Ahhhhhh…New Year’s resolutions, the thing we all love to hate. I am having a hard time deciding what my resolutions will be for 2011. I hate to make promises I am clearly not going to keep. However, there are a few things that I need to work on in 2011, so I will do my best to give you my current list, many of which were on last year's list...who says I'm a quitter???
1. I resolve to not let my ass become the size of a truck. The size of a bicycle is my limit.
2. I resolve to work harder at being patient with stupid people. (After all, patience is what Santa was supposed to have brought me this year - it must be in my stocking SOMEwhere.)
3. I resolve to not sweat the small stuff. Instead, I will obsess only about the really BIG stuff that hasn’t yet occurred.
4. I resolve to monitor my wine/alcohol intake, and keep it at a respectable level. (Now you can take two ways – either I will NOT up my level to that of an alcoholic, OR, I will keep drinking enough to be classified as an alcoholic. Hmmmm…I love when I have wiggle room on these things.)
5. I resolve to not spend more than one hour a day on the Internet. (Of course, I'm not much of a clock watcher.)
6. I resolve to be more appreciative of the little things in life. So, the next time my cockatoo craps on me, I will refer to her “present” as “love drops” instead of “bird sh$t”.
7. I resolve to work with neglected children, namely my daughter.
8. I resolve to stop sending Bill text messages while I am talking to him on the phone.
9. I resolve to give up at least three clothing items that are circa late 1980s to early 1990s.
10. I resolve to buy clothes in another color besides black.
11. I resolve to stop obsessing about any newly formed lines on my face. I can barely deal with the old lines that have accumulated thus far.
12. I resolve to do less laundry and use more deodorant.
13. I resolve to give up chocolate...completely...ok, no I don’t.
14. I resolve to always wear clean underwear, just in case.
15. I resolve to not laugh at anyone who is clearly an idiot.
16. I resolve to spend more time with family, until they irritate me to a point whereas they become completely intolerable.
17. I resolve to stop comparing myself with skinny women under the age of thirty. Instead, I will only compare myself with overweight women over the age of fifty, which is bound to lead to a much healthier level of self-esteem.
18. I resolve to finish every bottle of open shampoo in my house before I go out and buy more. (I probably won’t have to buy shampoo until sometime in 2012.)
19. I resolve to not be a drunken idiot…in public. However, I cannot promise anything as far as what goes on in the comfort of my own home.
20. I resolve to breathe in deeply, exhale slowly, enjoy life more, worry less, stop being obsessive, love passionately, laugh with utter abandon, and dance at least a little, every day, no matter what.
Happy New Year’s…may you be blessed with good health, strong family ties, security, and lots and lots of love.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Three years and counting...
Today is the anniversary of my first date with Bill, and he just sent the most magnificent bouquet of roses, peonies and lilies I have ever received. He’s never sent flowers before, and this one is bigger than most funeral arrangements I have seen in my life. When he does something, he certainly does make a statement. I cried. Flowers always make me cry.
So let me give just a little history. Our relationship was not of the traditional variety, but then again, very little about me is ever traditional. We did not meet in a bar, or at church, or through friends. However, the whole bar thing intrigues me, because Bill's collection of pickup lines is, well, nonexistent. Watching him try to pick me up in a bar would make for some great storytelling, I am sure. But we met online, and we were complete strangers. I had posted a profile on yahoo, mostly for the hell of it, and he had sent me an email, probably also for the hell of it. Why send me an email, you ask? Well, anyone who knows Bill will tell you his very favorite pastime is offshore fishing. I had put in my yahoo blurb that I had been offshore fishing a couple of times, so he just had to send me something, anything, and it was a diatribe. I wish I had saved it, but somehow it disappeared from my emails a while ago. It was a masterpiece though, specifically designed to melt my heart…and it did. I wrote him back, we chatted online, we talked on the phone, and we laughed a LOT. Magic…
The one thing I can remember so very clearly is opening my front door to see him standing there. And it was that first time I saw him that I knew I was in trouble. He was really cute and really really sweet. He was kind, and humble, and such a gentle soul. Me? I was damaged, recovering from a toxic relationship that shattered my trust in men. But he was persistent in his mission to win me over. We ate fried dill pickles, laughed some more, and played some pool. I tried to be coy, but was unsuccessful. I was smitten, and I’m pretty sure he knew it. That was the beginning…
Fast forward to today, this very moment. I can’t stop staring at these flowers. He called a bit ago, and the sound of his voice continues to melt my heart. I am still completely smitten. Our three years together have not been perfect, but they have been the best three years of my life. We rarely argue, and I feel like I’m missing my right arm when he’s not around. We never run out of things to talk about. At the same time, just sitting together with him in silence is better than most any conversation I’ve ever had with anyone. I can imagine myself growing old with him, spending the rest of my life with him. He truly makes me want to be a better woman, a better person.
