We made a successful spanikopita yesterday (it would take actual effort to ruin one) and brought it over to my friend's house. It was a small celebration. There were eight of us -- my friend and her husband, their son (who is my age), daughter-in-law, granddaughter, and the son's 85-year old neighbor (who's a pistol). There was a fair amount of tension between and among generations, but I kept thinking "Of course your parents push your buttons -- they installed them." And the tension was fairly good-natured. The best part was that we felt warmly welcomed into the fold. It was all pleasantly low-pressured, with lots of good humor and interesting conversation.
I'm amazed at how long it takes to outgrow the trauma of Christmases past -- maybe forever at this rate. It's been a long time since I've had an "awful" Christmas, and even those, as my mother points out, weren't purely horrible. She's right -- they were merely laced with trauma rather than filled with it. Nonetheless, I'm pleased to have sailed through this Christmas, with all the busy (but not overwhelming) preparations, unscathed, ready to go back to the "real life" of the other eleven months of the year.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Friday, December 24, 2004
life's little and big victories
Well, sometimes procrastination pays off. I learned this long ago when I was a programmer and discovered that you never code something until you absolutely need to. Otherwise, if you code something too early, the requirements or the interface will change and you'll have to do it all over again anyways. Why bother?
Avoiding going to the grocery store until late was a smart move today -- the aisles were more crowded with displays than with people, there was plenty of food left on the shelves, and I didn't even have to wait when I was ready to check out. In previous years, it's been hard to find a grocery basket (no problem this year) and the checkout lines have stretched into the aisles. The store was emptier when I was there today than it is on most Saturdays. What a treat.
******
I continue to be grateful for this quiet, low-pressure day. It's been an eventful year, one that's brought on many strong emotions. At times, I've felt like I've been digging into my deepest resources to get through. Peace and quiet are a tremendous gift right now.
After my friend Char got sick, she would try to name five things each day for which she was grateful. (Her husband Mark was often on the list, of course. She was so lucky to have had the foresight to marry him.) I've noticed that my friend K also makes a practice of gratitude. And I know that I have much to be grateful for, starting with having a nice place to sleep every night, being warm in the winter, having enough to eat, and knowing that I am loved and that I can love in return. (Those latter two are victories in themselves, stumbled upon relatively late in life.) The rest, and there's a lot of the rest, is all gravy (vegetarian, of course).
I will try to remember this quiet moment as we continue through the early-winter holidays.
******
My thoughts go out tonight to all those who are experiencing their first Christmas without a loved one who was with them (or us) last year. Time does heal, though it does not heal completely. Recent wounds are made deeper at times when we are used to gathering our loved ones near.
Avoiding going to the grocery store until late was a smart move today -- the aisles were more crowded with displays than with people, there was plenty of food left on the shelves, and I didn't even have to wait when I was ready to check out. In previous years, it's been hard to find a grocery basket (no problem this year) and the checkout lines have stretched into the aisles. The store was emptier when I was there today than it is on most Saturdays. What a treat.
******
I continue to be grateful for this quiet, low-pressure day. It's been an eventful year, one that's brought on many strong emotions. At times, I've felt like I've been digging into my deepest resources to get through. Peace and quiet are a tremendous gift right now.
After my friend Char got sick, she would try to name five things each day for which she was grateful. (Her husband Mark was often on the list, of course. She was so lucky to have had the foresight to marry him.) I've noticed that my friend K also makes a practice of gratitude. And I know that I have much to be grateful for, starting with having a nice place to sleep every night, being warm in the winter, having enough to eat, and knowing that I am loved and that I can love in return. (Those latter two are victories in themselves, stumbled upon relatively late in life.) The rest, and there's a lot of the rest, is all gravy (vegetarian, of course).
I will try to remember this quiet moment as we continue through the early-winter holidays.
