The Dead (Beat) of Winter

I am not sure if I like the phrase “dead of winter.” Yes, I know it alludes to the coldest time of the year. And I know that when everything goes into hibernation, including humans, we all get a zombie like glaze that is quite common in the Midwest area. But even dead zombies don’t really appear dead.
I firmly believe in the disorder called SADD – Suddenly our Action Definitely Declines. It’s a natural phenomenon that occurs somewhere between the first bowl touchdown and the final markdown sale of Christmas items. We become total slugs. Our goal is to nest, stay warm, eat chili and perfect the art of being a couch potato.
The dead of winter is not really a fun time. The sun goes down by noon, reruns are on television, static runs amuck in hair and clothing, we have to wear ugly boots with our cute dresses and my dogs track in more mud, snow and ice than a polar bear hunting in a frozen bog.
Sure there are those that still go to the gym. There are those that jog with their parkas and ear muffs on. There are even those crazy people that swim in the freezing cold water of the local YMCA. But I tend to go along with the intelligent brown bear: eat as much as you can, kick the children out, bury yourself in a warm cave, and sleep until spring. All I need is a fireplace, a bottle of red wine, my dog to keep my feet warm and a great book and winter can keep on keeping on.
But, just as I start getting very comfortable being a slug – just as the term “complacent” becomes my mantra, nature steps in and kicks me out of my reverie. After a long bout of very short, dark and dreary days, dull grey skies and bad movies on the Lifetime channel, something magical happens. The sky starts dumping snow. Lots and lots of beautiful, shining, pristine white snow. Snow perfect for sledding, building snowmen, skiing, building snow forts, and hiking with the dogs. It beckons for us to don our colorful hats, scarves and mittens and come out and play. It magically covers the grey and brightens up the landscape. It coats the pine trees like powdered sugar and makes the hills and slopes look like a whipped cream delight. It gets neighbors out helping each other shovel, happy to catch up.
So even though we may return to our zombie like trances and will have to wear bronzer so we won’t look like Robert Patterson, for now, the snow is calling. It’s time to get outside and laugh and play and burn some calories….because old man winter isn’t quite finished with the dreariness yet.

The "R" Word - New Years Goals or - Bacon Rules!

Ok, here it comes. The “R” word. It’s the first day of 2011, and I am setting goals and making promises to myself. I really don’t like the word “resolution” because it undoubtedly involves failure – and usually deprivation of some sort. Hence, the word goals.
My first goal is pretty simple: Eat bacon. I have been depriving myself of this major food group for 12 years. As a quasi-vegetarian I would eat lots of fish and at times dip my toe into the “fowl” arena, but chose not to eat red meat, pork and yes – definitely no bacon. Oh, a time or two I would splurge on turkey bacon – and I always had tofu bacon on hand. (You can’t lie about something like that). Trust me; a fake BLT is not my favorite summertime food. But something magical happened to me a couple of days ago. I was having dinner with a good friend of mine and we ordered blue cheese smothered homemade potato chips topped with huge chunks of real bacon bits. (Oh yes, so very good). Normally I would order them sans bacon. It was habit. But I forgot to say “no bacon please”. And when they arrived, I grabbed a loaded chip and popped it in my mouth without even thinking. And a party ensued. My mouth loved every second, and some kind of sensor was sending euphoric signals to my brain. Bacon! I had deprived myself of this wonderful food group for 12 long years! No more. I felt like that little dog on the TV commercial. Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
I will still be mainly a fishetarian but with one minor exception – I will be adding bacon to the mix. I have done a little research on the subject. Bacon contains Vitamin B1, B12, Zinc & Selenium. National Bacon Day is held the Saturday before Labor Day. The most popular flavors include: hickory, maple, applewood and mesquite. I now have heard about chocolate covered bacon, bacon flavored ice cream and bacon martinis. Brings a whole new meaning to the term “sweet and salty” – but the older I become I have learned to “never say never”. Which is why I ordered a T-shirt that says “Bacon is Meat Candy”. Ahhhh - and it is, it really is.
I really only have one other goal besides eating bacon – and that is to move my body more (I don’t like the word exercise). The two goals really are a perfect match. The second goal allows me to enjoy the first goal even more.
I guess I realized, after 12 years of silliness, that bacon really does make everything better. So, Happy New Year everyone – and - in the words of Homer Simpson, “MMMMM, Bacon”.