Every day I am grateful that he sent that email. Some things are just meant to be, I suppose.
So let me give just a little history. Our relationship was not of the traditional variety, but then again, very little about me is ever traditional. We did not meet in a bar, or at church, or through friends. However, the whole bar thing intrigues me, because Bill's collection of pickup lines is, well, nonexistent. Watching him try to pick me up in a bar would make for some great storytelling, I am sure. But we met online, and we were complete strangers. I had posted a profile on yahoo, mostly for the hell of it, and he had sent me an email, probably also for the hell of it. Why send me an email, you ask? Well, anyone who knows Bill will tell you his very favorite pastime is offshore fishing. I had put in my yahoo blurb that I had been offshore fishing a couple of times, so he just had to send me something, anything, and it was a diatribe. I wish I had saved it, but somehow it disappeared from my emails a while ago. It was a masterpiece though, specifically designed to melt my heart…and it did. I wrote him back, we chatted online, we talked on the phone, and we laughed a LOT. Magic…
The one thing I can remember so very clearly is opening my front door to see him standing there. And it was that first time I saw him that I knew I was in trouble. He was really cute and really really sweet. He was kind, and humble, and such a gentle soul. Me? I was damaged, recovering from a toxic relationship that shattered my trust in men. But he was persistent in his mission to win me over. We ate fried dill pickles, laughed some more, and played some pool. I tried to be coy, but was unsuccessful. I was smitten, and I’m pretty sure he knew it. That was the beginning…
Fast forward to today, this very moment. I can’t stop staring at these flowers. He called a bit ago, and the sound of his voice continues to melt my heart. I am still completely smitten. Our three years together have not been perfect, but they have been the best three years of my life. We rarely argue, and I feel like I’m missing my right arm when he’s not around. We never run out of things to talk about. At the same time, just sitting together with him in silence is better than most any conversation I’ve ever had with anyone. I can imagine myself growing old with him, spending the rest of my life with him. He truly makes me want to be a better woman, a better person.
Every day I am grateful that he sent that email. Some things are just meant to be, I suppose.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
All I want for Christmas is...
Dear Santa,
I hope this letter finds you, Mrs. Claus, the reindeer and your elf staff in good health. I know it must be an awfully tough time of year for you, seeing you’re not getting any younger. I must say, though, I've always admired how you keep that rosy glow in your cheeks. You must let me in on your little secret. The only way I seem to be able to get that sort of glow is an over-abundance of makeup, or a few too many vodka and sodas.
Concerning the matter of my Christmas Wish List, I’d like to say I’ve been on my BEST behavior this year, but I’d be lying. I have, however, been better than in years past, and I feel as though that should at least count for something. I did TRY to behave appropriately, but sometimes situations dictate otherwise, if you know what I mean. That being said, I haven’t been overtly mean to anyone, and I’ve tried to keep the bitchiness factor down to a minimum. Yes, there have been moments, and I do apologize for that. I’m sure Mrs. Claus is not always the picture of gentle femininity either. Lucky for you, you have a workshop full of elves that are probably all too happy to share a few beers with you and lament the challenges of dealing with a spouse who is feeling “less than lovely.” My Bill is very understanding when I have those moments, I must say. I feel very blessed to have such a wonderful and considerate fiancé. I also understand why he drinks.
Anyway, I’ve thought long and hard about what I would like for Christmas this year. (By the way, you can cross off the red cowboy boots, as those are my gift from Bill.) My fondest desire for Christmas this year would be to find a healthy dose of patience under the tree with my name on it. I know you are well aware that I’ve always been a bit challenged in that department, and I have decided that I would really like to work on that, particularly my level of patience with stupid people. Is it my imagination, or do there seem to be WAY more stupid people in the world now than, say, twenty years ago? I don’t know about you, but I am literally TRIPPING daily over clueless people who are not only happy in their ignorance, but seem to revel in it. While I am able to refrain from physical confrontations, such as a well deserved smack upside the head, I seem to be unable to keep my big mouth shut, and often deliver a stinging sarcastic remark, although honestly, they never seem to “get it” anyway. I know not everyone is interested in what I have to say, but I feel compelled to at least try to show these idiots some guidance. I only wish they could see through their stupidity to understand that I only have the best of intentions. Alas, I am often misunderstood in my motives. Do you think if I switched over to the “smack upside the head” approach, I would be more efficient at making my point? You’re right, probably not. It might be fun to try it though. Just sayin…
So please, dear Santa, if you could just spare a LITTLE patience for me to exercise in the coming New Year, I would be so very grateful. And I promise, to use it wisely. Indeed, I will save it for only the very dumbest and most annoying individuals. The rest, well...all I can say is I’ll do my best.
