A Long Day before the Longest Night

Between being at work at 6am and arriving home from a party at 10:30pm, I took 8 teens and young adults (caravanning in 2 cars) to the Dickens Fair and drove from Petaluma to Novato to Petaluma to South San Francisco to Petaluma to San Rafael & home. Whew! Actually, D. drove the last 2 trips in the evening so I shouldn't complain.

The Fair was great fun, and the party was also nice, especially caroling with a group that knew most harmonies from Catholic choir. I also managed to make fudge to go with the shortbread I'd made yesterday.

Did you know shortbread is the Anti-Paleo treat? Its ingredients are solely three of the things one is not to eat while on the "Paleo" diet: sugar, butter and flour. Even making it felt like a rebellion when I'd spent October and November (and a tiny bit of December) trying to adhere to a diet of fresh food: fruits, vegetables and lean meats. In theory, anyway!

Thanks, I Needed That

I left work early, not feeling well but also because I needed to pick S. up from school for "early release" (which sounds like something I fisherman might do). Then when, at 2:30, I told S. I was going to take a nap for "about an hour" we both laughed, because those naps often last longer. This one lasted eight hours! So apparently I needed the rest to fight off whatever I'm still trying to fight off. The end result, however, is a stretch of four hours of being awake in the middle of the night. Tidying the house. Baking shortbread. Gathering costumes for tomorrow's foray into the Dickens Christmas Fair. Since I'm working 6am-10am tomorrow before the Fair (yes, on a Saturday), and am going to a party after the Fair tomorrow night, it's just as well I've had the sleep!

Christmas Countdown

46 Christmas cards sent to date
 9 boxes shipped to 2 countries and 5 states
Tree up & decorated with lights and a handful of ornaments
First batch of shortbread cookies baked
Gifts for teachers taken care of
Gifts for family 5/8ths done
And all with virtual no credit card usage (yet)

I may survive this holiday yet.

Quotidian

I am not a creature of the night, but I am a fan of quiet and there's no doubt that time alone does me good.

So while I'm happy that music is an important part of my family's lives - they all enjoy having music going nearly constantly - and while I'm happy to hear about their days and to just talk about anything and everything with them, I found myself going to bed early tonight again just to check out from the sounds so I could rise again and work once everyone else had gone to bed.

Made a batch of shortbread cookies at midnight and tried to figure out how I'll possibly prepare and ship the various boxes of Christmas gifts to family members in the next 15 hours, knowing even then they may not arrive on time. I'm torn between pushing myself to get it done and giving myself a break for not having it done. Tough choice.

Slippery Slope

This is not the first time this month I've posted in the early morning hours but back-dated the entry to show something for yesterday. But I am cutting myself some slack, as I find myself still more tired than I'd like to be and I'm allowing myself lots of sleep.

My early trip to bed tonight (I should say "last night") may also have something to do with hearing the sad news that a cousin had passed away. Someone - perhaps her daughter-in-law? received my Christmas card and called the house and spoke to D. Apparently they felt terrible that they hadn't given us the news a few weeks ago when it happened. Linda was the daughter of my mother's older half-brother (so we share a grandfather) and she was 71. She and my mother were close in age and they were also good friends, and we were lucky enough to have her visit us a few years ago. But I'm so sorry to hear about her death. She was such a bright light, and she reminded me so much of my mom. I was just adding her late husband's details to my genealogy a month ago. I hadn't expected to update her record so soon.

Noah's Short Bus

Tonight we took in a lame chicken named Nefertiti. She doesn't even lay anymore, I don't think. But her fellow hens were pecking her so mercilessly, she needed a new home.

So now we have:
1 One Finch named Henry, after Henry VIII. Because he killed at least two of his "wives"
2 One manic parakeet named Einstein who impersonates the homicidal finch.
3 One dog (Tango) that was a shelter rescue
4 One rabbit (Inky) who has outlived her sister by several years now. The sister died of no clear cause. Hmmm.
5 A 450 gallon fish tank featuring the 10th generation cory cats, three large koi and a GIANT pleco.
6 (While R's in town) One rosy boa, Sol.

Dr. Doolittle, move aside.