******
My thoughts go out tonight to all those who are experiencing their first Christmas without a loved one who was with them (or us) last year. Time does heal, though it does not heal completely. Recent wounds are made deeper at times when we are used to gathering our loved ones near.
quiet thoughts on a quiet day
Today, I've taken a vacation day -- a real one. I got up early, read for a while, fell back to sleep, and then Robert and I just hung out for a while before getting up. We had a late breakfast, including my friend Jen's excellent stollen bread (darn her -- now I will never enjoy anyone else's!!), followed by reading the newspaper and working some puzzles while the cat took a long snooze on my chest. (darn Robert's brother for introducing me to these puzzles. Now I'm addicted. They're called nonograms or griddlers (an example) and they're much more popular in the UK than in the US. Next time we're in London, I'll pick up a few more books.
I still have to go shopping for tomorrow's feast. I'm now down to cooking one dish, but it's a favorite -- spanikopita.
We bumped into a friend (our hair dresser, actually, but I've known her for a long time and like her a lot -- who else do you regularly get to spend nearly an uninterrupted hour with every month? And I've been seeing her for well over ten years. We've followed the ups and downs in each others' lives and have cheered each other and comforted each other through many of them). She was so eager to get Christmas over with, looking forward to it, but tired, and ready to rest at the same time. You know, I'm not feeling that way. Time can move slowly right now, and that's just fine.
The mother of a former boss (TomP) died a few days ago. I was privileged to meet her a while back when Robert and I were invited over for tea. She was very charming and funny and delightful. Unfortunately, I was in a dark period of my life when it was hard to create new connections and to keep them going. (I still struggle with that, though it's easier now. I still don't claim to do a great job of it, but I'm heartened to have seen some improvement over the last ten years.) And she was starting to struggle with her memory, so she couldn't keep it going either. I'm sorry I didn't see more of her, but I recognize that I couldn't have done it differently, despite my good intentions. I've had some brief emails with Tom in the last few days and hope to go to her memorial service in January.
Robert and I are going away on Monday to Provincetown, one of my favorite places on earth, especially in winter. We'll be there for a few days and enjoy more savoring of slow time. One friend who lives there has already let us know that his annual trip to Michigan will exactly coincide with our visit there, alas. But perhaps we'll bump into other friends, as we often do.
I still have to go shopping for tomorrow's feast. I'm now down to cooking one dish, but it's a favorite -- spanikopita.
We bumped into a friend (our hair dresser, actually, but I've known her for a long time and like her a lot -- who else do you regularly get to spend nearly an uninterrupted hour with every month? And I've been seeing her for well over ten years. We've followed the ups and downs in each others' lives and have cheered each other and comforted each other through many of them). She was so eager to get Christmas over with, looking forward to it, but tired, and ready to rest at the same time. You know, I'm not feeling that way. Time can move slowly right now, and that's just fine.
The mother of a former boss (TomP) died a few days ago. I was privileged to meet her a while back when Robert and I were invited over for tea. She was very charming and funny and delightful. Unfortunately, I was in a dark period of my life when it was hard to create new connections and to keep them going. (I still struggle with that, though it's easier now. I still don't claim to do a great job of it, but I'm heartened to have seen some improvement over the last ten years.) And she was starting to struggle with her memory, so she couldn't keep it going either. I'm sorry I didn't see more of her, but I recognize that I couldn't have done it differently, despite my good intentions. I've had some brief emails with Tom in the last few days and hope to go to her memorial service in January.
Robert and I are going away on Monday to Provincetown, one of my favorite places on earth, especially in winter. We'll be there for a few days and enjoy more savoring of slow time. One friend who lives there has already let us know that his annual trip to Michigan will exactly coincide with our visit there, alas. But perhaps we'll bump into other friends, as we often do.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
late december
Yesterday, I had my regular six-month dental appointment. I spent many years not going to the dentist (many more than I like to admit). I think it had something to do with early bad treatment that makes me face-shy (I'm trying to be a little delicate here. I wasn't punched in the face, at least, but it was along those lines.). But a while back, a tooth crumbled and I finally went to a dentist whom friends had been recommending for ages.
