Post-Christmas

I have never been much of a 'leave-the-tree-up-till-Valentine's-Day' kind of person. Perhaps it is the fact that, for nearly 30 years, we gave a big Christmas party the second Saturday in December--which meant that the tree went up almost immediately after Thanksgiving. By Christmas, we were being stabbed by dried-out needles and had to put ourselves on fire-watch because of the pile of tinder we had stacked our presents under.

In any case, we are usually the first in the neighborhood to drag our tree to the curb, and by New Year's, our house has usually lost all vestiges of holiday decoration. The cookies and candy sometimes linger into the new year, but even they are looking pretty sad. Which puts me today firmly in the box-it-up-and store-it, or clear-it-out mode.

This year, I even added to the tradition by setting myself the Herculean task (and I'm talking Augean stables here) of clearing out the refrigerator. Who knew how many pots and jars of weird ingredients lived there? Salad dressings, dabs of jams and jellies too small for any use, orange marmalade, hoisin sauce..tortillas that predate the cliff dwellings out west. Why do I have 4 packages of bacon--two open and half empty, and two apparently awaiting some bacon orgy of the future? Capers and olives and relishes, cheeses and chili sauce, horseradish of a strange hue, and toothpaste-tubes of basil and garlic and tomato paste. I think it is time for a New Year's resolution to cook more simply, without all these bells and whistles. Time to start from scratch (and I'm not saying this just because a few of these items had expiration dates back in 2010...well, maybe), to move on to my pantry, and maybe even my freezer. I may end up finding the lost city of Cibola there, frozen eternally behind the chopped broccoli. Calling Indiana Jones!

Some people find it sad to put Christmas away for the year, but I see it as a breath of fresh air. Here's my new beginning, my new year...one where I will fix what's wrong and capitalize on what's right in my world. Starting with the refrigerator.

Pre-Christmas

Here I am, at the kitchen counter, before the day's customary chaos sets in. I know I should be making my lists and checking them twice...but I do enjoy having a few minutes of my own, unencumbered by the need for groceries or laundry or de-cluttering or last-minute shopping. Somehow, it will all get done in time--though I might have to shave a few frills and furbelows from my expectations.

On the plus side, JC has somehow found a radio station playing Christmas music that I like, and locked into it on my car radio. This means that I have heard my favorite song not once, but three times in the past two days. (For those of you who might care, it is the Bing Crosby/David Bowie duet of Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth. A totally unlikely combination, both of music and artists, traceable to a bizarre match-up in a Christmas special years ago. Played very infrequently, but I love it.) Additionally, I have baked SOME cookies, even though they are mostly gone already. I have wrapped some presents, and I think most of the ones I have ordered have arrived in a timely fashion. At least the major ones. I have a plentiful supply of tape, paper, and ribbon, though I do need to stock up on batteries this year. Most importantly, if we are thinking positively, I am more or less past the bronchitis that has plagued me since Thanksgiving. There are still a few coughs exploding now and then, but I no longer frighten people in the street. (You know you've been bad when the UPS lady says that you sound better...)

There is no snow in the forecast, and Kay and Paul and the little girls are due tomorrow, whenever they manage to struggle through the traffic and the trip from Rhode Island. The tree and decorations are in place, there is one more Noonday Noel concert today that I have promised to bring food for, I've sent off the January update for the Folger docents for JC, had my lab work done for the month, and am more or less caught up on laundry. Our house (to quote from a recent NCIS episode) still looks like we just finished taping an episode of "Hoarders"--but I can fix that in one of those gaps where I'm waiting for other stuff, like cookies to bake, or bread to rise.

All in all, life is pretty good right now. Christmas is coming, and I'm as ready as I usually am..which is 'not quite, but oh, well...'  Merry Christmas!

Help

I enjoy a rare privilege--at least, rare to someone of my background and heritage. I have a cleaning lady. I was raised in a world where one did one's own housework, or outsourced it to unwilling, but easily-dominated children. For twenty years of my life, my job description was short and to the point. I went to school and did whatever that entailed. I dried the dishes after dinner every day. I swept and scrubbed the kitchen floor every day. I cleaned and scrubbed the bathroom once a week. And I kept the room I shared with my sister in order--beds made, floor vacuumed, furniture dusted. I was never overly fond of any of those duties.

When I married, the dishwasher took over the dishes. I was a little casual about the rest, but it did get done--most of the time. Finally, when the girls took over all our spare time, we opted to hire someone to come in every couple weeks to spiff things up, and keep things from deteriorating too badly. For the past ten years or so, that someone has been Sandra.

