Christmas Stress

I'm feeling a little Christmas stress. No not the shopping. I've got that done. Every year it gets a little easier. When my kids were little, I used to stress over just the right gift. Did each child have exactly the same number? Then there were stocking stuffers and wrapping everything on Christmas Eve and wondering again if I'd managed to get the one thing they were hoping for.

Then they grew up and had kids of their own. Each of the grandchildren used to send us a list. Al would have a great time picking out the noisiest toys for the boys and I'd shop for frilly dresses for the girls. Then when they reached about ten or eleven, we discovered we could no longer afford anything on the boy's lists and the girls didn't want anything picked out by an adult, so we went to money or gift cards instead. Their parents said they liked the change. Now that most of my grandchildren are older, we only get to buy a few presents.

 Al and I still exchange gifts and he is the hardest person to buy for. It's a struggle to find something he hasn't already bought for himself.  I especially like to buy trips because then I get to share the gift, but they're hard to wrap. This year I think he'll be surprised by at least one gift under the tree.

 We got in the habit a long time ago of not using credit except for each other and then just to be able to hide the amount spent. There were years when there wasn't much money and the kids were little that nothing under the tree cost over $5, and then we had years where we spent a great deal. As long as there were presents to open, it didn't seem to matter, so we learned to stay within out budget.

It's the decorating that makes me crazy. I have no talent when it comes to handicrafts and that includes flower arrangements and decorating. I don't mind decorating the tree, even though when I'm finished it looks pretty thrown together. I tell myself all the twinkling lights make it pretty. I have a village and a collection of Santa Clauses that get set wherever there is space. We hang lights outside only because everyone on our street does and we don't want to be the black hole of the street. It makes me crazy to see Al teetering on a ladder. I can't help remembering the time he fell off and we had to rush him to emergency. I don't know how people can put decorations up before Thanksgiving and leave them there until after New Years. We don't even start until the middle of December and by the day after Christmas, I'm feeling claustrophobic from all the clutter and tired of the lights blinking on and off all night through my bedroom window. I know your probably thinking that I have no holiday spirit and you might be right.

However, instead of taking Christ out of Christmas, I wish there was a way to make it more about Him. I have small nativity sets that I treasure. I wish I could find a large one that I could afford to put on my lawn. In place of all the blinking lights, I'd have just one lighted star over the manager. I wish when I walked in the mall or turned on the radio, I'd hear Christmas carols celebrating His birth instead of jingles. I respect all religions and don't wish to offend anyone. Why is it socially unacceptable to expect others to respect mine? I don't want to take Santa Claus or any of the fun out of the Christmas season. I'm all for anything that fosters love and caring. I just want to feel more of the peace that comes when I let myself remember that Christmas is supposed to be a celebration of Christ's birth and not about whether my home qualifies for a page in Good Housekeeping.

Goals vs. Resolutions

I stopped making New Year's resolutions a long time ago.  They are always the same--lose weight and exercise--and I never keep them for long, if at all. But goals, goals are different.  As an HR director, I always made sure we set new goals every year. Not setting them meant we just did the same thing year as last year, and that was no way to stay in business.

For me resolutions tend to be "don'ts" while goals are "do's. The minute I say to myself "don't," I instantly want to. While I tend to balk at goals as well, I'm more inclined to at least try. Goals only work for me if they're reasonable and if I give myself some leeway. For instance I'm really trying to discipline myself to write more.  I love writing, but let's face it, it's work. I've tried making a goal to write for a specific number of hours each day. I've set aside a time, turned on the computer and stared at the blank page, maybe even written a paragraph before I get distracted or decide there's something more important that I should be doing. Then because I have a life and I can't stay home every day, I can't write every day. So much for that goal.

Recently I decided I wanted to finish the mystery I've been working on by the end of the year. I figured out it would take writing 1000 words a day every day for the next month. For the last two days I've been able to accomplish that. This works for me. It's a finite goal with no restrictions. I can do it at ten in the morning or midnight, all at once or in increments. If I can't do all 1000 words one day, then I have to make up the difference the next day. As long as it averages out to 1000 a day, I'm still on target. Also it's a short term goal, one month, so it doesn't seem that intimidating.

Granted this works because I actually enjoy writing, so it's no real hardship. But I think there are elements here that might work for other things. For instance, maybe instead of dieting, I could make a goal to eat more vegetables.

Literature vs. Entertainment

As far as I can tell in order to be considered classic literature, a book needs to be long, boring, depressing and it's author dead. Most of them have interesting stories.  Unfortunately they often get bogged down in archaic language, and a habit of dwelling on the unfairness of life. I read for the fun of it. I don't like to be lectured, preached to made to feel like an idiot. I don't want to have to look up several multi syllable words no one uses just to understand a sentence. I prefer heart stopping action to multi-tissue sob stories.

I don't claim to be an intellectual. I have a reasonable education and a fairly extensive vocabulary. Still when it comes to the books I choose, I'm an entertainment slut. I'll read anything that holds my attention with the objective of having a good time. A good book is an adventure that transports me. If I learn something along the way, or it causes me to think about life differently, so much the better.  It doesn't have to be beautifully written in order to be entertaining, as long as the words create a clear picture and wrap me up in the story.

