How Do I NOT Do It?

Okay, so everyone’s doing the year in review—where we’ve been, what we’ve done, and how things have changed. Some ambitious writers have even reviewed the whole decade, in the mistaken (but understandably so) view that tonight we enter a new decade. (That’d be next year, son.)


I don’t have the energy.

This year we didn’t send a single holiday card—not Hanukkah, not Christmas. This is not like me. I usually take great pleasure in sending cards to friends and neighbors , some of whom we see frequently, some rarely; some of whom we hear from often, some just at this time of year. So when we threw in the towel on this year, we were relieved, but relief was quickly replaced with Major Guilt. I’m not over it yet—we got lovely cards from lovely friends who received nothing tangible from us.

I’m still working on the holiday letter. For 2007. What is it with me? I used to work ‘outside the home’, as we say in Ms. Magazine, full time. Add an hour and a half commuting time per day, add time spent with growing kids, including ball games, practices, violin lessons, and a little volunteer work, and I can hardly believe I ever had time to sleep. But I did. I also sent holiday cards…

Now I’m more or less retired, doing some freelance writing, obviously blogging, and running a custom embroidery business. (Betcha didn’t know that about me, huh?) But I can’t seem to make it all happen. I’m not reading the number of blogs I would like to, I’m not keeping the house as organized as I expected that I would, once retired, and I’m not getting enough sleep, either. Where, exactly, did I lose control? Did I ever actually have control?

But just so I won’t be the only blogger not to sum up her major achievements of the past twelve months, here are a few of mine:

1. I had my tires rotated.

2. I finished wallpapering my laundry room (I started in 2005. Really.)

3. I gave away my maternity clothes (my youngest child is 28) (Kidding.) (Not about the age, about the clothes.)

4. I changed dentists. No, I didn’t, but my husband did. Of course, he changes dentists like some people change socks.

5. I quit using fabric softener. At first it was just to see if that would clear up the rash I had on my arms, then realized I didn’t really need it anyway, so buh-bye dryer sheets.

6. We endured the chaos of having the carpeting replaced in our whole house. It was a total nightmare while it was happening, but it was worth it in retrospect.

7. I started a blog in August, right about the time the movie “Julie and Julia” came out. Everyone asked me if I saw it. If everyone who asked me that was reading my blog, I’d have a lot more hits each day! (Good movie, by the way.)

Far and away the best of those is #7. I’ve ‘met’ a lot of interesting and talented people by reading their blogs and the blogs of people who comment on those blogs, and—well, you know, pretty soon you have a whole garage full of Amway products. But seriously, folks, when I’m not working the embroidery business, volunteering at the elementary school library, helping out my in-laws (they’re 87—each), or ministering to the orphans at the—wait a minute, I don’t do that—back it up to the in-laws—I adore reading the blogs I’ve come to know and love.

I look forward to more of the same in 2010. So cheers to all of you, and a very happy new year to come! Thanks for stopping by—you really shouldn’t have brought that lovely gift—and try these yummy treats before you go! I hope all your wishes come true, and I hope mine do, too!

Oreo Cream Cheese Truffles

1 package Oreos

1 8 oz. package cream cheese

Chocolate for melting

This is grueling and exhausting (NOT), so buck up for the sheer yumminess of it!

Process the Oreos and the cream cheese in the food processor.

Form into quarter-size balls.

Chill on a cookie sheet till firm (30-45 minutes.)

Dip them in the melted chocolate, and place on wax paper to cool.

O. M. G. Don’t try to thank me now, just go make some more!

I'm Surrounded

Sure, we look happy enough, the six of us, but face it, this was posed. If I weren’t smiling, the Hub would have brought in reinforcements, and then where would I be? (Probably under the table with a bottle of gin and a funnel.)

Yep, I love the guy and I’m grateful that we found each other, but it’s possible that now that he’s working from home, he finds me a little too often. It’s not exactly like house arrest, but there are some stark comparisons. Before I get ahead of myself, let me set the stage…
Hub’s work is very computer-based, therefore he spends hour after hour planted in a very noisy desk chair in his office.

Aside: This chair is actually beyond squeaky; it emits an almost blood-curdling yowl whenever the big guy moves a muscle. Back in the day, when it was merely squeaky, I dubbed it Lynette, after Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, who gained fame in the ‘70s for trying to assassinate then-president Gerald Ford. This took place in Sacramento, where Fromme was apparently defending the redwoods against capitalist oppression. [The redwoods and the capitalists appear to be at a standoff.] Fromme did seem to start something, however, because a mere 17 days later, and a mere 87.5 miles away, Sara Jane Moore pulled a gun on Ford outside the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. This was a day after she was picked up and released on an illegal weapons charge. Duh. The police reportedly felt she posed no threat to the President. Hah. Moore, unlike Fromme, actually fired a shot, and oblivious to the plight of the redwoods, seemed only to sympathize with Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army. (Yes, I am old.) Okay class, close your books and take out a sheet of paper—we’re going to have a short quiz. Not. Aaaaand back to our story.

Now that the chair’s vocalization has been amplified to the yowling/howling level, I just call it the hungry hyena. Now that’s a sound you don’t want to wake up to, but I digress. Again. The Hub’s legs have atrophied in the year and a half since his so-called retirement. He parts with his chair only to forage for snacks. Fortunately or unfortunately, this is a frequent occurrence; it keeps him from turning to stone. It also keeps him from losing weight—a story for another day.

So except for the times when he doesn’t want me to know that he’s in the pantry, plundering the walnuts, red licorice, raisins, peanut butter, pita chips, potato chips, corn chips, taco chips or chocolate chips, the King of Chips pads about the house looking for me. And regardless of what I’m doing, how focused I am on a task—be it reading, listening (NPR is my constant companion), writing, cleaning, cooking, stitching, or translating The Odyssey from the original Greek, when he finds me, he starts talking. Focus, lost. Concentration, gone. “Yes, Dear?”

This is a common trait among males. It stems from the presumption that anything they have to say will be far more important than whatever you were thinking, saying or doing. Not to male-bash here, we love the big lugs, but years of observation and experience bear this out. So the K of C touches base, expounds on his current theory of the day, slips in a quick stop by the fridge for a glob of hummus, and returns to the man-cave. Sometimes there is recognition of the infraction, as in, “I’m sorry—were you curing cancer?” but not often.

If we’re close to mealtime, he’ll ask, “Is it time to feed me yet?” If I’m leaving the house his lower lip trembles a bit until I let him know that I’ll be back in time to put food on the table. Whenever I leave town, he asks for a printed schedule of who’s coming over to feed him which meals. Fortunately, it hasn’t come to that. When it comes to food, his survival instincts are intact. As for me, he’s got me covered—it’s the doggone electronic ankle bracelet I can’t get used to.