Because it’s better than whatever else you’re doing right now.
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That’s easy.
I’m a constant straightener.
You get up from the couch? I’m straightening the pillows.
You get up from the table? I’m straightening the placemats.
You leave work on the desk? I’m straightening the papers.
You turn off a lamp? I’m straightening the shade.
I straighten books on the shelves, paintings on the wall, knick knacks on the table, towels in the bathroom. If it’s there, I’m straightening it… which I can imagine, would quickly become annoying.
I could take a world view and hope for an end to the war in Ukraine and peace in the Middle East.
Or I could take a national view and hope for sanity to return to politics and an end to the partisan and cultural divide in this country.
But I’m going to take a smaller, closer to home view and hope for the continued health of my (still thinks he’s 20) husband. Many of my blog friends are experiencing the grief of loss or catastrophic illness of a spouse or loved one and it makes me realize how truly blessed I still am. I may moan and groan about his crap collecting and his inability to enjoy retirement, but I have him.
And he has me.
That’s everything.
But maybe… just maybe?
I’ll hope for better luck with our home improvement projects as well.
I used to adore Christmas and everything about it. I decorated everything that stood still, cooked huge meals, bought carloads of gifts and wrote so many cards my fingers cramped.
Over the years our celebrations have gotten smaller and quieter. No more big get togethers, less decorating, no rampant overspending. And that’s fine.
I’ve gotten to the age where very little of it matters anymore and though at times I miss the fun… more often than not the holiday itself makes me sad, missing those no longer with us. Five of our yearly family guests are gone now, we lost two just this summer. Death is a part of life, yes. But it makes for a very empty table.
Okay, that was depressing .… back to the question.
Favorite traditions:
When I was a child …
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A wee bit older than that, it was spending the day in NYC with my father. Every year he took me to his office where all the partners gave me little gifts. We ate lunch at the Bankers Club at 120 Broadway where he snuck me into the gentlemen only grill room. Even my mother hadn’t been there. The Rockefeller Center ice rink, Fifth Avenue shop windows, FAO Schwartz, the glorious tree. New York is a magical place for a child that time of year and I have lovely memories.
Years later when I married my husband? Hunting for and cutting down a tree. It has to be full, fat and perfect, as well as too big for the living room.
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Snuggling on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate watching It’s A Wonderful Life. It’s not Christmas without Jimmy Stewart.
Driving around town on Xmas Eve looking at lights and eating Chinese food … because I need a break from the kitchen and it’s always the only thing open.
He bores easily with vehicles and is always looking for something different. No matter how much he likes what he’s driving, he’s the guy who stops on the side of the road whenever he sees something better for sale. Since he’s always on the move and puts high miles on his cars, we buy him used every few years.
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I, on the other hand… heavily research, shop around and buy new every decade or so. My current ride is a much beloved 2014 Subaru Forester. Her name is Ethel and she only has 75,000 gentle miles. Every year my husband sputters about trading her for something newer, but the supply of new vehicles on the lots is still a problem here and I’m not buying anything I can’t personally test drive.
Ethel will be 10 next year so I suppose I’d better start researching.
Looking back… I realize I must have been a strange child because I honestly can’t think of a single thing.
I was never afraid of monsters under the bed. I always slept in a room by myself, in the dark.
I watched horror movies under the covers, I played spotlight in the backyard.
I liked bugs, and snakes and toads.
Thankfully I grew up in a loving stable home in an era where no one had to warn me about talking to strangers or telling my parents if someone touched me inappropriately.
I had an idyllic childhood and happily sailed through it with no fears.
When the world is simply too much… what’s on your plate?
For me, it’s homemade macaroni and cheese with a buttery crumb topping. The ooey, gooey packed with fat and carbs, no such thing as too much cheese kind. I may not be able to fit into my jeans after I eat it… but I’ll be smiling when I reach for my stretchy pants.
I was born in Jersey and lived there until I was 15. I don’t look like Carmela Soprano or a blinged out housewife, no leopard print leggings or teased shellacked hair … but I did retain a bit of New Jersey twang in my speech (think dawg and cawfee) and I’m most definitely a fast talker.
Jersey people have places to go and people to dump in the Meadowlands swamp, we don’t like wasting time with slow conversation .
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How about you?
What stereotype do you embody.
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