Searching for Christmas Peace

So, I have decided that this year, Christmas for me will be all about the feeling, the love and the spirit and not just about “things”. (Now where did I see that newspaper advertisement with the coupon for 15% off at the toy store and the listing of all the specials at the mall?)
I am totally committed to slowing down and enjoying the season. (I have 15 minutes to write this before I have to leave for another Christmas party.)
I am choosing not to go overboard with the decorating this year. (“Hi Mom. Oh, yes, we finished decorating. No, we definitely trimmed back – only 5 trees this year. And really, the one in the bathroom isn’t big enough to count.”)
I realize that I may get a little bit silly when it comes to making things “Christmas-y”. (“Honey, the dog is hiding under the bed. He refuses to let me put on the reindeer antlers and elf costume.”)
I don’t want to be out of control when it comes to gift wrap. (“Hello, Dollar Tree? Can you please hold one case of that pretty red and green checked gift wrap that has the matching red velvet ribbon for me? What, you don’t put items on hold? Ok, I’ll be right there. Uh huh, I know you close at midnight. Yes, I can drive fast. You still have a couple boxes of invisible tape, don’t you?”)
I refuse to over-spend and buy presents that really don’t mean anything to anyone. (“Honestly son, how can you say you don’t need the new Chia Pet? What about the new Clapper? It has its own remote control switch now…”)
I know that normally I go over-board with eating, and therefore I really am going to control my appetite. I will eat healthy and drink less during the holidays. (“Hey, thanks for inviting me to the party! Wow, great buffet line. Is that eggnog I see next to the cheese balls? Oh, and did you make your homemade fudge again? Wine? Why thank you, don’t mind if I do!”)
I am not going to over-dress for the various functions I am attending. It’s really kind of silly. December is just another month – no need to over-do it. (“Yes, hi, I noticed the display in the window and I was wondering if you have that silver glitter blouse in my size. Oh, and those dangly earrings with the snowflakes would look perfect with the black shiny skirt. Can you please call your other store location to see if they have these black leather pumps with the silver heel?”)
I truly intend to enjoy Christmas and the things I love most: To me it is about the people and about the happy joyous feeling. It’s about lunches and parties and meeting friends for a glass of Christmas cheer. It’s about planning Christmas Eve dinner with the kids and baking cookies for Santa. It’s about watching “Christmas Vacation” and “It’s a Wonderful Life” all month long - with “White Christmas” thrown in as well. It’s about fires in the fireplace, singing along with my favorite Christmas songs, and admiring the lights and decorations in my neighborhood. It’s about laughter, and hope and realizing that this joy I feel can really be felt all year long. I vow to slow down and experience all of it. (Right after I finish addressing my Christmas Cards and putting the final touches on the wreath.)
Santa Baby, all I really want for Christmas is peace. Not just for me though – for everyone I love: for my family, for all of my friends, and finally - for the world. I vow to sit back and bask in the peace that abounds in my life…all I have to do is actually slow down to realize it’s right there in front of me.
I wish you all peace and joy and goodwill towards men. Pass the sugar cookies, please. I still have 100 cards to address.

