planning ahead

Today is the first day of the rest of my year.  And I am planning on the next 325 days being much better than the first 40.  But, that’s just it – now I can plan. 

Yes.  My day planner finally arrived.  Hallelujah!

It’s so much more than just a day planner, though.  It has pages for doodles, lined pages for notes, pages for lists, pages to tape pictures to and write comments, pages for reviews of anything like books, movies or wine.  This little green book will not just help me plan my life, it will document it.  It will be a repository for all my random thoughts, feelings, things I want to do and the things I have done.  At least for a year. 

Because of this, I will go back and fill in thoughts and events that occurred in the days prior to its arrival.  It’s important for me to document the arch of time from January 1 until now.  I need the perspective.  I will mark the day that my sister’s husband suddenly announced that he wanted out of the marriage.  A note when my mother flew up to Michigan to see my grandmother, settle a few matters and then drive her down to Florida  for good.  And, I will make a note in the white rectangle designated for February 6th: took husband to the hospital.  Thankfully, now I can also note the day I was able to take him back home: today.  Perhaps on one of the lined note pages, I will scribble a few words about Atrial Fibrilllation and other new terms I learned during my many hours sitting in a cold hospital room.  Certainly I will document how relieved I was when the doctor said that my husband’s heart had sustained no permanent damage and most likely an episode like this will not happen again.  That is, if he stops drinking.  Hopefully, this “if” is not as big as it used to be.  A hospital stay has a way of slicing through all the dark layers of denial. 

I know that my life will not be perfect now that a little bundle of plastic and paper has finally found its way to my door from Korea.  For some reason, though, I do have hopes that the arrival of my planner will signal a switch of fate.  I need a few good days.  And now, I can flip through the blank pages of my planner and envision all the good memories that will be written there.

it’s all because of me (center of the universe syndrome)

A lot of bad things have happened.  Relatives of dear friends in hospitals, unfortunate diagnoses, my husband’s struggle with alchohol, my sister’s eminent divorce and now Haiti.  I am so sorry, Haiti. 

It’s all my fault.

See, 2009 hasn’t officially started, yet.  We are in a sort of calendar limbo.  A time purgatory.  We are moving forward, but making negative progress.  Like, you’re in a car traveling down the highway at 80+ miles an hour and suddenly, the driver slams on the breaks.  The car, and it’s passengers, are still moving, but careening out of control toward the concrete highway divider.  Momentum without control.  And it’s all my fault. 

Why?  Because I haven’t received my new 2010 Daily Planner.  It is en-route from Korea even as we speak.  Traveling over land and ocean, in shipping container and packing crate.   Due to arrive at my doorstep any day.  Until that day I, and by default the rest of the world, are stuck.  Not able to move forward into 2010, we are careening wildly into sub-2009. 

It’s the only explanation and I feel terrible. 

As soon as I receive my daily planner all will be righted.  Not only will I be able to plan for the coming year, but I will be able to jot down all my hopes and happenings for the weeks that have already passed.  Time will catch up with itself and move forward on its pre-determined course.  The driver will take control of the car and steer it safely back on the highway. 

Until then, all I can do is apologize.  I did not mean to upset the balance of the universe.  As unlikely as it sounds, I did not even realize that I had this power.  But, I promise as soon as my planner arrives I will make it right.  All will be better.  It has to be.

new year

It’s about an hour and a half into the new year. 

It took me much longer than it should to type that last sentence and I don’t blame the small keyboard on my new netbook.

There’s a lot of pressure right about now. Lots of decisions to make about the year to come.  What you will or won’t do.  Will you make the hard decisions?  Will you go against the flow or will you roll with the punches? 

I don’t make new year’s resolutions as a rule.  It’s a cop out, I know.  If you don’t resolve to do anything then you won’t fail.  But, I fail plenty.  It’s the little goals that I set for myself that matter.  Not the grand gestures at the end of the year. 

Yes, I actually submitted stories for publication this past year, that was one of my goals.  But, I also didn’t write as much as I wanted.  I also didn’t read as much as I wanted.  These weren’t New Year’s resolutions.  They were just things that I thought I should do.  I actually set these goals around the time of my birthday, in March.  Technically, I still have three months to redeem myself, but it doesn’t really feel that way.  What is it about Dick Clark’s face that instills so much guilt? 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that life is too short to set arbitrary goals for yourself.  Either do something or don’t.  Ripping a page off your calendar shouldn’t inspire you.  Life should inspire you.

it’s blow-mold time again

 

I warned Joseph to go easy on the egg nog.

 
Yep, they’re back.  I swear that I didn’t knock Joseph over.  He was like that when I found him.  Must have been the wind.  An “act of God” you might say. 