Sandra is a little lady with tolerable English skills that do not extend to the written word. She arrives every other Friday morning, with a small army of smiling, non-English-speaking young women who very efficiently take over the house and leave it much better than they found it. We get along, for the most part. What we have found, however, is that the ladies have....a quirky sense of humor, perhaps? a desire to show us who's boss, maybe? In any case, they assert themselves in odd ways. It is a rare Friday that I return and do not find some evidence of their tricks. A bed is short-sheeted--not enough to look deliberate, but enough that it needs to be remade. Something will be missing, that won't be truly missed immediately.

Take the soap. One Saturday morning, I stepped into the shower to find that the soap was missing. A new bar, only recently placed in the dish. I looked around, but couldn't see it. Wet and irritated, I dripped my way to the cabinet, unwrapped a new bar, and continued...fuming..back to the shower. After getting dressed, I started looking, to no avail. Not on the counter, not in the trash, not in the cupboard, not in the drawer. Not even in the powder room. Who would steal a bar of Dial soap? Apparently, the ladies. It wasn't until the next week, when I dumped the contents of the laundry hamper into the washer--and heard a 'thunk!'--that I found it. Who would put a bar of soap into the laundry hamper? Yet there it was.

Paper towels! I am firmly of the opinion that Sandra runs a paper towel business out of her car. Each visit, every paper towel in the house would disappear, whether I had a single roll or six available. Poof. I will agree that paper towels are essential in cleaning mirrors, windows, maybe a final swipe for sinks and stoves--but the quantity in which they vanished boggled the mind. I am embarrassed to say that I have taken to storing paper towels in my car, leaving a maximum of two rolls available in the house. Explaining to passengers why I carry 8 rolls of Bounty paper towels is preferable to losing them to the cleaning lady mafia that has apparently cornered the market thereon.

And then, there is placement. I have things arranged in my house--on tables, on mantels, on counters. Not a LOT of things, but some. And I have them arranged in a way that I like: not lined up like soldiers, not arranged by twos in a parade line. Generally centered, generally symmetrical. Until the ladies come. Everything is then arranged in exactly the opposite manner. If something was squared, it's placed on the diagonal; if centered, it's moved to the right or left. If the line was staggered, it's straightened. Furniture, blinds, windowshades, rugs--all just slightly off-kilter. I spend the next few days simply adjusting things.

I have taken to unplugging my computer and printer because the connections were always jiggled to the point of disconnection. My printer never worked, nor my cable TV, nor my router when the ladies had been here. My toaster and coffeemaker were unplugged (usually discovered after an impatient few minutes spent wondering why they were operating so slowly.) My recycling bin held trash, and my trashcan held recycling. The parallel universe in which Sandra and her minions operate obviously has rules that are in conflict with mine. I have tried to explain my issues to her, but Sandra simply smiles and nods and says "Yes, Miss Mary." and no doubt goes home and laughs at how strange I am to quibble about horizontally vs. vertically placed throw rugs. Maybe I am. Maybe in Central America, candles are lined up like soldiers, and sofas are placed off-center, and soap is stored in laundry hampers. Maybe Bounty paper towels are their new currency. Maybe I should change ladies...but who knows what new quirks are out there waiting for me?

Providence

We've just returned from a 4-day sojourn in Providence with Audrey, our 3-year-old granddaughter. Kay had a conference to go to, and, while taking the baby was a must-do, she and Paul thought life might just be a little easier if Audrey were having fun at home with Nana and Papa instead of going stir-crazy in a hotel room in Montreal. Good thinking.

So I flew up Wednesday afternoon, followed on Friday morning by JC, and turned Audrey into a temporary only child. We kept to her schedule as much as possible, but there are a lot of spaces for ice cream, chocolate croissants (pronounced 'sur-lants' in Audrey-speak), and trips to the park, and dinners at restaurants in the interstices. We did a lot of watching Cat in the Hat and Dora and Blue variously solving the big issues of the day: a lack of honey! packing for vacation! what kind of boat to build for the Boat Float! We read all about everyone who goes to the potty. (Who knew that FIREFIGHTERS go to the potty? And construction workers! And waiters! And doctors and pilots and policemen and zookeepers...) We went to Whole Foods and bought a coconut, just so Audrey could hear the coconut milk slosh around when she shook it. And we got some brie with a fruit topping because they were giving out samples and she kept going back for more. (Which I hope explains the small wheel of brie and cup of topping in your refrigerator, Kay...) We found that, since August, Audrey has acquired a few new speech patterns: everything is 'super-' something. Super-warm, super-cold, super-hot, super-hard... and a lot of conversations start with "Do you know....?" The funniest of these was a discussion of dinner one night, when I suggested a local restaurant to JC. Audrey, listening in, turned to JC, tilted her head to one side, and said sweetly, "Do you know that Three Sisters (the cafe in question) has ice cream?" Needless to say, even though we did not go to Three Sisters for dinner, we DID stop by for dessert.