I’ll have the milk and cookies waiting.
Love,
Chris
I hope this letter finds you, Mrs. Claus, the reindeer and your elf staff in good health. I know it must be an awfully tough time of year for you, seeing you’re not getting any younger. I must say, though, I've always admired how you keep that rosy glow in your cheeks. You must let me in on your little secret. The only way I seem to be able to get that sort of glow is an over-abundance of makeup, or a few too many vodka and sodas.
Concerning the matter of my Christmas Wish List, I’d like to say I’ve been on my BEST behavior this year, but I’d be lying. I have, however, been better than in years past, and I feel as though that should at least count for something. I did TRY to behave appropriately, but sometimes situations dictate otherwise, if you know what I mean. That being said, I haven’t been overtly mean to anyone, and I’ve tried to keep the bitchiness factor down to a minimum. Yes, there have been moments, and I do apologize for that. I’m sure Mrs. Claus is not always the picture of gentle femininity either. Lucky for you, you have a workshop full of elves that are probably all too happy to share a few beers with you and lament the challenges of dealing with a spouse who is feeling “less than lovely.” My Bill is very understanding when I have those moments, I must say. I feel very blessed to have such a wonderful and considerate fiancé. I also understand why he drinks.
Anyway, I’ve thought long and hard about what I would like for Christmas this year. (By the way, you can cross off the red cowboy boots, as those are my gift from Bill.) My fondest desire for Christmas this year would be to find a healthy dose of patience under the tree with my name on it. I know you are well aware that I’ve always been a bit challenged in that department, and I have decided that I would really like to work on that, particularly my level of patience with stupid people. Is it my imagination, or do there seem to be WAY more stupid people in the world now than, say, twenty years ago? I don’t know about you, but I am literally TRIPPING daily over clueless people who are not only happy in their ignorance, but seem to revel in it. While I am able to refrain from physical confrontations, such as a well deserved smack upside the head, I seem to be unable to keep my big mouth shut, and often deliver a stinging sarcastic remark, although honestly, they never seem to “get it” anyway. I know not everyone is interested in what I have to say, but I feel compelled to at least try to show these idiots some guidance. I only wish they could see through their stupidity to understand that I only have the best of intentions. Alas, I am often misunderstood in my motives. Do you think if I switched over to the “smack upside the head” approach, I would be more efficient at making my point? You’re right, probably not. It might be fun to try it though. Just sayin…
So please, dear Santa, if you could just spare a LITTLE patience for me to exercise in the coming New Year, I would be so very grateful. And I promise, to use it wisely. Indeed, I will save it for only the very dumbest and most annoying individuals. The rest, well...all I can say is I’ll do my best.
I’ll have the milk and cookies waiting.
Love,
Chris
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Vodka on the rocks...in a snifter please...
Someone who once held a very special place in my heart died a few days ago. We were once the closest of friends, as close as sisters. But betrayal and circumstances showed me a very different side to her, and I let the relationship go. For years I felt anger and resentment, and eventually I felt nothing at all. To be honest, I hadn’t really even thought about her in quite some time. So when I heard the news I was a bit stunned. She was in her late fifties, and had always been the life of the party. But cancer took that life. I felt a bit sad for her family, and maybe a bit of regret that our friendship was never healed. More than anything, though, I still felt nothing.
Her death did give me pause about my own mortality. When you’re in your 40s and people start to pass away on a regular basis, you always stop to think about how many days you have left on this beautiful crazy planet. I hope to have many many days, but we all know there are no guarantees. Tomorrow is promised to none of us. I’ve always said “life is short, order the cheesecake” and I often joke with Bill, telling him if I die he should have me stuffed so he can prop me up in a corner, dressed to the nines with a martini in hand, wearing all of my jewelry and, of course, a really great pair of shoes.
I’m not afraid to die. Watching my father die right before my eyes cured that fear in me. While his death was gut-wrenching and incredibly emotional in ways I never even imagined, the one thing it was not was scary. He simply slipped away, surrounded by the love of my mom, my three siblings and me. His passing changed the way I would look at death from that moment on. But still, when someone moves from the world of the living to the world of the dead, you take a moment to reflect. I worry about my family, my menagerie of animals, but mostly about my Bill and my daughter, Tricia.
I would hate for any of them to cry-- to me that would go against everything I have stood for, and how I have lived my life every single day. I want them to celebrate my life, and the fact that I lived every day on my own terms with no excuses and no regrets. I want the wine to flow and I want the music to be loud. And I want there to be laughter, lots and lots of laughter – the kind that makes your sides hurt, and tears run down your face. Hell, I hope they bring in a comedian for the occasion just so they can roast me like Pamela Anderson. I'm absolutely sure I've provided enough material during my 45 years so far on this earth, and there is bound to be more in the future. I want the people I love to be happy that we had such wonderful times together, and I want that happiness to live forever in their hearts.
