure because I don't know how to do something, I hear my mother telling me, "Nonsense! Don't be ridiculous! You can do anything, you just need to figure it out."

She was right. It may take awhile, but I'll eventually figure it out.

Fun and Games

I'm a sporadic blogger at best, but in honor of NaBloPoMo, I thought I would attempt to be a little more attentive.

So, for today's entry, I'm letting you in on a fun little website I discovered from another blogger:

http://www.yearbookyourself.com/

It's a hoot! Here's the proof:






This would have been me, circa 1984 (with my 40-year-old face).


(Actually, I graduated in 1986, but I had short hair instead of Big '80s Hair).

Or how about 1974? I always wanted to have long, straight hair...











Or how about 1972?

I think 1966 suits me a little better. Do you think I would have had to set my hair on orange juice cans for this look?










This one is definitely my favorite, because it fully captures my slightly nerdy self! Plus, I have always wanted to be a Girl Who Wore Glasses. (Unfortunately, I have bionic vision, so no one will give me a prescription for glasses.)





Guys can participate, too, but trying on new hairstyles is always more fun for the Gals!

Adventures in Backpacking

Two weekends ago, I went backpacking with my son's Boy Scout Troop. I am not what most people would consider an "outdoorsy" person. While I do like to go camping and fishing, that's kind of a private side to me and it's just not how people "see" me. I am a woman who wears skirts or dresses every day--even on the weekends. I never leave the house without makeup on. I have owned the same pair of tennis shoes for over 10 years--they haven't worn out yet because I rarely ever wear them. So, people were surprised to learn that I was going on a backpacking trip. I decided to capture the excursion on film to prove that I did it, and when I came home, I put together a Power Point slideshow to share with my family, friends, and co-workers spoofing the weekend. It was a hoot! So, I decided to capture it here as an exercise in posting photos on this blog.

The Pampered Princess Goes Backpacking

This is my pack. It weighed 35 pounds. I am NOT kidding!










Headed for the trail. I knew it was going to be 2 miles, but I didn't know it was going to be all UPHILL!








This is my son. He is only smiling because he finally got to sit down. He is probably cursing my name under his breath for making him go on this trip.






Is it just me, or do these trees look like they could burst into flame at any moment? We were hiking through a TINDERBOX!







Look at the lovely, rustic sign! (Yeah, well, the trail was equally “rustic”…full of fallen trees, debris, exposed tree roots, boulders, rock and mud slides, creeks you had to cross by walking across a single log, preferably without losing your balance and tumbling in!)





The Lake! The Lake! We finally reached the Lake! (Well, actually, it was more of a pond--we don't really have lakes in New Mexico--but I was excited to get there because it meant we were at the half-way point, and I hadn't died yet.)









One mile later, we had reached our destination! A grassy meadow...







...covered with cowpies because we were sharing space with the local wildlife: Domesticated Ungulates, a member of the Subfamily Bovinae. (Seriously--these are the only animals we saw on the whole trip!)







This is me. My face is red not because I was sunburned, but because if I had to go any further, I would have had a heart attack.

HELP! I've fallen, and I can't get up!









The stream near our campsite was partially frozen. I considered this to be a very bad sign (that we were going to freeze our arses off come nightfall!)

Another bad sign: one of our first tasks was to put all of our food into nylon bags, so we could suspend it from a high branch to discourage any bears that might come lumbering through...(gee, I'm going to sleep just great tonight! NOT!!!)





Hmmm, something tells me we should have tried setting this tent up at home first...

This is a $165 Coleman 2-Man Backpacking Tent. I have learned that the more compact and lightweight camping gear is, the more expensive it is!





Being the Pampered Princess that I am, I packed mascara, an eyeliner pencil and an eyebrow pencil in one of the pockets of my "Tough Girl" Cargo Pants. These items were NOT on the Official Boy Scouts of America Supply List. The Scoutmaster confiscated them on Saturday afternoon.





I MADE IT!!!




(Who says you can't go hiking in a skirt!?)






Three things I said this weekend that I NEVER thought I would ever hear myself say:

1) Gee, these antibacterial wet wipes can be used on your hands AND your face! (Sorry, Mary Kay, but I was desperate...)
2) I can tinkle in the woods without sprinkling my $95 Hiking Boots!
3) I cannot WAIT to use that Pit Toilet!





Best Part of the Whole Weekend:
My son telling me, "It's fun to go camping with you, Mom!"


(Made the whole trip worthwhile!)








Next Best Part of the Weekend:



Coming home to my Jetted Tub! AHHHH.....

Change

First of all, I refuse to make this post about politics. I'm so sick of hearing the words "change" and "Washington, D.C." in the same sentence. It's an oxymoron.

I'm also one of those self-centered bloggers, so if I'm going to write about "change" it is going to have to have something to do with ME!

I have used my blogs to whine and moan about marriage, divorce, and men because those were whiny, moan-y posts I needed to make at the time.

Women are like that--we can't "move on" until we pontificate and express ourselves ad nauseum, preferably to an audience, which is why I blog because it is far better for me to foist myself on random internet strangers than my own friends and family, who I want to remain friendly with. I don't want them to get sick of my whining and moaning, so I reserve my crap for here. Sorry! (But not really...)