However, we did have a few obstacles to overcome. The hot water heater's pilot light gave out on Thursday, putting a moratorium on dish-washing, or warm baths or showers. Despite my attempts to re-light the pilot, we were without hot water for a day; but the landlord came through with a plumber to replace the pilot light assembly on Friday, thank god. We also encountered a few obstinacy issues--but who doesn't with a small child? Patience has never been my virtue, but JC had enough for all of us. And the storms passed, as they always do.

That is not to say that we were not totally tired out by the time we left. Home is so much easier. The older we get, the more we enjoy its comforts: hot water, knowing where everything is, and where to go to get things we need. We enjoy our own bed and television and wi-fi and kitchen sink, which is much better suited to our height than the one that Kay and Paul deal with daily. We like having a dishwasher and an ice-maker and going places without fumbling with a carseat and its 5 step fastening procedure, interrupted by a little girl who wants to know why Nana's car has a cargo cover instead of a trunk. Although the entertainment value of all these questions is well-worth the process. Having Audrey congratulate me ("Good job, Nana!") upon finding the place to pick up produce from the food co-op, and then bragging to the sign-in people that Nana FOUND the place was priceless.

We had a great time, but it IS good to be home. Especially when we know that they will all be here for Thanksgiving in just a few days.

Letter to Santa

I’ve decided it’s about time that adults got to write letters to Santa. We’ve perpetrated this little charade for our children and grandchildren, and they seem to have done pretty well by believing. It wouldn’t take much to give me some faith in the old gentleman, even at my advanced age. I’m predisposed to believe in someone who rewards the good, admonishes the not-so-good, and manages to handle it all in one night with limited resources. Hey, this sounds like what I’ve been doing all my adult life..

Dear Santa,

First of all, I’d like to apologize for the extended gap in our correspondence. At first, it was peer pressure—no one else appeared to be writing you, and you know how that is when you’re a kid. Then later, life intervened, and I was too busy during the holidays to write anything but To Do lists. I think that has worked to our advantage because it’s given me some time to think about what I would really like to have for Christmas. Most of the material stuff is here already, but there are a few things I could really use…I've limited myself to ten important items..not wanting to be greedy about this….

I've certainly tried to be good this year, and so..here are the things that I am wishing for:

1. A cell phone plan whose terms I could understand

2. An exercise program that I really enjoyed enough to stick to

3. Fewer choices in the grocery aisles. Maybe you could impose a limit of three different varieties of each product, rather than having us all standing immobile in the aisle trying to distinguish among five brands of orange juice, each with pulp, no-pulp, extra-pulp, pulp with Vitamin D, no-pulp with calcium added, etc. Milk, bread, cereal, ground beef—all come in at least six varieties with various embellishments…All right, already--life was simpler when choices were more limited.

4. Fewer TV channels, more substance. I’m tired of surfing through 200 channels at night and finding nothing worth watching. Perhaps you could merge some of these reality shows. The Biggest Loser is unfortunately the viewing public.

5.  Another room in my house. Anyone who can fit a world’s worth of toys into a single sack on a single sleigh surely has some super-secret storage tips and/or some magical storage space. I want it, and I want it now.

6. Hearing aids for all those people who don’t hear what I tell them; special glasses for those who can’t see what’s in front of their noses. Maybe a clue, for those who haven’t any. (I already have a long list of recipients..)

7. Some sincere script that I could read off to telemarketers, political canvassers, and charity solicitations that would convince them unequivocally that I don’t want to talk to them or contribute to the cause of the week. Particularly in the middle of my dinner.

8. One day each season where I could decide the weather. Imagine not having to worry about rain on your wedding date, snow and ice on your big winter travel day, wind on the day you planned to rake leaves. Or unendurable heat on the day of the summer party you’d planned.

9. An elf for a day. Just to make all those little repairs—the carpentry, the stitching, the gluing and pinning that I never seem to have time for.

10. A tech expert to show me (and leave printed directions on) how to program my various electronic gadgets: phone, IPod, IPad, laptop, network, wireless printer, Apple TV, TiVo, GPS, etc. (BTW, could you tell Apple that there are those of us out here who appreciate having a manual that we can look things up in?)

I know these gifts are not as simple as a train set, or as readily available as Barbies or Legos, but I think that they would be extremely popular among folks of a certain age--which would simplify your global efforts. However, I feel I should let you know that I will not be overly disappointed if you can't/don't/won't deliver. Some things require more than ordinary magic. 