I won’t be going to Patricia’s funeral tomorrow. To do that would make me feel like a hypocrite, given the way our relationship ended. But I will have a cocktail in her honor when I’m out this weekend...probably a vodka on the rocks in a snifter glass, since that is what she always drank. Wherever she is, I’m sure she will notice and comment about what a lucky bitch I am that I’m able to enjoy that cocktail.
Safe travels to you Patricia. Cheers.
Her death did give me pause about my own mortality. When you’re in your 40s and people start to pass away on a regular basis, you always stop to think about how many days you have left on this beautiful crazy planet. I hope to have many many days, but we all know there are no guarantees. Tomorrow is promised to none of us. I’ve always said “life is short, order the cheesecake” and I often joke with Bill, telling him if I die he should have me stuffed so he can prop me up in a corner, dressed to the nines with a martini in hand, wearing all of my jewelry and, of course, a really great pair of shoes.
I’m not afraid to die. Watching my father die right before my eyes cured that fear in me. While his death was gut-wrenching and incredibly emotional in ways I never even imagined, the one thing it was not was scary. He simply slipped away, surrounded by the love of my mom, my three siblings and me. His passing changed the way I would look at death from that moment on. But still, when someone moves from the world of the living to the world of the dead, you take a moment to reflect. I worry about my family, my menagerie of animals, but mostly about my Bill and my daughter, Tricia.
I would hate for any of them to cry-- to me that would go against everything I have stood for, and how I have lived my life every single day. I want them to celebrate my life, and the fact that I lived every day on my own terms with no excuses and no regrets. I want the wine to flow and I want the music to be loud. And I want there to be laughter, lots and lots of laughter – the kind that makes your sides hurt, and tears run down your face. Hell, I hope they bring in a comedian for the occasion just so they can roast me like Pamela Anderson. I'm absolutely sure I've provided enough material during my 45 years so far on this earth, and there is bound to be more in the future. I want the people I love to be happy that we had such wonderful times together, and I want that happiness to live forever in their hearts.
I won’t be going to Patricia’s funeral tomorrow. To do that would make me feel like a hypocrite, given the way our relationship ended. But I will have a cocktail in her honor when I’m out this weekend...probably a vodka on the rocks in a snifter glass, since that is what she always drank. Wherever she is, I’m sure she will notice and comment about what a lucky bitch I am that I’m able to enjoy that cocktail.
Safe travels to you Patricia. Cheers.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Gobbler Gobbler Gobbler...Neck...
I’ve been reminded by this glorious Thanksgiving season, that turkey gobbler neck on a woman is NOT attractive...ever...
Ok, Chris, put down the Oil of Olay and step away from the mirror. I know you’re probably thinking to yourselves “WOW, she must have taken an overdose of vanity pills this morning!” But seriously, where in the hell did this ugly flap of wobbly skin under my chin come from? I don’t remember it being there last week, last month or last year. But BAM! there it is, mocking me in the mirror this morning as I slather on my five different wrinkle creams and moisturizers, which apparently aren’t working nearly as well as I had hoped. I’m actually considering one of those neck exerciser thingys that I keep seeing on those informercials. Does that sound desperate? Never mind, don’t answer that. While I’m at it, I might as well go ahead and order that Shake Weight to firm up my triceps which are flapping around even more than my neck. Besides, I know Bill has been secretly wishing for me to get a shake weight anyway, just so he can just sit back and watch me use it. I know you know what I’m talking about.
While I understand my wrinkle/flabby neck obsession is a vanity-related issue, I don’t really consider myself a vain person. Yes, I like to look good, and yes, I do spend a considerable amount of time “maintaining the buffet” so to speak. But in my defense, I don’t FEEL 45, so I’m not compelled to ensure that I LOOK 45. My mental age is probably in the 26-30 range, but if I can keep up appearances and be mistaken for a woman in her mid to late thirties, even 40ish, I can certainly live with that. I don’t need to look like I’m half my age. I just don’t want to appear to be twice my age. I believe the rest of the world refers to it as “aging gracefully.”