The Search for the Perfect Jeans

She brought me about 10 pairs – they were hanging everywhere. I couldn’t see the wall. Or even the mirror, which at the time was a blessing. The time spent in the small, cramped room was agonizing. I was trying on jeans.
I had decided to bite the bullet and get a really good (read expensive) pair of jeans that fit well. (Or so the ads say). I was hoping it would make me feel better about the upcoming holiday grazing season. Truth be known, I wanted it all: to be able to eat all my favorite things and still be able to wear something besides sweat pants. So, I found myself in an extremely upscale clothing store with a very perky sales clerk who obviously bought her tiny-sized jeans in the children’s department.
“Now remember”, she said to me as she squeezed her petite frame inside the four-walled torture chamber. “Even though they all might be the same size, every make is different. Even if it is the same brand. So I brought you a few sizes and styles.” This variety included, but was not limited to: stretch jeans, jeans that hold your stomach in, jeans that have a no-gap waist band, jeans for curvier bodies, jeans with a certain tint to them, jeans that are made for moms and not their teenage daughters, boot cut jeans, straight leg jeans and the infamous “though I have worked my butt off at the gym for months they won’t even fit my big toe” jeans.
So I started going through all the jeans, mentally purging them. I didn’t look at the sizes, since realistically it should not matter….but that didn’t last long. If I can wear a brand that is a size smaller, you know that’s the one I’m going for. Once I separated the “maybes” from the “no way will those fit” I started the agonizing procedure of trying them all on.
Miss perky pants kept peeking her head in, wanting me to model them for her. I gracefully told her “over my dead body” would she be allowed to see me squeezing my body in blue sausage casings. She did remind me that since jeans now have spandex, that the tightness will go away and they will fit normal after awhile.
“Define awhile” I squeaked as I lay down on the floor, tugging the jeans up my body. “Do they also come with oxygen masks since I can’t breathe until they loosen up?” I swear I heard her say something about me loosening up as she grabbed the quick growing “no” pile I pressed out the door. “Do you have this problem when you wear children’s jeans” I asked her as I came out into the brightly lit hallway to stare into the three-way fun house mirror. “They are 5 inches too long.”
“Well, we don’t really have the perfect ‘models’ body now, do we?” Just as I thought of some incredibly clever comeback I turned and tripped on the dragging 5 inch hem, huffing into the cinnamon scented plush carpet. She mentioned something about her seamstress being available next week for hemming, and that the jeans fit great except for the length. ”They were meant for much taller women, but of course we can make exceptions to the rule and tailor them to fit.
Not sure if you have read any reports about a very tall and thin sales clerk that reported someone threatened to stuff a pair of jeans down her throat. I am sure such a story could not be true. I myself am happy with the 4 pair of sweatpants I bought…and vow to not return to that store for quite awhile…especially for the torturous swimsuit season.

Autumn Delights

It’s my favorite time of the year - and the shortest one too. One blink of an eye (or one good wind) and it’s gone. Autumn. It’s so distinctive. During autumn, my senses are happily overwhelmed. As I am writing this, I am looking out my window during a raging thunderstorm at my neighbor’s maple tree. Through the rain, the leaves look like they are on fire. The rain creates a mist that looks like smoke, and the leaves are so bright red and orange they rival the color of afternoon sun. The birds are hiding in the branches, seeking shelter from the huge drops. They bounce back and forth, branch to branch, in a feathered game of tag. I see squirrels scrambling up and down the big tree trunks – chattering at the birds. No doubt they are arguing about double-booking their time share on the old oak. Have you noticed the over abundance of squirrels this year? It’s like a squirrel convention in my neighborhood. I see cars playing stop and go, while the squirrels run to the other side of the street, laughing at their recent brush with death. In the backyard, the dogs feel it is their duty to rid their territory of the furry tailed creatures. I watch out the window with laughter as they “tree” yet another quarry, barking out their delight in a job well done. The squirrel of course is long gone, having scored a perfect “10” on the gymnastics chart - vaulting from tree to phone wire to bird feeder to fence to safe territory.

A drive out in the country brought so many delights to my senses: a combine mowing down a once green and yellow cornfield – the stalks now dry and brown (and looking quite nice on my front porch, thank you!); a herd of cattle, lying in the field (yes, all of them lying down – I heard it meant rain is coming…hmmmm); a pile of burning leaves, smelling so crisp and acrid; a field of crows, scrounging up the last of the soybean crop; piles and piles of bright orange pumpkins, shining in the afternoon sun; the whinny of a horse, echoing across the valley; the sound of a distant train, it’s horn sounding haunting and lonely.

It’s a tantalizing delight, autumn. It’s a short but comforting time of year.
It’s a drive down the block, looking at all the fall decorations. It’s sipping hot apple cider as you carve pumpkins and bake the seeds. It’s meatloaf and chicken and dumplings and pot roast. It’s homemade soup and cornbread and cuddling up with a blanket and a great book while you wait for the chili to simmer on the stove. It’s snuggling by the fireplace while looking through the cookbook for new stuffing recipes and actually starting a Christmas card list, vowing to be early for once.

Autumn is a time to reflect. A time to realize that Thanksgiving is just around the corner, giving us thought on the blessings we have in our lives. It’s the time of year that slows down – right before it speeds up.

I plan on enjoying this slow pace for just awhile longer - before I think about getting those Christmas lights untangled. After all, the “Squirrel Olympics” only last for awhile longer.