That being said, I am coming up on my 5th year of being divorced, my 12th year of being a parent, and my 40th year of being a human being, and it is time to make some changes. I have developed some bad habits lately, fueled by my relative wealth, boredom with my life, and bad ways of coping with stress. These things are not only unhealthy, but they actually end up contributing to my boredom with my life, and they aren't going to do much for my kids and my life expectancy, not to mention my relative wealth (which is being squandered by my impulsive ways).

To summarize, I drink too much cheap wine, eat too much fast food, and spend far too many hours with my butt parked on the couch. I don't spend as much "quality time" with my children as I should, and I don't pay any attention to my checking account balance (there always seems to be money there, so I just spend it haphazardly without thinking about it much). I've been in my new house since July, and there are still dozens of unpacked boxes in my garage and stacked randomly in my bedroom and living room. I'm no longer involved in a custody dispute, and it's high time I "let go" of certain obsessions involving ill-fated relationships with unattainable men, so there really is no excuse for me to be sitting on my couch moping around (or, for that matter, whining and moaning to the internet) anymore.

So, change is coming.

1. Exercise. I was told in no uncertain terms by my doctor that she fully expects me to have a heart attack any day now. Ordinarily, I would have protested, but now that I'm 40 and have ridiculously high blood pressure, I probably should take her somewhat seriously. I have all the high-risk factors for heart disease and breast cancer: too much alcohol, high-fat diet, sedentary lifestyle, and a family history for both. Shit. So, I'm going to get serious about what I eat and how I spend my non-working hours (when I'm working, I'm tied to a computer or a telephone, so I pretty much have to park my butt in a chair). I can exercise on weekends, and I can surely manage to fit something in at least 2 other days each week (especially since Grey's Anatomy has gone from bad to worse and sucks so bad I can't even watch it anymore).

2. Budget. One of the greatest things post-divorce was discovering that I didn't have to balance my checkbook anymore because I was the only person spending money out of the account for a change. Plus, I got two promotions and make more money than I ever could have imagined possible at this stage of my life. I also spend money like a teenager--I see shiny objects, and I buy them. I don't feel like cooking, so we eat out at restaurants. I find things for sale on the internet, and I buy those too. Never big ticket items, just lots of "little things" that add up to, well, ridiculous sums of money for things I didn't really need. That leaves me without money for the Big Ticket Items that I really want, like a new couch, a Pool Table, a trip to Yellowstone, and airplane tickets to visit my sister and a certain person who lives in the Pacific Northwest. It also leaves me without money for the Big Ticket Items I truly need, like new tires and a tune-up for my Camry, which has aged along with me. So, I'm going to get serious about tracking my expenditures and sticking to a budget, especially when it comes to groceries, which leads me to the next change...

3. Cooking. I cannot believe how much I squander on groceries! Half the food I buy, I have to throw out because it goes bad before I can use it. Back in my Starving College Student days, I used to plan every meal for the week before going to the grocery store. I would "estimate" the cost and go grocery shopping with a calculator in hand to make sure I didn't "over-spend." I only bought the items on my list. Nowadays, I just go, throw things in the cart, stock up on sale items, and before you know it, I've spent $150 and still have to make another trip to the grocery store later in the week to fix a meal I want to fix but don't have ingredients for. This is insanity! I love to cook, yet I complain that I make the same old stuff for dinner every week because I'm too uninspired and disorganized to plan ahead and be prepared to try something new. I have STACKS of recipes from magazines, yet I never make any of them. So, on the weekends, I will now be required to map out our meals for the week and make a grocery list with very specific items--no extras, no surprises. And I bet I will not only save money, but we'll eat out less and probably have more nutritious meals.

4. Get Organized. Weekdays are a little crazy in this house with school and the Job and what not, but weekends most certainly are NOT. There is plenty of time in those weekends to take care of errands, make lists, do chores, plan for the week ahead, etc. I've never been much of a goal-setter--I sort of drift through and somehow manage to have opportunities and accomplishments land in my lap, but I bought a "self-help" kind of book (yeah, I know--SHUT UP!) and one of the first things I was required to do was make a list of 25 things I wanted to be, do, or have. I made a great list. It was great because it was all just so EASY! Every last one of those things was something I could easily accomplish with a little thought and effort. I'm not one for challenges. I like easy.

Oh, don't get me wrong. My life will still be boring, but I won't be bored living it. That's the difference--I haven't been living. Instead I have just been half-heartedly going through the motions and not taking the time to wake up every morning with a mission to accomplish lots of boring little things. Consequently, I would go to bed each night feeling like I had wasted yet another day.

No more.

That being said, it's time to get off this computer and start my day. I've got things to do, lists to make, boxes to unpack, vegetables to buy, floors to mop, and a family to care for. The fog has lifted, and the day stretches before me, filled with options!

Scandalous

Hmmmm...this is a tough one for me to write about. I don't think of myself as a "scandalous" person (in the words of Eliza Doolittle, "I'm a good girl, I am!"). Everyone I know has stories to tell about the wacky, crazy things they did in college. I have none of those stories. I was always conscientious and cautious--a "rule-follower." I have never been a risk-taker, but in the past 6 years, I must admit I did 4 scandalous things. No, I will not tell you what those 4 things were. There is no one person in my life who knows about all of those 4 things. My family and closest friends may know about 1 or 2 of them, but nobody knows about all of them. I am good at keeping secrets and hiding certain details.