No matter how you slice it, as a woman, getting older is fraught with moments of self-doubt and lapses in confidence. Some days I wake up, look in the mirror and think to myself “not bad for a middle-aged broad.” Other days, my first thought is “why don’t I have a cosmetic surgery staff on call 24/7?” I’m sure a lot of things factor into it...the bottle of wine I drank the night before, staying up beyond my usual 9:30pm, or perhaps I forgot to dive head first into my jar of Olay Regenerist night cream before slipping between the sheets and drifting off to LaLaLand. Whatever the reason, those are the days I try to cut myself just a bit of slack, reminding myself that no matter how bad I think I look, it’s never as bad as I think. Then I slap on my moisturizer, and apply my MAC heavy duty foundation with a putty knife. Camera ready baby…I’m ready for my screen shot. ;o)
Ok, Chris, put down the Oil of Olay and step away from the mirror. I know you’re probably thinking to yourselves “WOW, she must have taken an overdose of vanity pills this morning!” But seriously, where in the hell did this ugly flap of wobbly skin under my chin come from? I don’t remember it being there last week, last month or last year. But BAM! there it is, mocking me in the mirror this morning as I slather on my five different wrinkle creams and moisturizers, which apparently aren’t working nearly as well as I had hoped. I’m actually considering one of those neck exerciser thingys that I keep seeing on those informercials. Does that sound desperate? Never mind, don’t answer that. While I’m at it, I might as well go ahead and order that Shake Weight to firm up my triceps which are flapping around even more than my neck. Besides, I know Bill has been secretly wishing for me to get a shake weight anyway, just so he can just sit back and watch me use it. I know you know what I’m talking about.
While I understand my wrinkle/flabby neck obsession is a vanity-related issue, I don’t really consider myself a vain person. Yes, I like to look good, and yes, I do spend a considerable amount of time “maintaining the buffet” so to speak. But in my defense, I don’t FEEL 45, so I’m not compelled to ensure that I LOOK 45. My mental age is probably in the 26-30 range, but if I can keep up appearances and be mistaken for a woman in her mid to late thirties, even 40ish, I can certainly live with that. I don’t need to look like I’m half my age. I just don’t want to appear to be twice my age. I believe the rest of the world refers to it as “aging gracefully.”
No matter how you slice it, as a woman, getting older is fraught with moments of self-doubt and lapses in confidence. Some days I wake up, look in the mirror and think to myself “not bad for a middle-aged broad.” Other days, my first thought is “why don’t I have a cosmetic surgery staff on call 24/7?” I’m sure a lot of things factor into it...the bottle of wine I drank the night before, staying up beyond my usual 9:30pm, or perhaps I forgot to dive head first into my jar of Olay Regenerist night cream before slipping between the sheets and drifting off to LaLaLand. Whatever the reason, those are the days I try to cut myself just a bit of slack, reminding myself that no matter how bad I think I look, it’s never as bad as I think. Then I slap on my moisturizer, and apply my MAC heavy duty foundation with a putty knife. Camera ready baby…I’m ready for my screen shot. ;o)
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Thoughts on thanks...
Every day, I am thankful for so many things in my life - my precocious and fun-loving daughter, my fiancé and one true soul mate forever known as "My Bill", my incredible family and friends, my menagerie of feathered and furry critters. I have good health and a job that I am passionate about every day, and I pretty much do whatever I want exactly when I want to do it. These blessings make my life grand in ways I never imagined, and it is important to me to always remember what a lucky girl I am. That being said, 2010 has not been my easiest year, but it has been a year that has helped me to discover my own inner strength, the value of true friendships, and what really counts with family. I've struck some wonderful new friendships and rekindled some that had faded with time. I've traveled to some extraordinary places and seen things that some never have the opportunity to see. I have also learned some patience with the world around me, a quality I've never been particularly good at showing when it comes to dealing with others. I will say my tolerance for incompetence and idiots is probably still at an all time low, but honestly, I don't see that changing in the foreseeable future. Maybe next year...
I’m sure my life could be improved in some ways, but not in any way that is meaningful. I could have a lavish, large and luxurious house, but that would be more to clean, and at this point in my life, I'd rather do anything but clean. I’ve got a jewelry box full of baubles I hardly ever wear, so the crown jewels would be wasted on me. More money? Please, I’d spend my last dime on a fabulous pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. More money equals more shoes, and Bill has stated on several occasions I am approaching my shoe limit. Personally, I’m not sure such a thing exists. I think he’s just busting my chops because he has wide feet and wears ugly man shoes, while I am blessed with very small dainty feet that look good in just about everything, especially a pair of mile high stilettos. He really should look at it from the perspective that at least I have good taste in shoes. I could be walking around in Birkenstocks with white ankle socks, a look which by the way, I would NEVER be caught dead in on any occasion. But I digress…
To me, it is so valuable to stop and take the time to reflect on how fortunate any one of us is at any given moment. Life is imperfect, to be sure. I certainly have suffered my share of ups and downs, and mostly of my own doing, although sometimes life just throws you a curve ball when you are least expecting. Most of the time it is simply life trying to teach you something you haven’t learned, or may have forgotten along the way. I understand that some days are better than others, but any day you wake up and your name isn’t listed on the obituary page is a good day in my book. Yes, I do, on occasion, check to make sure.