With the tooth repaired (the waiting, sleepless nights and all, were far more traumatic than the event) I ended up with a hygienest who was in a terrible place in her life at the time, and she told me about it while she was cleaning my teeth. At the end of the cleaning, she gave me a big hug. Six months later, she told me how much it had helped to talk to me (I had managed to say a few things during that initial meeting) and how grateful she was, and now we hug at the end of every mouth cleaning.
Yesterday, I actually relaxed during the cleaning. It was good to see my hygienest, and the hug at the end is a much better present than the free pencil I could get at the front desk.
Robert decided to send an anonymous Christmas present to a dear friend. The friend first suspected me, because she says that she doesn't have any friends more creative. But all signs really do point to Robert. He sent it to a name that's a bizarre combination of the names of the two adults in the household, from a return address near his office, postmarked from Stow. And he looked really guilty when I asked him about it. There's apparently a main present linked to an old residence of my friend's husband, but he threw in another present (which sounds fascinating) because the guy down the street is obsessed with the topic and therefore would be likely to give them that present. (This was supposed to throw them off the trail.) And there's another present that, well, I'm not sure I ever understood it except that it was supposed to be interesting too. Before I understood that it was supposed to be anonymous, (as if it could be with all those glaring clues), I suggested that perhaps my friend could ask Robert herself, because I know I can't begin to explain it in a way that will make her laugh as hard as I did.
And in a delightful surprise move, we were invited to Christmas dinner by a friend I used to swim with and still keep up with (her intense master's class meets at another pool now). How lovely. I always think that Christmas is a family-only holiday (perhaps dating to the time that my boyfriend was specifically not welcomed at our Christmas dinner and ended up eating a turkey sandwich at a local diner; but perhaps it was just as well -- our holidays were not always to be witnessed). So it's a particular honor to be invited to someone else's house. It's kind of nice because it's one of those years when I was thinking of having Christmas with others, but not sure how to go about it, and also really ok about just having it with Robert and me. So it's especially nice that an invitation came around when I wasn't feeling desperate for one, but was still open to one.
With the tooth repaired (the waiting, sleepless nights and all, were far more traumatic than the event) I ended up with a hygienest who was in a terrible place in her life at the time, and she told me about it while she was cleaning my teeth. At the end of the cleaning, she gave me a big hug. Six months later, she told me how much it had helped to talk to me (I had managed to say a few things during that initial meeting) and how grateful she was, and now we hug at the end of every mouth cleaning.
Yesterday, I actually relaxed during the cleaning. It was good to see my hygienest, and the hug at the end is a much better present than the free pencil I could get at the front desk.
Robert decided to send an anonymous Christmas present to a dear friend. The friend first suspected me, because she says that she doesn't have any friends more creative. But all signs really do point to Robert. He sent it to a name that's a bizarre combination of the names of the two adults in the household, from a return address near his office, postmarked from Stow. And he looked really guilty when I asked him about it. There's apparently a main present linked to an old residence of my friend's husband, but he threw in another present (which sounds fascinating) because the guy down the street is obsessed with the topic and therefore would be likely to give them that present. (This was supposed to throw them off the trail.) And there's another present that, well, I'm not sure I ever understood it except that it was supposed to be interesting too. Before I understood that it was supposed to be anonymous, (as if it could be with all those glaring clues), I suggested that perhaps my friend could ask Robert herself, because I know I can't begin to explain it in a way that will make her laugh as hard as I did.
And in a delightful surprise move, we were invited to Christmas dinner by a friend I used to swim with and still keep up with (her intense master's class meets at another pool now). How lovely. I always think that Christmas is a family-only holiday (perhaps dating to the time that my boyfriend was specifically not welcomed at our Christmas dinner and ended up eating a turkey sandwich at a local diner; but perhaps it was just as well -- our holidays were not always to be witnessed). So it's a particular honor to be invited to someone else's house. It's kind of nice because it's one of those years when I was thinking of having Christmas with others, but not sure how to go about it, and also really ok about just having it with Robert and me. So it's especially nice that an invitation came around when I wasn't feeling desperate for one, but was still open to one.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Camel Kitty
My little camel kitty soldiers on. Tonight, with supervision, I stuck the needle in her, remembering nearly everything I was taught last week. She flicked her neck like a horse trying to get rid of flies, but settled down. The liquid went in fairly quickly and she seemed totally unconcerned. (The liquid goes under her skin and gets absorbed into her system over the course of the next day. So for a while, she has a little gel-like hump that slowly moves to her underside and then dissipates.)