There is one person who knows about 3 of the 4, and that person, surprisingly (or maybe not) is my ex-husband. It is a bit disconcerting to realize that the one person who knows the most about me is the man I chose to divorce. I wonder sometimes if my desire to leave the marriage was borne out of my desire to leave my mistakes behind and start anew--become the person I wanted to be that I couldn't be if I stayed with him because he possessed too much knowledge of my weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I couldn't move forward when he held so much "ammunition" that he could use against me.

I break free, and I find myself a different person--a woman with secrets and things to hide, and hide them I do. It's nobody else's business, after all, what mistakes I have made in the past. What matters is the outcome--the lessons I have learned, the consequences I have faced.

While my "scandalous" choices are choices I am not proud of, I can honestly say that I don't really regret them. I suffered, other people suffered, but we all emerged from the ashes. I endured heartbreak, fear, guilt, and shame (largely self-inflicted), but I perservered, and I ultimately landed on my feet. Those "scandalous" choices also set certain things into motion that needed to happen. I learned some very valuable lessons. I did more damage to myself than I did to others. Those choices cost me more than they cost anyone else. I have served my sentence, done my pennance. So, I do not dwell on those scandalous things much, and I do not feel compelled to share them with anyone because that will not serve any useful purpose.

But, I can say with conviction that I hope the remainder of my life will be "scandal-free."

My Style

When I first checked the Sunday Scribblings for the week, my first inclination was to "pass" because I have always considered myself to have no real style unless BORING can pass as style. But I started thinking about how I have "evolved" over the years, and I realized that I DO have certain standards and tastes that I gravitate towards. But, I also have a very "eclectic" group of friends and family members that have very unique Styles. Because their Style was so much more remarkable than my own, I always assumed I had no style. But that's not true. I DO have style--it may not be flashy, and it may be subtle, but the older I get, the more I notice that I adhere to certain "rules" when it comes to choosing clothes, jewelry, makeup, etc.

So I'm "listing" those things that I have discovered in my closet and my jewelry box that were deliberate purchases:

1) Narrow, "pencil skirts"--either just above the knee, or a few inches above the ankle.

2) Cardigan Sweater sets.

3) Proper string of pearls (would love to have some real ones, but will make do with fakes because I am a cheapskate). Pearls must be all the same size, or small, fresh-water pearls. Nothing big or "chunky" or "modern."

4) Sling-back pumps in black, navy, or taupe.

5) Pointy-toed shoes with narrow little heels.

6) 3/4 length sleeved shirts/sweaters (as a short person, I hate wearing long-sleeved anything--I always push up the sleeves, roll-up the cuffs, anything to push fabric back from my lower arms.)

7) Floral prints, particularly on dresses. Empire Waists a plus. I am a sucker for a "lovely" print. The prints that I like the most probably resemble Victorian Wallpaper. When it comes to dresses, I like them to be either very "classic" and "clean" or very feminine. I like soft fabrics that "drape" and "swirl" nicely in a dress.

8) Charm Bracelets.

9) Gold Hoop Earrings or Pearl Studs because they go with everything (hate diamonds, as a general rule.)

10) "Antique" looking jewelry. I like delicate, feminine, intricate. My favorite "Brand" of Department-Store jewelry? 1928. I am especially partial to Cameos and Crosses.

11) Washable fabrics (no time to hand-wash or dry clean--I am a BUSY woman!)

12) Skirts and/or Dresses. I hate wearing pants. I will wear "Capris" during the summer months, but, as a general rule, I usually don't own or purchase pants. I have been known to show up for a Campout and pitch a tent wearing a skirt.

13) Anything made out of velvet--especially "stretch" velvet.

As I look back on this list, I realize that everything on it was probably heavily-influenced by my mother and grandmother and their definitions of "good taste." But, that does not mean that it is not truly my own Style. Yes, I grew up with pretty stringent rules and standards of what constituted "good taste," but I have had plenty of opportunities to challenge their rules and standards, and, believe me, I DID.

But nowadays my goals are to be comfortable, look presentable and respectable, but still wear fabulous shoes.

Wedding

I love weddings, despite being a divorced and bitter Old Hag (ha ha). I love wedding dresses and wedding cakes and wedding flowers and wedding music and wedding invitations. Let's face it, weddings are the Ultimate Party!

I was at Target yesterday, looking for some cheap stationery and came across these pre-packaged, do-it-yourself "Wedding Invitation Kits." You could run the invitations and envelopes through your home computer printer, and the sets also featured co-ordinated boxes of Thank You notes. They were hip and trendy and SO DARN CHEAP, it made me love Target even more than I already love Target. Of course, I also realized that my mother and my grandmother would have been HORRIFIED if any one of their progeny resorted to such a hideous option. They came from generations that custom-ordered engraved invitations from a quality stationer! Their standards for what was considered "proper" and "classy" influenced and intimidated me when I was planning my own wedding, years ago.

The one thing I DESPISE about weddings is the COST. To me, the amount of money people can spend on weddings these days seems absolutely ridiculous, so that's why it makes me happy to see do-it-yourself invitation kits on clearance at Target. Weddings should be special occasions and should be an event people will remember, but they don't have to be outrageously expensive, either. I cringe when I watch Hollywood's depiction of the perfect wedding. Remember the absolute avalanche of flowers in the Southern church when Julia Roberts got married in Steel Magnolias? Beautiful, but as a recently-married person, all I could think was HOLY CRAP that's like ten thousand dollar's worth of flowers! And what about Kimberly Williams wedding in Father of the Bride? ICE Sculptures? Seriously, ICE SCULPTURES!?!? The price tag of those affairs is something absolutely unattainable by the majority of the population! Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would have a wedding anywhere close to those!