I wish you a blessed and Happy Thanksgiving. Cheers!
I’m sure my life could be improved in some ways, but not in any way that is meaningful. I could have a lavish, large and luxurious house, but that would be more to clean, and at this point in my life, I'd rather do anything but clean. I’ve got a jewelry box full of baubles I hardly ever wear, so the crown jewels would be wasted on me. More money? Please, I’d spend my last dime on a fabulous pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. More money equals more shoes, and Bill has stated on several occasions I am approaching my shoe limit. Personally, I’m not sure such a thing exists. I think he’s just busting my chops because he has wide feet and wears ugly man shoes, while I am blessed with very small dainty feet that look good in just about everything, especially a pair of mile high stilettos. He really should look at it from the perspective that at least I have good taste in shoes. I could be walking around in Birkenstocks with white ankle socks, a look which by the way, I would NEVER be caught dead in on any occasion. But I digress…
To me, it is so valuable to stop and take the time to reflect on how fortunate any one of us is at any given moment. Life is imperfect, to be sure. I certainly have suffered my share of ups and downs, and mostly of my own doing, although sometimes life just throws you a curve ball when you are least expecting. Most of the time it is simply life trying to teach you something you haven’t learned, or may have forgotten along the way. I understand that some days are better than others, but any day you wake up and your name isn’t listed on the obituary page is a good day in my book. Yes, I do, on occasion, check to make sure.
I wish you a blessed and Happy Thanksgiving. Cheers!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
My Christmas Affliction...
I have a confession to make. Now I know some of you will shake your head, and some of you will wonder if I’m hitting the crack pipe, but a few of you will simply nod in understanding. You know who you are, and don’t try to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Apparently I am not the only one afflicted with this type of disorder. Ok, here it goes…I have a sort of twisted obsession with all things Christmas, particularly decorations. Every year, sometime after the first of November, like some sort of sick Martha Stewart groupie, I begin to fantasize about Christmas trees, Christmas ornaments, fluffy flocked Christmas tablescapes, candles scented with peppermint and cinnamon, trips to Merrifield Garden Center (the true MECCA of Christmas decorating enthusiasts in the DC area), fifty different kinds of cookies in every shape and size, bite-size cheesecakes and brownies, and several dozen varieties of other holiday confections, all of which I should just glue directly on my ass. I walk through craft stores, envisioning myself making more splendid holiday decorations (which anyone who knows me will tell you I CLEARLY do not need.) Just seeing the jars of brightly colored glitter and self-adhesive Swarovski crystals can make my eyes glaze over like some sort of wacko on a psychotic mission. Bill is still marvelling at my “Christmas affliction” although he will be the first to tell you he loves the finished product.
When I was a little girl, Christmas really was pure magic. Like many of my friends back in Northeastern PA, I grew up in a middle class blue collar home with parents who gave everything to make sure that my sister, my brothers, and I had the most wonderful Christmases. We didn’t have a lot of money, and I know Mom and Dad gave up many items for themselves so they could make our holidays every kid’s dream…and indeed they were. But more than the gifts, those holidays was filled with family moments of decorating the tree, sitting around the living room on Christmas Eve exchanging presents between us, and holiday open houses with neighbors and friends. I will never forget those times. They are etched permanently into my memory, and represent everything that Christmas is supposed to be. I try to give my daughter Tricia those same memories as best that I can. It’s a tall order to live up to because Mom and Dad were masters at this feat. I fear I will always fall short of my expectations.
And every year, our family would make its annual pilgrimage to Raves Garden Center to see the holiday displays. I was in complete awe of such Christmas splendour. I would study every themed tree, sometimes even critiquing in my mind how they could have improved the subject matter (to me it was truly an art form.) I couldn’t believe that there were Christmas trees in the world that were so beautiful. By the time I was a teenager, I had vowed to myself that someday, I too would have a themed Christmas tree, even better than the trees at Raves. And so it began…
By my mid-twenties, I had acquired countless boxes of ornaments, all themed and scarily coordinated. My tree was shades of pastel blue and white, and most of the decorations came in the form of angels. To this day I still have many of them. I would spend hours planning how I would decorate the tree, what I would invest in to add to the tree for that year, and how many lights I could put on said tree before it started to drain too much from the Washington, DC power grid. I would invite friends over to help me decorate my tree, although mostly they would just sit and drink margaritas or wine, because inevitably, they never put any of the ornaments in the right place. (I hope they have since forgiven me for that.) I would have special decorations for the fireplace mantle, the coffee table, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, doors, windows, even small decorations for my bird’s cage. It was all very matchy matchy, but I loved it.