But for the record, I still believe.

Methods and Madness

If anyone ever tells you I am organized, you must know that they are a liar. That does not mean that I don't love organization. Or that I don't try. Or that I have not purchased innumerable organizational tools in the hope of finding the magic bullet that will kill forever the clutter-vampires that stagger around in my wake, making life incredibly (and unnecessarily) complicated.

Take this week. I have company coming toward the end of this month. I had a writing workshop that I was hosting for a friend last Sunday. I have a group of teachers coming for dinner on the 11th, and my own writing group meeting elsewhere on the 10th. In between, I have the usual detritus of my life: my mom's Tuesday doctor's appointment, my second painful visit to the dentist, the preliminaries to collecting, printing and publishing the church's Advent devotional, my daughter's birthday..that sort of everyday stuff that goes on like the post office through rain and snow and dark of night.

Anyway. Anyone with an iota of sense would establish a to-do list,  preferably arranged in sequential order, to deal with the stuff that needed to be done for each event. Instead, I decided to re-do the patio and pull out the fall decorations. Reasonable people would hire a front-end loader to attack the guest bedroom so that our guests would not have to sleep on the floor in the hall.  Instead, I emptied the closet of boxes and sorted through the paper and photos and craft supplies I unearthed--donating half to a teacher I know and the non-teacherly other half to Salvation Army. I also took myself to lunch a couple days out of last week. I baked cranberry scones. And yet another plum cake. I boxed up some summer clothes. (They are sitting on the floor in my bedroom.) I bought two wrought iron obelisks at the nursery, and brought them home, only to discover they were too big for their intended pots, that flank the front porch. So I dragged the too-small pots over to the wall of the patio and dragged two other (slightly larger) pots from the patio to the porch. (I DID check that the obelisks would fit these before I did the transfer.) I was reminded of the days when I used to stack literally a ton of hay bales in the barn when Sarah had her horse. Moving heavy objects is not my forte either.

What I have not done is planned what we will do with our friends while they are here. I have not planned a menu for the meals we will serve them. I'm not sure I even have pillows for the 2nd guest bedroom--or that I will be able to shift enough clutter to enable us to open the Murphy bed there. I don't have any but the sketchiest plans for the teacher meal: soup, maybe? Salad and bread? Maybe a dessert--ah, I feel another plum cake coming on... My house is in its customary state of chaos, although I have a nice wreath on the door, that I put together this week. My entry-way is decorated with colorful autumn flowers and gourds and snazzy black cats--but I don't think any of these will be entertaining enough to make my guests overlook the lack of food or bedding.  Nor will the pots-with-obelisks at the porch distract them from my failure as tour guide.

When you come right down to it, it will all get done. It will look good. It will look as if I put some thought and effort into my preparations. People will think I am organized. Like the proverbial duck, I will float calmly on the surface of my life--and will be paddling like hell underneath. Maybe I need to focus on the minutia in order to solve the macro-issues. Maybe I just need the last minute as motivation for getting things done. Then again, maybe I'm just a little nuts.

Cataclysm(s)

It has been a blockbuster month, August has. Barely out of the chute, this month brought the birth of our second beautiful granddaughter, who was in such a hurry to join us that she couldn't wait for a trip to the hospital. Born at home, Claire's entry into the world was quickly followed by the entrance of the Providence Fire Department and then, the ambulance crew that took her and her mom to the hospital. An hour old, and she had already made the acquaintance of two of the three groups of first responders in Providence.

Given succeeding weeks' events, that acquaintance might have been followed by additional encounters. In the next three weeks, young Claire experienced a rare east coast earthquake and the effects of Hurricane Irene, who hit Providence a glancing blow after her destructive route through New Jersey and New York. (No wonder Claire looks worried in some of her pictures!) Fortunately, neither of these events assumed the predicted magnitude, and Claire's main issue in her first few weeks was coping with an all-too-loving big sister, and the upset of having assorted grandparents underfoot, playing 'pass the baby' with far more frequency than is conducive to sleep.

On the home front here in Alexandria, August has exhibited a variety of weather faces: wet, wet with high winds, wet with warmth, wet with cool temps, and wet with more wet for days at a time. Early in September, we personally experienced 'wet without power' due to a cable break under our patio. We've met and become fast friends with Dominion Power crews as they de-bricked, jackhammered and dug with shovels through our back yard, searching for and repairing said cable--and then, kindly, efficiently, and expertly, restoring the original appearance of the surface, as well as our electrical power.

With all this hubbub, it's no wonder August disappeared in a puff of smoke, a gust of wind, or a brief, but emphatic storm. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled life.