Holiday Hazards

It's such a dangerous combination: the stress of the holiday, the abundance of treats, and the cold and dark days. Throw in fighting off the flu, and I've gained five pounds in the last two weeks. That's the wrong direction on the scale, and may not represent a horrible tail-spin, but it still affects morale and how tightly my pants fit!

This week promises to be busy but includes some good stresses: interviewing job candidates, R coming home, decorating the tree we bought yesterday, finishing purchases and shipping off those I've made. The last three nights in a row I slept nine hours or more, so at least I'm doing all right in that category!

And the weekend was good: seeing friends at a party, a production of Scrooge by the local Waldorf charter high school students. Reminds me of the 7th grade drama class production of what may have been the same script, where I was Mrs. Cratchit and Bob Cratchit was played by a boy who went on to do Broadway and television, as well as voice overs. He was also Georg Von Trapp to my Maria in the 8th grade Sound of Music. So while I was not a professional actor, I've played opposite one, and we'd once calculated that we'd had nearly 20 fictional children together!

Christmas Checklist

Stocking stuffers: check

Christmas card pictures: check (see below)

Cards sent: 95% check
The cards took twice as long as I thought they would, and so to my great annoyance, I did not get the house cleaned like I'd wanted to, nor did I make it to the gym, although I'm grateful that today at least I feel well enough to want to go work out. Another full night's sleep and I should be fairly close to 100%. I hope!

Maybe

Two nights in a row of going to bed at 7:30. We'll see if I can't be fully well by Saturday. Especially because my dance card is full and there is no spot for waltzing with the flu. There are poems to send out, the novel to polish, Christmas pictures to print, a tree to get, and at least 2 social engagements on the calendar for the weekend.

Nope

Been fighting off a bug since Sunday. Determined to stay healthy. Even if it means every sentence written has an "I-understood" lack of Subjects for the grammarians out there. Don't have time to be sick!

Two Weeks to Christmas

And I've been asked a few times -  by well-meaning co-workers and chipper grocery cashiers, primarily - whether I'm all ready for the holidays. 

Um, no.

On the contrary. 

But apparently, no one is planning to postpone Christmas just because I'm busy and it has snuck up on me with even more sneaky yuletidy stealth than usual. So tonight I took down the string of orange lights that was on the house (Halloween did not sneak up on me) and put up the cold white LEDs. I have Christmas cards, but no pics of the kids picked out or printed. I have about 4 presents, mostly stocking-stuffers. And I have the consciousness that in two weeks we'll have a tree and presents and the other trappings of the holiday. Surely that counts for something. 

Maslow Was Onto Something

I really do agree with Maslow's hierarchy of needs. In spite of my previous post wherein I spouted the importance of lofty things in one's life, the reality is that it's the rare soul who can focus on the betterment of humanity and the spiritual benefits of good poetry or art while suffering from cold feet and eyelids that weigh more than Maslow himself.

Which perhaps is a cop-out for why I am not writing a witty or insightful post tonight. I'm sleepy and Sonoma County is (at least by Northern California standards) bone cold this month, and dark at 2 in the afternoon. I am still struggling to be gone for work for fewer than 12 hours each day. I realize these are first-world problems. Even as I write them, I am abashed. Where is my discipline? My backbone?

S. is completing applications for a local Waldorf High School, and among the questions on the forms is a prompt to use three words to describe her. Discipline comes to mind. Determination. Focus. Maybe even ambition. The girl knows what she wants, and she wants what she wants, and she doesn't want substitutions. I think this is less a millennial attribute than it is a second-born Leo trait. If one believes in such things. Regardless, even while I pray that she cultivate more empathy, humility and flexibility, I envy her vision and drive.

Speaking of which, time to pick her up from Chamber Orchestra rehearsal!

Success

I was ready to go to bed by 8pm tonight but stayed up to help S. complete an essay for school on "success" in particular as it pertained to Edison and Tesla. She was so so so tired and really required some help to rally, but she made it. It's not the best thing she's written, but it's done.

You've got to love any essay that starts by saying that success can mean so many things, from fame or fortune to getting married or adopting a puppy "or, in my case, finishing this essay on time."