Grandbaby, Sweet Grandbaby

She was anxious. The baby had to be taken by emergency c-section, so she hadn’t held her yet.
“I’m her mom…I want to hold my baby!”
“Be patient”, said her daddy – my husband. “Your will have that girl for another 18 years.”
“Only 18?” I asked. “Seriously?” They all laughed, because right now one of our 24 year old boomerang children is living with us. Being a parent is a lifetime commitment…one we all gladly take on. And now as grandparents, we had another precious life to treasure.
This latest granddaughter was born premature. Her sweet, little body was hooked up to oxygen. But she was perfect. She was beautiful. And I knew in my heart she would be just fine.
Amidst all the hectic energy in the hospital, I was able to find some alone time with this beautiful bundle of magical innocence. I put my finger down next to her hand and she grabbed it tightly in her tiny fist. I breathed a prayer, and silently watched her as I sent peaceful and loving thoughts and energy her way. Her laborious breathing competed with the beeping of the monitors. I only had a few minutes with her, so then and there I vowed to always watch out for her.
Her mommy was strong. She would not physically need my help raising her daughter. No, what I was offering was a gift of pure and honest (yet selfish) love. The love only that of a grandparent can offer. In my short and silent offering, I promised her cookies before dinner, piggy back rides, staying up late with me to watch princess movies, shopping for clothes that weren’t logical (bought purely for their cuteness factor), roller coaster rides, tea parties, pink painted toenails and long talks whenever they were wanted, wished for or required. I vowed to be her silent guardian – one of the many that will love her with all their might.
I am not trying to compete. I am not trying to be the favorite. This little agreement is just between the two of us…nobody else has to know. The important thing is that I know – and someday so will she. It is quite simple really: it is the undying and indescribable love that comes from a grandparent. A person never really knows this feeling until that magical moment arrives. And it doesn’t matter how many grandchildren one has…they all will take your breath away and leave you feeling like you really did accomplish something wonderful during your time on this earth.
She’s only been on this earth a few short hours. I was only able to see her for a few short moments. But the short time was precious and it gave me a glimpse of the future moments and what a treasure they will be. Each and every moment with her will be a gift I look forward to.
Even though they are only “ours” for a short while, our own kids are leaving us with legacies that last a lifetime: the gift of their own children. And when we look in our grandchildren’s eyes and see our own babies, and the unconditional love that we had for them when they were born, it makes the circle of life even sweeter. And that certainly makes the 18 (or 24) years they were with us totally worthwhile.

The Brown Crock Pot

I am losing my mind – I am totally losing my mind.

Yesterday I spent 10 minutes looking for my brown crock pot. Finally, I asked my husband.

“Where is the brown crock pot?”

“The what?”

“The brown crock pot – you know, the thingy I cook chili in….”

“Ah, I am pretty sure we don’t own a brown crock pot.”

“Sure we do – I made pot roast in it last winter. You didn’t give it away to the Goodwill with all the other stuff did you? You know I use it all the time. I swear I love that thing – if you gave…..”

“I did not give it away. We don’t own a brown crock pot.”

“Then what did I make the pot roast in, hot shot? Hmmmm?”

“Come with me.”

He took me into the laundry room where we store our unused and at times unwanted appliances. (That is where you will find my bread maker, pasta maker, large Cuisinart, and rice steamer. It’s like the ‘Island of Misfit Toys’ from the cartoon Rudolf, only the misfits here are all appliances.)

Anyway, he showed me the shelves. No brown crock pot.

“What did you do with it then?” I accused.

“Nothing – we don’t OWN a brown crock pot.”

“Oh please...now are you going to tell me I’m losing my mind?”

“Here, is this what you are looking for?” He had rooted around past the vegetable steamer and salad spinner, and found it. A blue crock pot.

“Ah…” For once in my life I was speechless.

I realized, amongst my tirade, that we didn’t own a brown crock pot. That crock pot was a wedding gift from my previous marriage, and I haven’t owned since, well, my previous marriage. My husband has mentioned that I look for things like a teenage boy, and grudgingly, I guess sometimes I do. But only sometimes. Now excuse me while I search for the chicken I bought to put in the brown, er, blue crock put. I swear I put it in the freezer just last week. It has to be in there…hidden right behind my mind that I really do think I am losing.