I got married young by today's standards (21). My older sister was attending Physical Therapy school, and my parents were paying Out-of-State Tuition to the tune of about $20K per year, plus the cost of housing for her. I was within one semester of graduating from college, and fairly self-sufficient, since I was already working part-time and my tuition was covered by scholarship money. My wedding cost a grand total of $5,000. While I was planning my wedding, I was very conscious of the cost of everything from food to flowers. I recall being supremely pissed off at the Wedding Dress shop that ordered my dress of choice (cost less than $500) in a size 10 when I was a size 4 and had specifically requested they order a size 6 (it didn't come any smaller). When I went in to pick up the dress and they immediately tried to book me for "alterations," I knew right away that they had purposely ordered the dress 3 sizes too big just to weasel another $250 out of me for "alterations." HMPH! They obviously did not know who they were dealing with! I learned how to sew my own clothes in the 4th grade, and I took that enormous dress home, ripped out seams, added darts, and altered it to fit me perfectly...for FREE! (I also made my own veil and headpiece with $35 and a trip to the local fabric store.)

So, I had a low-budget wedding. My parents didn't go into debt, I was never a "Bridezilla," and it was a pretty nice day, all things considered. What I remember (and value) the most out of that day was the fact that my grandfather, although suffering from Congestive Heart Failure, made the trip (against his doctor's orders), to attend his granddaughter's wedding. My wedding photos are some of the last photos we have of my Grandpa because he died shortly thereafter. My other favorite memory was the feeling I had when they opened up the doors to me to walk down the aisle, and I was overcome with the smiling faces of family and friends who showed up not for the food, or the music, or the dancing, or the booze (because there wasn't any of that--my reception was held at the church and was alcohol-free with "light refreshments" and no dancing.) They showed up just because they were my friends or my parents' friends or my Grooms' friends or my Grooms' Family. I had no regrets about my low-budget wedding, even after attending the larger, fancier weddings of my friends over the years.

There is a well-known, affluent family from my city who made their fortune distributing a particular brand of beer (which shall remain nameless). The family now owns a professional basketball team and some hotels in Las Vegas and the sons have appeared in TV commercials eating $6 hamburgers, washing them down with bottles of wine that cost more than a new sofa. A few of my college Gal Pals went to school with the Daughter from this family, and none of them liked her--found her to be the Typical Little Rich Girl (arrogant and pretentious). She got married with much fanfare (The band KISS played at her wedding) a few years after I got married. HER wedding probably cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Forgive my friends and me, but when we learned she got divorced less than 2 years after that public spectacle, we snickered (because while we are not pretentious, we are arrogant and, also, catty--ha ha!)

The best wedding I have ever been to was the Low-Budget Affair of one of my college sorority sisters. She and the groom had only recently finished school and were working at crappy jobs (she in retail, he in direct sales). They were a lovely pair, full of potential, but they came from "broken homes" and none of their parents could provide much monetary assistance with wedding expenses. They had their wedding outdoors (which is always risky) at a restaurant that overlooked a Golf Course. They got a "deal" on the location because the restaurant purchased liquor from the Groom's employer and the Groom was their salesperson. He knew the bartenders and the waiters and waitresses at the restaurant and invited them all to his wedding. They were all poor, starving college students, so their gift to the Bride and Groom was to "work" the wedding at NO COST. The Manager of the Restaurant provided the food at "cost." The Groom and his Groomsmen wore khaki Levi Docker's with light blue oxford cloth button-down shirts and navy blue blazers, purchased on sale at a local department store. The bridesmaids wore plain navy blue linen sheath dresses (very Jackie-O) purchased for less than $40 each at The Limited (I know because I had the very same dress in Yellow that I wore for YEARS with a cream-colored linen blazer to work and just a long strand of fake pearls for church and weddings). The bride wore a funky dress that she picked up for a steal off a "sales rack" (because it was a really funky dress, but she was one of those women who could pull off a "funky" look, so it worked perfectly for her.) Just as the ceremony was about to start, the clouds rolled in, blocking out the glaring sun, which made everyone more comfortable on a hot day. A cool breeze blew in, but no rain. Perfect for an outdoor wedding because nobody was squinting in the photographs, and everyone was comfortable.

It was a truly beautiful wedding with less than 100 guests, all of whom had a great time. The wedding was beautiful because the Bride and Groom were surrounded by people who liked them and loved them. It was unpretentious and simple and the people who attended were there not out of "obligation," but because they were truly happy for this particular couple and wanted to wish them the best. There were so many personal touches, done partly in an effort to "save money," and partly to personalize the wedding itself. It was a truly lovely event.

Nowadays, I think people have far more options to create weddings in all kinds of different price ranges. I've been to weddings held in a National Forest, weddings held at the base of a ski hill, and weddings held in a tiny little chapel connected to a photographer's studio. I once even witnessed a wedding reception in a local park with picnic tables outfitted with plastic tablecloths and take-out Fried Chicken and potato salad. I've also been to weddings held in large, old churches followed by receptions in swanky hotels. I've been to wedding receptions that lasted over 6 hours, and receptions that were over within an hour.