My mother-in-law set out the blow-mold nativity last week complete with automatic timer.  She must have changed the bulbs in them cause the first night they switched on I thought that we were being raided by the FBI.  After I remembered that we didn’t have any drugs to flush, I squinted through the blinds and beheld the plastic family in all their glory. 

This year, I can’t judge my mother-in-law, though.  I am now the proud owner of a fiber-optic christmas tree.  Yes, that gloriously tacky ’60’s throw-back is displayed proudly in my living room.  It’s only about 3 feet tall and it is green, not white or, heaven forbid, pink.

Not my actual tree.

 

My husband has always wanted one and I finally succumbed.  Not a big deal, except for the first time in history I am hosting the Christmas Eve dinner for my in-laws.  I didn’t find out I was selected for his honor until about two weeks ago.  My husband and I hadn’t purchased a real tree yet and after I brought home the fiber-optic one, we decided we didn’t need to.  Now, I got the whole family coming over and all I have to place presents under is our little electric wonder.  My husband’s family already thinks we’re freaks with all the tattoos and no children, this will just seal the deal.  I can only hope that the 14 pound ham and mountain of mashed potatoes will distract them. 

My only other worry is what to do about my 34 bottle wine cooler.

Not my actual wine cooler.

 

My in-laws don’t drink, so I don’t know how they will accept my pride and joy.  I can’t empty it by Thursday (keep your comments to yourself) so I guess it will just have to stay where it is in the kitchen.  Maybe I’ll serve the ham on it and hope no one notices.

merry holidays

Christmas is not my favorite holiday.  If pressed, I would have to admit that it probably doesn’t even make the top three. 

There.  I said it.

It’s not because I don’t love baby Jesus, the manger story, Santa Claus, evergreen trees or Charlie Brown.  No, I like the sentiment of the holiday, both secular and religious.  Children receive a present from a kind, magical man for being good all year.  Great!  God gave the world a magnificent present and people take time to remember and thank Him.  Awesome!

Of course, part of my dislike for Christmas is rooted in childhood and, more specifically, the divorce of my parents.  Christmas morning always meant the absence of one of my parents and, more often than not, my sister, too.  And, Christmas morning wasn’t always on Christmas or even in the morning.  If it was the year I was flying to MI to spend with my dad, then Christmas with my mom happened before I left or when I returned.  If it was the year I stayed in GA, then I would open the box of presents from my dad and then call him to tell him how much I loved them.  Yeah, that’s special.  Then, with step-parents and cousins of every conceivable permutation involved, it meant that I could possibly get four to six Christmases in one year.  The magic kinda wears off after Christmas number three. 

However, when I became an adult, I found another reason to become disillusioned with Christmas.  Again, it’s not the holiday itself that makes me cringe.  It’s all the hub-bub that makes me go hum-bug. 

I love presents just as much as the next girl, but the thought of someone searching for hours trying to find something that I may like because they have no idea what to get me literally makes my stomach hurt.  Imagining someone stressing over what present to buy me makes me more ill than when it is me wondering what to buy someone else.  Presents are supposed to be fun and Christmas turns them into a chore.  Not only a chore, but an obligation.  This self-imposed obligation gives us tunnel-vision and then people come up with ridiculous websites like StandforChristmas.com where shoppers can post which retailers say “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.”

From the website’s front page:

Millions upon millions in our nation deeply value the great truths of Christmas and the holiday’s inspiring place in American life and culture. We hope you will take a moment to “Stand for Christmas” by sharing feedback about your Christmas shopping experiences.

Did they read what they wrote?  Since when do the “great truths of Christmas” have anything to do with shopping? 

The website has visitors rate stores as being either ”Friendly”, “Negligent” or “Offensive” to Christmas.  One of the highest rated “Friendly” stores is Bass Pro Shops.  Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but you want to buy a fishing pole, they will take your hard-earned money no matter what religion you are.  However, they just happen to know their customer base and market to them.  I think that using Christmas as a marketing tool is far more offensive than saying “Happy Holidays.” 

If I see something that I know someone will absolutely love, I will buy it.  If not, I will make a christmas ornament or bake something delicious or, as I am doing this year, I will give money to charity in their name.  I’m not anti-present, I just want the present to mean something.  That said, I will always buy presents for the children in my family.  To me, the gift-giving portion of the holiday should be really be all about the kids.  Presents are special and magical when you are a child.  If I want, I can have my own personal “Christmas” every time I walk into Target.

Whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year and however you celebrate it, try not to lose sight of what’s really important (hint: you can’t buy it at Bass Pro Shops).

how I failed Horror Movie 101

The jack o’ lanterns were lit, the fog machine was warmed up and the cauldron was full of candy.  It was 6 o’clock and we were ready for Halloween.  

Or so we thought. 

Like most years, we had a Halloween party at my sister’s house.  We decorated her carport and made that area the hub of the party so we could be outside and hand out candy to trick or treaters.  Although it wasn’t mandatory (just highly encouraged), most all the adults dressed up this year.  We had a monkey and a bunny, Punky Bruster and a witch.  My sister was Julie McCoy from the Love Boat and her husband was a scarecrow.  My husband was Stewie Griffin from Family Guy and I was zombie Princess Leia.  Pictures are available upon request. 

Carload after carload of children scampered up the driveway and we had a blast handing out candy to all the little princesses and ninjas and vampires.  We were a little worried that the scattered showers would discourage trick or treating, but we had so many kids that we almost ran out of candy.  

The night was in full swing, the last of the children had gone home and we were all sitting around in the carport enjoying the liquid treat of our choosing.  Then, out of the fog, appeared an apparition. As it slowly advanced up the driveway, we could see that it was a creature dressed head to foot in layers of white fabric and tulle.  Its face was hidden behind a skull mask and in its gloved hands was a bottle of wine.  I was the closest to the ghostly figure, so I stood and offered a greeting.   

The ghost spoke in a low growl, “I heard you were having a party.  Can I join you?” 

It’s not my style to turn away anyone who brings their own booze, spectral or solid, so I said, “Of course!” 

We offered the ghost a chair, my sister opened the wine and served it to our guest in a cup with a straw, since the skull mask only had a small slit where the mouth should be.  We are nothing if not accommodating. 

Resuming our conversations, we all wondered who was behind the mask.  Most of the friends that we were expecting had already arrived and of those that had not yet shown up, none would have come alone or be so completely disguised. 

My brother-in-law tried to be clever and introduced himself.  “Hello, I’m David.  Who are you?”

The stranger would not be tricked so easily.  “I am The Ghost of Halloween,” it replied. 

Short aside just to set the scene a bit more: we all had a fair amount of alcohol in our systems, none of us was armed or had any formal self-defense training and some of us were in costumes that restricted our ease of movement and/or were highly flammable.  A paranoid person might label our group as “easy targets” or “sitting ducks.” 

Not deterred by our guest’s reluctance to reveal his/her true identity, we continued on with our party.  Drinks were passed, food was enjoyed and general merriment ensued. 

Then, in the front yard, something exploded.

The noise shook the ground.  We were stunned silent, our eyes wide.  A few of us started walking toward the yard to investigate.  I had made it half way down the driveway when I saw a tall figure strolling from the direction of the explosion.  He had on a wide hat and long, dark coat with brass buttons.  His pants were tucked into high, black boots and a flintlock pistol was wedged, barrel first, into the sash at his waist.  Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his grin was full of black, rotten teeth. 

If he had been a real pirate, I would have been one of the first to die.  But, I recognized this brigand as soon as I saw the mischievous glint in his blue eyes.  It was Captain Bill, my mother’s boyfriend.  But, if Bill was here, then where was my mom?  I turned to see the ghost remove the mask and reveal my mom’s smiling face. 

Damn!  She had done it again.

Of course, we had invited mom and Bill to the party, but she had told us that they would not be able to make it.  They live seven hours away, she had recently hurt her foot and Bill wouldn’t be able to get time off from work.  She asked us to take lots of pictures for her. 

Little did we know that weeks ago, she had conspired with one of my sister’s friends to surprise us.  Mom and Bill drove up from Florida on Halloween morning and arrived at the friend’s house late in the afternoon.  They used her house to dress in their costumes and prepare Bill’s cannon (yes, cannon) for his grand entrance.

My mom was sure that the friend had spilled the beans when she read my blog entry about dressing as a witch and surprising me in the third grade.  But, no.  That was just a marvelous coincidence. 

Later, at the party, we all laughed at how easily we were duped and at how trusting we were.  I mean, we invited a masked stranger to join our party!  My brother-in-law and another friend were convinced that the “ghost” was going to pull out a knife or a gun and when they heard the cannon go off, they were certain that we were dead.  Then there is the fact that we all walked toward the sound of the explosion and straight into the path of a pirate.  If this had been a horror movie, we all would have rightfully died gruesome deaths. 

Luckily, real life did not turn out like a horror movie.  Instead, I have yet another wonderful Halloween memory thanks to my mom.

scary to 11

The Exorcist. 

Remember her upside down crab-crawl down the stairs? 