I consider it a successful day if I have solved problems at work, helped customers and staff alike without too many of either being left by the wayside, and have also written, exercised, spent time with my family and done at least some of the household chores. That's a successful day. But days like that piled on top of each other may not add up to a successful life. The missing factor for me is reflection and clear vision, expressed in thought or poetry. If I die and the customers have all been helped, my body is toned, the dishes are done, the blog has been posted and my family is happy and healthy - well, it'll have been an acceptable life. Maybe even a somewhat worthy life. But not, I don't feel, one with deeper purpose or true success. It will not have really served the more important goal of having left the world better in any real way.

The irony is that by spending my time succeeding in the above small victories, I have no free hours to accomplish the greater ones. And here I am writing about reflection instead of stepping away to reflect. Ha! Silly me.

Anchors Away

The company Christmas party was last night: a four-hour tour on the San Francisco bay in a Hornblowers Yacht with two or three floors of parties happening (our group occupied only one). It was probably in the low thirties when we walked from our hotel (the Hyatt at the Embarcadero) to our boat, glammed up but freezing. The boat had a live band that did eighties covers, which meant that even though it was as loud as any band and difficult to hear apart from the bass and high notes, I knew every song. We didn't dance - we never do - but we did enjoy good food and good conversation at a table with other wall flowers. After 15 years at the company, I have known so many of the other senior employees for so long, there's a comfortable familiarity there, and we really did have a very enjoyable evening. The Bay Lights installation was amazing (and one can re-watch the pattern at their web site). The walk back was even colder but a hot bath cured my oncoming frost-bite.

We'd kenneled the dog and S. had been at a friends, so we'd left the birds and rabbit in a house with no heat. While S. and I saw the Nutcracker matinee (a different cast for Clara, Snow and Rose), D. brought the house up from the 46 degrees he found it in. It's supposed to get to the 20s tonight, so we finally pulled out a space heater as well.

I'd come home cold, tired and hungry - a dangerous combination that led to pizza (which I hadn't had for months) a glass of chardonnay, and a "nap" on the red couch that lasted all night. The household chores and cleanup I'd wanted to do were left undone, and I just pray for a productive evening tomorrow, after a full day of work !

Post Early, Post Often

Back at my Saturday Starbucks while S. has rehearsal for Rep. Orchestra, in between trips to the bank and getting gas and a birthday present for a 14 year old ("Anything Iron Man, Mom. Trust me.")

A young barista has admired the Torchwood symbol and my laptop, and we've chatted about Dr. Who. At first I was flattered that he assumed I'd be hip about the series. Then I admitted that while I'd followed Torchwood, I was not caught up on Dr. Who. And I admitted that the laptop had been my daughter's. "I figured," he said. My feeling of being flattered was replaced by disappointment. Oh well. Maybe I can't pass for hip after all.

I seem to be having a hard time focusing at all these last couple of days. It's like my brain is, well, jumpy, and won't settle.  I'm anxious and scattered and worst of all, I don't know why. Maybe it's pre-holiday stress starting to bubble up, or nervousness about the company party tonight.

My mother's mother used to tell a sorry about my brother Andy's childhood tendency of excitability. He'd run to my parents, this little red-haired freckled boy wild about something he found terribly interesting. He'd be bursting to share whatever it was, his little face lit up with excitement. My father would invariably say somewhat crossly, "Now, simmer down. Simmer down." And once my brother's spirits had been sufficiently quashed, Dad would apparently say, "Now, what did you want to tell us?" And by then, Andy would just mutter, "Nevermind."

My grandmother told this story as an illustration of the faults of my father, I think. And to express how it broke her heart and, she thought, deeply affected my brother. I get that. I feel that life often takes the thrill out of us, making us learn that there's something wrong with enthusiasm.

So while I wouldn't want something like my father's voice telling my brain to "simmer down," I do wish I could channel Pema Codron for a day or two.

Survivor's Guilt

Tonight S. and I saw the Petaluma School of Ballet's Nutcracker.

It was the first time in 7 years that S. was not dancing, and the first time in perhaps 6 years that I was not in charge of the eighty or so dancers backstage and the moms that help them. It was surreal, and I felt a little bit of survivor's guilt mixed in with my admiration for the massive semi-professional endeavor and my relief at not having to dedicate weeks of my life to all things Nutcracker. It was weird for S., too, who says that being in two orchestras (three, if you count school ensemble) is both less work and just as much work at the same time.