While I think it is unlikely that I will ever get married again, I still secretly enjoy thinking about how I would do another wedding. I still enjoy weddings and look forward to the day my children have weddings of their own. I hope to participate in the planning, but, hopefully, without dictating (something Mothers are known for). Maybe the wedding will be in my own backyard. Maybe I'll own the fabulous Bed and Breakfast of my dreams by then, complete with English garden and pond. Perhaps I will actually be in the wedding business, renting out my B&B for such events.

Weddings can be full of Pomp and Circumstance, but they can also be sweetly intimate. Whatever the "style" of the wedding, it in no way guarantees the success of the marriage. I admit that I am biased against huge, expensive productions--I consider them to be a bit of a bad omen. Throwing such great sums of money around seems a bit like gambling to me--a risk I wouldn't want to take.

Sometimes, the simpler the event, and the fewer the guests, the more genuine the wedding.

40 and FABULOUS!

I neglect this blog terribly. I started it because my Other Blog had become too familiar and "known" by Real People. I came over here to be more anonymous, so I could write things I wanted to write but felt I could not post at the Other Blog. Plus, I also recognized that my Other Blog was becoming far too boring because I KNEW I had an audience, and I was pretty much writing for that audience, instead of writing for ME. So I started this Blog, and then I realized that whatever I posted here (outside Sunday Scribblings, of course) was basically anonymous and completely ignored by the Universe, and that offended me because I felt I was saying really significant and important things.

What a Narcissistic Blow-Hard I am, huh?

Yeah, well, so what? I DON'T CARE. And you know WHY I don't care? Because I turned 40 more than a week ago, and it did NOT bother me one iota!

A lot of really good things happened to me in my 30s, but a lot of really bad stuff happened to me, too. As my 40th birthday loomed on the horizon, I took stock and realized that I was starting off this new decade in my life in a very, very good place. I have a fabulous new house, a job that I love (which is, nicely, recession-proof), and I have GREAT kids, lots of friends, and a wonderful (although small) family. Yeah, I'm overweight and single with Lots O' Baggage, but that is OKAY. I have learned that I can take care of myself. I have accepted--FINALLY--that I'm smart and talented and I deserve everything that has come to me because I earned it.

And you know what I did for my 40th birthday? (Well, on the actual day, I flew to Washington, D.C. for a work trip, so I really didn't celebrate until 4 days after my actual birthday.)

I threw myself a PARTY!

It was a New House/Promotion/40th Birthday Party, and while I struggled with the audacity of throwing myself my own party, I also recognized that nobody was going to do it for me, and, dammit, I wanted to have a party! I spent hundreds of dollars on groceries and booze, and I invited everybody I knew--co-workers, Boy Scout Parents, College friends, High School friends, Church people--you name them, I invited them.

It was a lot of work, but it was wonderful! I have an awesome house. I'm also an awesome cook. My friends and co-workers are awesome people with cool kids. What's not to love?

Tomorrow, I am hostessing a Women's Group from Church. Next Friday, I will be hostessing a Scrapbooking party. A few weeks after that, I have out-of-town company coming for a visit during Balloon Fiesta, so I am already planning a Weekend Itinerary of all things glorious and wonderful about New Mexico (besides Hot Air Balloons), like the World's Longest Tram, the Jetsons-inspired Spaceship House, a Miraculous Staircase within a small, old church in Santa Fe, a haunted restaurant housed in the Oldest Residence in Albuquerque, fresh-roasted green chile, and home-cooked meals served on my Back Patio with a fantastic view of amazing and awe-inspiring sunsets.

I no longer sit around feeling sorry for myself. I'm BUSY--I've got things to do, people to see, places to go...

Unfortunately, that also means my garage is still filled with boxes of stuff I have yet to unpack, not to mention my Ex-Husband's Worldly Possessions (he got divorced from the StepMonster and is back in town, living with his parents for now, and storing his "stuff" in my garage and in my shed because despite being a highly-empowered Woman of Substance, I am still incapable of being a complete Asshole to anyone that my kids happen to care about. SHUT UP!)

40 is good. I'm totally okay with turning 40, and I honestly don't "get" why it is such a huge issue for so many women. Women who have trouble turning 40 must be women who have lived their lives based on "their looks." They freak out at 40 because that's when "aging" becomes visibly apparent. If you base your value to the world on "how you look," well, then I guess turning 40 is a problem. But, I'm happy to report, it was NOT a problem for ME!

I have always had to rely on my brains, my wit, and my personality because I never have been much to look at. It has served me well--I don't need superficial attention to validate my existence. I am who I am right now, and I have finally, for once in my life, STOPPED caring about what "other people" think about me. I care what my friends think. I care what my family thinks. I care what my co-workers think. But I don't really care what anyone else thinks.

Coffee

Years ago, when my kids were little, and I was sleep-deprived, I couldn't leave for work without two large travel mugs full of coffee. I had a 30-minute commute and would suck down the equivalent of about 4 mugs of coffee during my journey. I love the way coffee smells, but I have to drink it with milk (or, better yet, cream) and artificial sweetener. I refused to buy my coffee at coffee shops, particularly Starbuck's (which I consider to be an Evil Empire, forcing thousands of small, independent coffee shop owners out of business.) It seemed like an atrocious waste of money, especially when I could make it at home--I even had an Espresso machine, so I could make my own lattes.