As I hit my thirties and I married, I decided it was time to make the jump…to three trees. Now mind you, none of these beauties were “tabletop” size. These were three fully decorated, fully lit trees standing at six feet or more, each with its own theme. The living room tree had maintained its “angel” theme, although somehow a lot of seashore related items, as well as birds, had crept into the mix. Still, it was all shades of blue, with blue, teal and green lights, and iridescent “fluffy stuff” which was sprinkled all over the branches. It was a marvel indeed. The basement tree, which would shelter all of Santa’s gifts for my young daughter, was an ode to childhood memories…toy soldiers, candy-themed ornaments, blue, red and gold balls, musical instruments, and tons of novelty ornaments (you know, the ones you find in the Hallmark store.) Around it was a Dept. 56 Dickens village (completely lit) and teeny tiny people seemingly walking through its snow-covered streets (I actually took the time to build a platform for this.) For a long time, this tree was my personal favorite. When I divorced, I picked out my favourite ornaments and decorations, and left the rest for my ex-husband, so he’d be able to decorate something, although I was never sure what that would be. He does his best every year. Honestly, he should call me for some assistance.
My “dining room” tree was actually a 6 foot spiral topiary (I can’t even believe I actually found such a thing) decorated in whimsical fashion with tropical fish, tropical colored balls, tropical colored lights, and topped with a HUMONGOUS bow that can only be described as the colors of an LSD trip. I often describe this tree as being decorated by “elves on acid.” Truly, you needed sunglasses to even look it. As I have gotten older, this tree theme has become my favorite, probably because I have bad eyesight, and it is the easiest to see at a distance. Believe me, you could not miss it.
So here it is, November 10th, and yes, I’m yet again imagining how my beloved Christmas collection will grow. In recent years, I have seen the error of my ways (through therapy, meds, and a well thought out selection of self help books) and have managed to pare it down to two full size trees, a tasteful tablescape on the dining room table and miscellaneous decorations scattered throughout the house. And yes, I do have Christmas china…it makes its appearance every year at Thanksgiving and is put away New Year’s Day. I’m actually not big on outside decorations, but I’m contemplating asking Bill to put up some lights on the bushes in front of the house – not sure how this will go over, so stay tuned. I have vowed to never put anything in my yard that requires its own wind generator though. The trees are still the showpieces, and indeed, would rival anything Martha could put together. The living room tree has evolved into mostly birds, birds’ nests, and shore-themed ornaments. The lights are now all white, and, ohhhhh, when the living room is dark and the tree is plugged in, it is pure heaven. You’ll often find me lounging on the sofa with the lights off, the tree on, a glass of wine in my hand, and Nat King Cole playing in the background.
The basement tree is now the study in color therapy, and I’ve managed to add peacock feathers, sparkly branches, and even more bows and ribbon, along with an ever growing collection of brightly colored fish (don’t ask me where the fish thing comes from, I have no idea.) I’ve also managed to start a collection of fairies that reside under this tree, although I’m not sure how the fish are feeling about this. I think they would have preferred something more “fish/water oriented.” But the fairies are equally colourful, although a few of them more closely resemble fairy hookers, or at the very least, fairies with very loose morals. I didn’t intend for that to be the case. One should never shop for fairies after drinking a bottle of wine, or vodka.
I’m already counting my pennies for my trip to the Merrifield Garden Center’s Christmas Shop Extravaganza… it’s going to be a great holiday season, I can just tell. Somewhere in the back of mind, I see myself as an old woman, sitting in my house with all my Christmas trees (I’ll probably be up to five or six by then) like Miss Havisham and her wedding cake. I’ll be too old to take them down, so I’ll just leave them up all year, periodically knocking the dust off them. My family will all think I’ve lost my marbles, but I’ll be in my glory, and every day will be Christmas. What a nice thought.
When I was a little girl, Christmas really was pure magic. Like many of my friends back in Northeastern PA, I grew up in a middle class blue collar home with parents who gave everything to make sure that my sister, my brothers, and I had the most wonderful Christmases. We didn’t have a lot of money, and I know Mom and Dad gave up many items for themselves so they could make our holidays every kid’s dream…and indeed they were. But more than the gifts, those holidays was filled with family moments of decorating the tree, sitting around the living room on Christmas Eve exchanging presents between us, and holiday open houses with neighbors and friends. I will never forget those times. They are etched permanently into my memory, and represent everything that Christmas is supposed to be. I try to give my daughter Tricia those same memories as best that I can. It’s a tall order to live up to because Mom and Dad were masters at this feat. I fear I will always fall short of my expectations.