Nuff said.

it will be really frightening when it’s gone

One day, close to Halloween, my third grade class was interrupted by a Witch.  Mrs. Clark opened the door to our classroom and the Witch entered, shrouded in layers of black fabric that obscured her features and on her head, a black pointed hat.  The Witch carried a large, black caldron from which a smoke or vapor emanated.  She set the caldron on a table in the front of the classroom and began to ladle green punch into cups for each child.  She beckoned us closer and handed out candy and talked to us in an odd, cackling voice.  Some of us were a little scared by the Witch’s frightening appearance, myself included.  She had bumpy green and yellow skin, a crooked nose and pointed chin.  Her fingernails were long and black like claws.  However, our desire for punch and candy soon overpowered all our fears. 

Being third graders, not babies like the second graders, we knew that the Witch wasn’t real.  Sipping our punch, we wondered who was under the black hat and wig and makeup.  Was it one of the teachers?  Maybe it was the Principal?  The Witch didn’t stay long, but before she left, we all learned her true identity.  I was just as surprised as my classmates to learn that she was my mother.

My mom had so completely disguised herself, that her own 9-year-old daughter didn’t recognize her.  She bought a rubber witch’s mask and cut it up so that she could adhere sections of it to her face.  The rest of her skin she covered in makeup.  The smoking caldron was created using dry ice and food coloring turned the punch green.

And that is why I love Halloween. 

It is the one time of the year when we an all be special effects wizards, makeup artists, costume designers and set decorators. Each of us can play a part in a great, crazy, chaotic show.  It’s okay to be frightening or over-the-top funny.  Halloween is an excuse for us to let our hair down, or to pull it up and color it purple.  It’s perfectly acceptable to be daring or gross or act like anyone other than yourself. 

But, what’s even better about Halloween, is that you are not expected to do anything.  You don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to, no one will be offended.  You don’t have to roast a turkey or bake a pie or feed your whole family.  You don’t have to give anyone a present or feel guilted into donating to a charity.  The only thing you may feel obligated to do is buy a bag of candy and give it to children who knock on your door.  Having fun is just a side-effect.    

Halloween is the only day out of the year where it is acceptable for children to take candy from strangers, even strangers who are wearing a hockey mask and bloody overalls.  Even with all the real fears in the world, parents still let their children go door to door trick-or-treating.  All it takes is a few carved pumpkins and some fake blood to make us realize that we haven’t totally given up on trusting each other. 

Happy Halloween everybody!

retro halloween

Been a while since I posted one of these (mostly because I worry about copyright infringement) . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are a few that I’ve posted before . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Halloween!

Plenty more where these came from on my Retro Fun page.

The Shining

Okay, I got a little flack for recommending The Evil Dead last week.  Although, technically, I didn’t recommend it, I just stated that it was one of my favorites.  I should have prefaced that with the disclaimer that The Evil Dead would not be most people’s cup of tea.  It is quirky, gross, low-budget and all around distasteful.  I happen to like that, so sue me. 

Can we all agree on The Shining, though?  Good movie, right?  Classic Stephen King novel turned into a classic Stanley Kubrick film.  Scared the pants off of ya the first time you saw it, didn’t it?  They don’t make horror movies like that much any more – methodically paced, psychological and gore used as an accent, not as a driving force of the movie.  Plus, Scatman Crothers!

Here is some trivia I found on the IMDB site that I found interesting:

The book that Jack was writing contained the one sentence (“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”) repeated over and over.  Stanley Kubrick had each page individually typed. For the Italian version of the film, Kubrick used the phrase ”Il mattino ha l’  class=”hiddenSpellError” pre=”">oro in bocca” (“He who wakes up early meets a golden day”). For the German version, it was “Was Du heute kannst besorgen, das verschiebe nicht auf Morgen” (“Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today”). For the Spanish version, it was “No por mucho madrugar amanece más temprano” (“Rising early will not make dawn sooner.”). For the French version, it was “Un ‘Tiens’ vaut mieux que deux ‘Tu l’auras’” (“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”).

The original saying says a lot about Americans: play is just as important as work.  Just try not to do either in a snow-bound hotel with restless spirits bent on destruction. 

The Italian and German sayings are all about getting things done and as soon as possible.  I expected this from the Germans, not so much from the Italians.  I thought for sure the Italian saying would be about food.   

The Spanish saying is appropriate to their mind-set: things will get done when they get done.  Don’t stress!  They take siestas for a reason.

Then there’s the French:  be cautious, don’t take risks and appreciate what you got.  By that regard, the French Jack Torrance wouldn’t have been at the Overlook Hotel in the first place and the ensuing horror would have never happened.  How boring.