I only drank coffee on weekdays. On the weekends, I rarely drank it. And I didn't drink it for the caffeine buzz because I honestly couldn't feel any effects from the caffeine. I could drink coffee at 11:30 at night, and be sound asleep by midnight. I think I probably drank coffee all the way up until my divorce. My ex drank coffee--tons of it. He had to have non-dairy creamer (not milk) and about 3 spoonfuls of sugar in his. After he moved out, I stopped drinking coffee. I think I made it for him, really, rather than for me--I just drank it because it was there. I suffered no withdrawal symptoms. I just got up one morning and didn't make coffee. Simple as that.

I've always been more of a tea-drinker, and I drink my tea the same way I drank my coffee--only with a little less milk and about half a package of artificial sweetener. I can also drink my tea "straight up" without milk or sweetener--something I could never do with coffee. I love everything about tea--I love tea cups and saucers and tea pots that come in all shapes and sizes. Admittedly, I most often drink my tea in a coffee mug, but I own plenty of tea cups and they are the first thing I look for in antique stores. I have this lovely dream of owning a Bed and Breakfast someday, with a fancy Tea Room for the locals. I will serve up the tea in my vast "collection" of tea cups and saucers, acquired from antique stores. I rarely drink tea on weekdays--I'm always in a rush on weekday mornings and tea is not something that can be rushed. Tea is for drinking when you can curl up on the couch or read the newspaper on your back patio. It is made for those times when you have peace and quiet. Tea does not belong in Travel Mugs or paper cups. It belongs on a table, in a proper cup.

It is no wonder that tea drinkers in the United States are discriminated against. Coffee is the beverage of America. It's bold and brash and arrogant. If you have a cup of coffee in your hand, everyone else can smell it. Taking a "coffee break" is a perfectly acceptable excuse to leave your desk. Tea? Not so much. If you order "hot tea" at a restaurant, they either bring you a tiny little pot of hot water or a single mug of hot water with a single tea bag. If you ask for more hot water, they expect you to re-use that same tea bag. Yeck! I hate weak tea! I use my tea bags once, and throw them away! Coffee drinkers, on the other hand, get unlimited refills, without having to ask. Tea drinkers have to flag down a waiter or waitress and request additional hot water and additional tea bags, and sometimes they CHARGE you for an additional tea bag! Why is that when coffee beans cost far more than tea? I know some tea drinkers who actually carry extra tea bags around in their purses for this very reason. Hotels will put tea bags in the little caddy next to the 4-cup coffee-maker, but you can't drink tea from a coffee-maker because it will always taste like coffee. And they put out exactly two tea bags--one regular and one decaf. Phffffft!

My mother was a tea-drinker. She drank tea all day long, probably anywhere from 6 to 10 cups a day, and then she always had iced tea with dinner. She was an Earl Grey fan, and while I like Earl Grey, I'm happiest with plain ol' English Breakfast. Sometimes I'll try the flavored teas, but I'm still most content with a basic, traditional, black tea.

My father attended a conference in Victoria, British Columbia about 15 years ago, and my mother and my sister accompanied him on his trip. I was unable to go--can't exactly remember why now because this was before I had children--probably a work conflict. They visited Butchart Gardens and had "High Tea" at the Empress Hotel. I was immensely jealous, and vow that someday before I die, I will spend a weekend in Victoria! It was during this trip that my mother discovered Murchie's Tea--that's what the Empress Hotel serves. She brought back boxes and boxes of Murchie's Tea, and gave me a box containing a sampler of the various blends, including the Empress Afternoon blend served at the Hotel, and the Golden Jubilee blend, created for Queen Elizabeth. While she would still buy tea at Trader Joe's or specialty shops, Murchie's became her regular supplier. Shipping and handling wasn't cheap, but to her it was worth every penny for good quality tea. She never drank Lipton's or Bigelow tea ever again.

She had placed a large order with Murchie's just before she went into the hospital. It arrived a few days after she died. I can only imagine how my Dad felt the moment he opened up the box that was delivered to his doorstep. At her Memorial Service, we put out a tray of tea bags in a multitude of blends, so everyone could enjoy a good cup of tea in her memory. She had an entire cabinet in her kitchen filled with various teas--all kinds of flavors, many of them gifts from friends and family because everyone who knew her, knew how much she liked her tea. My father, a coffee drinker, asked me if I wanted the Murchie's tea, and I jumped at the chance. Even though I didn't drink tea very often, it was something that I closely connected with my mother, so of course I wanted the tea. There are two boxes (with 75 tea bags per box) of Earl Grey, a box of English Afternoon, and a box of Golden Jubilee in one of my kitchen cabinets.

I drink much more tea now than I used to--because whenever I fix a cup of tea, I think of my mother. While I don't drink tea every day, I drink it almost every day, and, like my mom, sometimes I fix it in the middle of the day or after dinner, not just in the mornings.

I may never drink coffee ever again--it's my way of showing solidarity and preserving my mother's memory.

Congratulate Me...I Just Became a Homeowner Again!