And every year, our family would make its annual pilgrimage to Raves Garden Center to see the holiday displays. I was in complete awe of such Christmas splendour. I would study every themed tree, sometimes even critiquing in my mind how they could have improved the subject matter (to me it was truly an art form.) I couldn’t believe that there were Christmas trees in the world that were so beautiful. By the time I was a teenager, I had vowed to myself that someday, I too would have a themed Christmas tree, even better than the trees at Raves. And so it began…
By my mid-twenties, I had acquired countless boxes of ornaments, all themed and scarily coordinated. My tree was shades of pastel blue and white, and most of the decorations came in the form of angels. To this day I still have many of them. I would spend hours planning how I would decorate the tree, what I would invest in to add to the tree for that year, and how many lights I could put on said tree before it started to drain too much from the Washington, DC power grid. I would invite friends over to help me decorate my tree, although mostly they would just sit and drink margaritas or wine, because inevitably, they never put any of the ornaments in the right place. (I hope they have since forgiven me for that.) I would have special decorations for the fireplace mantle, the coffee table, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, doors, windows, even small decorations for my bird’s cage. It was all very matchy matchy, but I loved it.
As I hit my thirties and I married, I decided it was time to make the jump…to three trees. Now mind you, none of these beauties were “tabletop” size. These were three fully decorated, fully lit trees standing at six feet or more, each with its own theme. The living room tree had maintained its “angel” theme, although somehow a lot of seashore related items, as well as birds, had crept into the mix. Still, it was all shades of blue, with blue, teal and green lights, and iridescent “fluffy stuff” which was sprinkled all over the branches. It was a marvel indeed. The basement tree, which would shelter all of Santa’s gifts for my young daughter, was an ode to childhood memories…toy soldiers, candy-themed ornaments, blue, red and gold balls, musical instruments, and tons of novelty ornaments (you know, the ones you find in the Hallmark store.) Around it was a Dept. 56 Dickens village (completely lit) and teeny tiny people seemingly walking through its snow-covered streets (I actually took the time to build a platform for this.) For a long time, this tree was my personal favorite. When I divorced, I picked out my favourite ornaments and decorations, and left the rest for my ex-husband, so he’d be able to decorate something, although I was never sure what that would be. He does his best every year. Honestly, he should call me for some assistance.
My “dining room” tree was actually a 6 foot spiral topiary (I can’t even believe I actually found such a thing) decorated in whimsical fashion with tropical fish, tropical colored balls, tropical colored lights, and topped with a HUMONGOUS bow that can only be described as the colors of an LSD trip. I often describe this tree as being decorated by “elves on acid.” Truly, you needed sunglasses to even look it. As I have gotten older, this tree theme has become my favorite, probably because I have bad eyesight, and it is the easiest to see at a distance. Believe me, you could not miss it.
So here it is, November 10th, and yes, I’m yet again imagining how my beloved Christmas collection will grow. In recent years, I have seen the error of my ways (through therapy, meds, and a well thought out selection of self help books) and have managed to pare it down to two full size trees, a tasteful tablescape on the dining room table and miscellaneous decorations scattered throughout the house. And yes, I do have Christmas china…it makes its appearance every year at Thanksgiving and is put away New Year’s Day. I’m actually not big on outside decorations, but I’m contemplating asking Bill to put up some lights on the bushes in front of the house – not sure how this will go over, so stay tuned. I have vowed to never put anything in my yard that requires its own wind generator though. The trees are still the showpieces, and indeed, would rival anything Martha could put together. The living room tree has evolved into mostly birds, birds’ nests, and shore-themed ornaments. The lights are now all white, and, ohhhhh, when the living room is dark and the tree is plugged in, it is pure heaven. You’ll often find me lounging on the sofa with the lights off, the tree on, a glass of wine in my hand, and Nat King Cole playing in the background.
The basement tree is now the study in color therapy, and I’ve managed to add peacock feathers, sparkly branches, and even more bows and ribbon, along with an ever growing collection of brightly colored fish (don’t ask me where the fish thing comes from, I have no idea.) I’ve also managed to start a collection of fairies that reside under this tree, although I’m not sure how the fish are feeling about this. I think they would have preferred something more “fish/water oriented.” But the fairies are equally colourful, although a few of them more closely resemble fairy hookers, or at the very least, fairies with very loose morals. I didn’t intend for that to be the case. One should never shop for fairies after drinking a bottle of wine, or vodka.
I’m already counting my pennies for my trip to the Merrifield Garden Center’s Christmas Shop Extravaganza… it’s going to be a great holiday season, I can just tell. Somewhere in the back of mind, I see myself as an old woman, sitting in my house with all my Christmas trees (I’ll probably be up to five or six by then) like Miss Havisham and her wedding cake. I’ll be too old to take them down, so I’ll just leave them up all year, periodically knocking the dust off them. My family will all think I’ve lost my marbles, but I’ll be in my glory, and every day will be Christmas. What a nice thought.
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