So you'll understand why I own all four of the Twilight books and have read them several times. I also loved the Harry Potter series which admittedly is better written. I hate the fact that critics keep trashing them. I can understand if they don't find the stories appealing. Everyone has different tastes. But to say that they are poorly written is just snobbery.

What is Patience?

Is it resisting the instinct to blow your horn when you're running late and some idiot doesn't notice the light turned green because he's texting? Or is it sitting calmly without any desire to ram him? Do thoughts or actions determine patience?

Over the years I've learned not to say "hurry up," "get out of my way" or even "please shut up" out loud. I move over behind slow moving trucks to let the tailgater get by without lifting a finger. I wait quietly in line while employees discuss last night adventures. I resist the urge to run over people who conduct reunions in the grocery aisle.  I try to listen and make appropriate comments when I have absolutely no interest in the topic being discussed.  I bring a book to the doctors and when I travel so I don't have to make polite conversation with strangers, but I've learned not to growl when they talk to me anyway. I've even managed to moderate my facial muscles, substituting a smile and saying "no problem" when everything within me is screaming.

But if the movie and dialog running in my head represent my level of patience, then I've failed miserably. In my head, the tailgater is getting pulled over by a cop, I lean over the counter and grab the talkative employee by hair, the people in the aisle scatter like bowling pins when I ram them with my cart. In my head, I tell people exactly what I'm thinking complete with expletives.

Today is our anniversary.

Forty-six years ago today, my boyfriend and I snuck away to Tijuana to get married. We told no one, no family members, no friends. We dished out $25, signed something written in Spanish, then the man shook out hands and told us we were married.  There was no ceremony. He handed us a receipt written in English stating we had paid for a marriage license and explained that it had to go to Mexico City to be registered and then it would be mailed to us.

Al bought me a ring. While trying to find our way back over the border, we got stopped by a cop for going the wrong way down a one-way street. Al bribed him with the money we had left and he let us go. Flat broke, our only choice was to spend out wedding night in my apartment.

 Five days later my husband left for San Antonio, Texas for basic training in the Air Force. Not long after, I moved back home to Las Vegas. We never received the license. Maybe it got lost in the mail when I moved. We'll never know. Without proof of marriage we couldn't get the extra money the Air Force provided to married men. So at the completion of basic training, my husband flew to Vegas and we got married again on Christmas Day.

Were we ever really married the first time? I have no idea.  Still, because this is the date we thought we got married, this is the day we celebrate. Besides Christmas already had enough going for it. After all this time, it doesn't really matter. The important thing is that we are still together.

Al stayed in the Air Force for 24 years.  We suffered the loneliness of separation many times. Waiting in the states while he fought in Vietnam is an experience I never want to repeat. We argued, loved and raised three children while moving on the average of every three years. We never lived anywhere close to our family.

Although I didn't walk down an aisle in an expensive dress, eat wedding cake or throw flowers, it remains the best day of my life.

Halloween

I love fall. Around here, it's the time of the year when you can sit outside and enjoy the sun. After a summer of darting from the air conditioned house to an air conditioned car, it feels good to be able to actually remain outside for more than five minutes. And now that I have a regular gardener, I don't have to feel guilty about sitting on the porch rather than weeding the flower beds.

However, fall also means Halloween. It's not that I have any objection to the actual holiday. I like handing out treats to the kiddies and there was a time when I looked forward to putting on a costume. When I worked at Circus Circus in Reno, our HR office coordinated our costumes.  One year we were a suit of cards. I think I was the three of hearts. In the hotel costume parade we even managed a very cute shuffle. One year we all dressed like M&Ms and I was the bag. I still have those costumes.

What I hate is having nothing on TV but recycled horror films for the entire month. I don't mind being scared, but today's horror films are more about blood and violence than spine tingling. Why do people want to watch the gore of sawed off limbs and people hacking up other people? Maybe it's a macho thing, you know, a challenge to see if you can sit through the whole thing without throwing up.
Not my idea of fun.  Give me an old Hitchcock suspense or even the hilarity of Abbot and Costello facing the mummy or Dracula. Now that's entertainment.

I'm Alive!

At last I have conquered the cold! Well, not for everyone and not even permanently for me, just this last bout of it. After two weeks of sniffling, hacking, and swearing, (Yes, swearing. I'm not sick often, so I'm never able to accept the indignity of it happening to me) I was finally able to breathe all night without the aid of OTC drugs. Gone is the lack of energy and drugged out feeling that makes me want to curl up on the couch and whimper. I'm alive. The sun is shining. Life is great.

Now if only my husband felt the same way. Unfortunately I gave the dreaded germs to him. The good news is he is a much better patient than me. In fact, Al is the perfect patient for someone like me who has only minimal pampering or nursing instincts. He just wants to be left alone to sleep.  I can do that. My idea of nursing is making sure he takes pills and periodically checking to see if he's still living. Hand holding, sponging the brow with a cool cloth and soothing words are just not in my repertoire.