I signed my name about 50 times Friday morning to a stack of papers an inch thick. There were many references to "Blondie, a single person" throughout those papers. I'm sure it's a "legal thing," but it kind of bugged me that they made such a big deal about my marital status (or lack thereof). Geez--STOP rubbing it in already! I also had one last-minute request from the Underwriters which frightened me a bit, since the mortgage approval process has been nothing but invasive and humiliating. All I could think was, "What now? They want my first-born child?" Turns out all they needed was a copy of a letter I had sitting on my kitchen counter, but STILL, making a request for additional documentation WHILE I am signing the final papers!?!?

Jerks.

As God is my witness, I will never apply for a mortgage again...

I'd rather pass a kidney stone (and since I have passed 2 of them, I know what I'm talking about).

But the important thing is that I have purchased a home--and not just any home. This is a house with 2,147 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 2 1/2 bathrooms, a home office, 2 dining areas, an enormous kitchen with a HUGE pantry, a utility room, and a 2-car garage. If I wanted to (and I think I want to) I could put in a pool table! It's in a "better" neighborhood than the one I live in now (which is a perfectly acceptable neighborhood). The houses across the street from my new house back onto the golf course and cost a good $50K more than my house. But the MOST important thing is that I qualified for this house all by myself. It is in MY name, and MY NAME only. The down payment and closing costs came from money I had saved all by myself. I did this on my own with no help from anyone (besides a realtor and a loan officer). Of course, this also means I have to pack up all of our stuff by myself...DRAT!

I have been a "homeowner" before--back when I was married and there were 2 full-time incomes in the family household. I had to let go of that house when I got divorced, and I went back to being a renter while I recovered financially from the cost of divorce. During those 4 years, I paid an attorney thousands of dollars, paid my parents thousands of dollars, and paid my ex-husband tens of thousands of dollars. All the while, I took care of my kids and my own bills. There wasn't a lot of extra money to throw around, but I always had "enough," and I am grateful for that--most single mothers can't say the same.

But those thousands of dollars of my earnings that I USED to have to pay out to other people, now belong to me again. I was promoted not once, but twice, in the last 4 years. I actually have a Savings Account now and a good credit record, for a change. I even have a separate Savings Account for Vacations (Yellowstone--2009!) My kids have everything they need, and then some. I have everything I need, and then some.

And now I actually own an ASSET that will appreciate instead of depreciate. (Note: the Housing Market in my city has not faced the same problems as Housing Markets in the rest of the country--one of the advantages of living in a poverty state with affordable housing.)

I could end this entry by saying that I am "counting my blessings," and I am, but that's not entirely accurate. It wasn't just "Divine Intervention" that got me to this place. Yes, I had a good support network, but family and friends can only do so much. I got me to this place. I am very good at what I do, and I work very hard. I am responsible. I don't fall apart emotionally even when very, very bad things happen. I keep going--keep meeting my responsibilities, keep on being "The Provider." And that doesn't make me a bitch or an "Ice Queen." That makes me a Strong Woman, a Good Mother, and a Role Model.

And I am not saying these things to boast. I am saying these things because all of my life I have failed to attribute any of my accomplishments to anything that I did--I always chalked it up to "luck," or "blessings," or the fact that I had educated and supportive parents.

I think it's high time I gave myself some much-deserved credit.

Sunday Scribblings - Photograph

I have always loved photographs. Even as a kid, I wanted to record every "special event" and every meaningful person or object in my life. I got my first Kodak camera (the kind that took 110 film) when I was in Elementary School. I took pictures of our dog, my best friend, the basketball backboard my father custom-made for my sister, my parents 1970 Chevrolet station wagon (which would become the first car I learned how to drive many years later), and the great clouds of smoke pouring into the sky as a forest fire burned off in the distance.

When I was in high school, I took pictures of friends and boyfriends, and I took pictures on all of the trips I got to take as a result of being in various extra-curricular activities. I was a "small town girl," so flying to Dallas for a competition was exciting, and I took pictures of the tall buildings in the Big City because they were the first ones I had ever seen up close. I also took a picture of a "Virgin Strawberry Daquiri" because, well, because it was there in front of me, and I wanted to remember that I had ordered it.

In college, I took pictures of new friends, and I also took pictures of places. I was away from home for the first time and found myself wanting pictures of the mesas and canyons of my Hometown--I had come to truly "appreciate" them now that they were part of my past instead of my present. I would go home for Spring Break and Fall Break and various holiday breaks and take pictures of the scenery. I also took a lot of pictures of old houses. My Hometown was mainly post-WWII vintage, but the city of my university had entire neighborhoods of Victorian houses and old churches with stained glass windows and copper shingles. These were things I loved because I had never seen them before, so I took pictures.

My parents always had photo albums in the house, and I kept my photos in albums, too, but my favorite albums were the "old ones" with pictures of my parents as children and distant relatives I had never met living in houses I had never visited. I loved delving into the photo albums that recorded our "baby years." When we would visit my grandparents, I would paw through my grandmother's photo albums, fascinated by the clothes and the cars and the activities. My Grandfather in his Navy uniform, home on Leave because his first child had been born while he was stationed overseas, piloting dirigibles seeking out German submarines lurking in the waters surrounding South America. My mother, wearing Shirley Temple Ringlets in a posed studio shot. My Great Great Aunts standing in front of a WWI-era car, decked out in fur coats and hats featuring a jaunty peacock or pheasant feather. My Great Grandfather, a 32nd Degree Mason, dressed for a parade. The "Baughman Family Estate" lost during the Great Depression that is now the "Firestone Estate" (yes, yes, I could have been an heiress...)