Some of the principals I have seen dance as seven-year old Gingerbreads. They are now Snow, Rose, and Sugarplum, as well as Mothers in the party scene, waltzing around in their elegant Victorian gowns, so very grown-up. Two of them are off to college next year. Several more, the year after that. But they have more poise than most adults I know, and far more discipline. I was very proud of them all, although the pride was laced with a heart-sickness. In August, the mother of one of the most gifted dancers of all passed away after fighting cancer for years with more fierce focus and grace than the best ballerina in the world might have at hand. She was an amazing person. The news of Mandela's death only makes me think that now two incredibly bright lights have left us this year. Who could ever rise to take their places? And how could I ever, ever complain about any hardship or struggle in my life compared to what they endured with such elegant purpose?

Balance Pending

Write daily: check
Work 8 hour days: check. Except for the last two, in which I added 4 hours to the 8, twice in a row. Er.
Work out daily: Nope. Not since Monday. It's a wonder I'm sane enough to write.
Sleep 8 hours per night: mostly, yes. I'm too tired from the 12 hour days to do otherwise, and it's the full nights of sleep that mean no trips to the gym at 8pm.

It was in the 20s this morning, apparently. R. may get snow where she is, further North. Brrrr! As I've said before, makes me want to hibernate.

Sunset in Aberystwyth, Wales August 11th

What a Week

I was so happy to be on time for my mammogram today.

Turns out I was exactly 24 hours late.

Maybe it's not my breasts I need checked.

I've rescheduled.

On a brighter note, the dog's lipoma is apparently just that: a fatty tumor rather than anything we need to worry about. His dental hygiene, however, leaves much to be desired.

Here's who gets to ride the elevator in the department stores in Tokyo. People with one crutch (Tiny Tim!),  disabled persons in a wheelchair, baby strollers without babies and Alfred Hitchcock:    

           

Cold Snap

It's supposed to be cold tonight, by Sonoma County standards. Perhaps into the twenties. We are burning cut-up pallets in our stove to heat the house. It's cheap - free, in fact! - and effective.

The cold makes me want to hibernate. So do days like this, that start with a voicemail at work from a livid customer wanting to sue because of a perceived wrong. Her anger is palpable. I practically have to wipe it off the phone after I listen to her rant. She names me in particular, although she mis-pronounces my name. She nearly mis-pronounces other, simpler words too. She is that furious. She ends her message with "I'll see you in court!" And although I understand her anger and do not blame her for it, I also know how very misplaced it is.

People who have lost data through fate, Murphy's law, Acts of God, Acts of Ex-Spouses, and the failure of technology are often riding the waves raftless in a dark choppy sea of negative emotions. They lash out at the nearest target. I think they are really lashing out at themselves but they misdirect their anger and send it full-force at the very people who are trying to help them. It's ironic.

There were other challenges at work too  today - things that on their own, individually, would have colored the day tricky at best, but which together almost became amusing. I'm sure I'll laugh about it. Eventually.

For now, while I wait for S's Chamber Orchestra rehearsal to finish and wrap up my writing work at Starbucks, I think longingly about the red chintz couch/chaise lounge we inherited from Mom that sits conveniently next to that wood-burning stove. I think I can hear it calling my name from here. The red couch doesn't care about lost data or perceived wrongs. It doesn't want to sue me or my company. It promises only warmth and a place for both Lethe and lethargy. How lovely.

So Much For That

It is somewhat seldom that I buy new clothes. This will not come as a shock to anyone who has seen the collection of items that make up my wardrobe: they are a combination of the following: hand-me-downs from pitying friends or family members with better taste than I, but who had originally purchased with themselves in mind; the remnants of school rummage sales; goodwill items; second-hand store items, and the occasional brand-new piece. I was wearing a pair of pants in the last category this morning; I, who dislike shopping immensely and who has never stepped in a store on Black Friday, suffered a temporary bout of consumerism (I'm better now, thank you) and bought several things the day after Thanksgiving.

Having carefully removed not one, not two, but three tags this morning just after 5am in the sleepy dark, I set off to work congratulating myself for not having missed that third tag.

I missed the fourth.

You know, the long strip of tape that runs down the leg with the brand and size printed on it for such cheaper items as one finds at Kohl's?

I had been at work nearly four hours before an employee, bless her, politely pointed it out to me. True, I'd been mostly alone or sequestered in my office for that time. But still.

Another day started with a dose of humility.