I think it was my Grandmother's Photo Albums that sparked my passion for photographs. Whenever we brought out Photo Albums, stories got told, and I loved the stories. Photographs capture history, style, physical features, a pretty dress, but they also create a "placeholder" for someone who will tell the story behind that photo. Why was it taken? Why did the person taking the picture want to remember that particular day? Whenever we take a picture, we are doing it to record a memory. We are saying to ourselves, "I want to capture THIS moment."

But pictures are nothing without a narrator. It saddens me when I read about people purchasing boxes of "old photographs" at the Garage Sale of a total stranger. To give up your photographs means that you don't know anything about them, and that's why you can choose to part with them. But, to me, that is heartbreaking because the photograph has so much more power when there is someone there to explain it's reason for existence.

I'm not alone in feeling this way. Look at the massive industry "Scrapbooking" has become. You can't just slap your photos into albums anymore--you have to decoratively display them on acid-free paper, and you must, must, MUST include a caption or a poem or some other notation that describes why that picture was taken--why it was important.

My mother died on March 14th, suddenly, from complications of a particularly high-risk surgery she had chosen to undergo in a valiant effort to "buy her more time." Sadly, the surgery only served to cut her life shorter instead of extending it. It has been a very rough month for my sister, my Dad, and me. We struggle with the decision (made collectively as a family) to opt for surgery. We struggle with not being at all prepared for the outcome. We struggle with the vastness and enormity of the tremendous hole that has suddenly been punched into all of our lives.

Since we were the people closest to her (and the people who grieve the most), we were also tasked with the responsibility of "arrangements." Oddly, this was a good thing. It kept us busy. We had things to do, arrangements to make. We had to pick out flowers, design a program for the Memorial Service, select and purchase an Urn for her remains, burn appropriate music onto a CD, write an obituary, plan and prepare food for visitors who would stop by the house after the service...

The list went on and on.

We were also assigned the task of gathering photographs to pin onto two large, fabric-covered bulletin boards that would be posted in the Chapel of the Funeral Home. So, out came the photo albums. My Dad spent an evening scanning photos of my Mom as a baby, a child, a young wife, a young mother, a grandmother. We were actually hard-pressed to come up with a comprehensive collection of her. My mother hated to have her picture taken. Our Baby Albums are filled with pictures of us with our Dad, but there are very few with Mom. She cleverly managed to avoid the camera lens. She coached our softball teams, yet the Team Photo in our albums contains only the faces of the girls--no coach. We were getting frustrated by this--saddened that our mother's "phobia" was now depriving us of something we desperately wanted to find. But, at least we had the Shirley Templesque photo, the high school Graduation Gown photo, the wedding photo, a few "Mom and babies" photos. Finding more recent photos was especially difficult. Her many health issues had caused her to gain significant amounts of weight in recent years, so now she REALLY hated having her picture taken. She would THROW AWAY photos that we sent to her if she was in them and didn't like how "she looked." Not to be thwarted, we scrounged through our own albums and skimmed through the "digital archives" on our computers.

And we found photos--oh yes, there were photos!

The one thing my Mother loved most about her life was being a Grandma. The only recent photos of my Mom always, ALWAYS involved her holding a Grandbaby or--even better--reading a book with a Grandchild. Those photos got taken and were not destroyed--not even by her. Those photos went up on those boards. We were proud of those boards. Through photographs, we captured every stage of her life and showed her engaged in the activities she enjoyed the most--all of her roles as friend, sister, wife, mother, and grandmother.

We somehow managed to survive the Memorial Service last weekend. We were all exhausted, but in a good way because it was "over" and because we got things done and did them in such a way that we think she would have "approved." We were also sad that suddenly we found ourselves with "nothing to do," and that's a bad place to be in when you are grieving.

I went back to work, my kids went back to school, and our lives fell back into their usual routines. But then I picked up my kids from school on Wednesday, and they each had our town's Parks and Recreation Summer Catalog in their backpacks. They both greeted me eagerly, saying, "Mom, Mom! There is a picture of Grandma in here with us!" They were jumping up and down with this weird, bittersweet excitement (because they were "famous" all of a sudden--this particular publication is intended to reach every household in a town with a population of 55,000). Sure enough, I flip through the booklet and find an image of my mother, with my kids, attending an "Art Show" at the Parks and Rec Art Camp my children attended last summer. My Mom was there because the Camp ended at 2:00 pm, and I didn't get home from work until 5:00 pm, so she showed up every day that week to pick up her grandkids because I couldn't be there.

It's not a good photograph. My Mother would have hated it. It wasn't "flattering." As someone who takes a lot of pictures and can be objective, I think it is a crappy photograph for a Parks and Rec publication (you can't see anyone's faces--it's basically a picture of my Mom, turned awkwardly, the back of my daughter's head, and my son with his mouth hanging open while they look at some kid's artwork that isn't particularly spectacular). But, even though it is a crappy photograph, it still spoke volumes to me--it magically-appeared somewhere I would have never expected it to appear, and my Mom's photograph is in that publication because she was doing what she always did--taking care of me and filling in where I could not, and she was smiling because that is exactly where she wanted to be at that moment when that photograph was taken.

I want to tell the 55,000 residents of my city the story behind that photograph.