I was horrified, though, to realize that her weight dipped, but barely, below 6 pounds. She's supposed to go in the other direction! Her weight never goes down by much (this time, it was one and a half ounces), but the trend is fairly evident. I do hope we can stuff more food into her over the holidays. Problem is that she's on a special low-protein diet, which she sometimes wolfs down and sometimes won't go near.
I'm crossing my fingers that this treatment will help reverse some of the damage. We'll see.
I was horrified, though, to realize that her weight dipped, but barely, below 6 pounds. She's supposed to go in the other direction! Her weight never goes down by much (this time, it was one and a half ounces), but the trend is fairly evident. I do hope we can stuff more food into her over the holidays. Problem is that she's on a special low-protein diet, which she sometimes wolfs down and sometimes won't go near.
I'm crossing my fingers that this treatment will help reverse some of the damage. We'll see.
things are better
Robert seems to be doing fine, though if the doc said anything during the test, the drugs prevented him from remembering what it was. He'll call in eventually, but I assume that if something is actually wrong, they'll call first.
We didn't have a fancy birthday dinner last night; perhaps that will wait til we get to Provincetown, if fancy restaurants are open mid-week. We did go out to our favorite Indian restaurant and had very little white food (yeah). The colors were vivid -- made by turmeric, cayenne, and lots of vegetables. And it all tasted so good, too.
When I woke up, it was 1 degree (fahrenheit), cold, yes, but glorious too. The early morning sun is casting a brilliant light on the snow outside. I know it'll all go on Thursday, when we're expecting rain, but that's the nature of living in New England. I view most all of our changing and quirky weather with a detached amusement.
The Kat is due for her third hydration treatment tonight. So far, so good. I like both vet techs I've seen, but I'll be glad to see the one we had last week again. He's excellent with the cat, but perhaps as important, he's great with humans. He's a good teacher and very reassuring. He even told us that everyone who starts out in vet tech school is initially terrified of hurting the animals, and you learn a certain amount of confidence. I thought that was very sweet.
We didn't have a fancy birthday dinner last night; perhaps that will wait til we get to Provincetown, if fancy restaurants are open mid-week. We did go out to our favorite Indian restaurant and had very little white food (yeah). The colors were vivid -- made by turmeric, cayenne, and lots of vegetables. And it all tasted so good, too.
When I woke up, it was 1 degree (fahrenheit), cold, yes, but glorious too. The early morning sun is casting a brilliant light on the snow outside. I know it'll all go on Thursday, when we're expecting rain, but that's the nature of living in New England. I view most all of our changing and quirky weather with a detached amusement.
The Kat is due for her third hydration treatment tonight. So far, so good. I like both vet techs I've seen, but I'll be glad to see the one we had last week again. He's excellent with the cat, but perhaps as important, he's great with humans. He's a good teacher and very reassuring. He even told us that everyone who starts out in vet tech school is initially terrified of hurting the animals, and you learn a certain amount of confidence. I thought that was very sweet.
Monday, December 20, 2004
white stuff, white food, true love, and weird memories
Just went out and shoveled snow, at least the first round. (I let Robert sleep, because I imagine he had a rough night.) Now that I'm inside, it's snowing even harder.
Yesterday, when I was talking about our both eating white food, I was reminded of a little tradition in my family. In the summers, we all moved to a big house with my mom, her parents, and her mom's parents (and lots of visitors). Every night before dinner, we had a cocktail; I even had little fizzy tablets that were put in a glass of water so that I could have my own cocktail. Very civilized.
My great aunt (my grandmother's sister) and her husband (the one who died recently) kept the same tradition. In my great aunt's older years, she was no longer allowed alcohol. So they continued to have a drink before dinner, except that it was always some kind of tasty juice. My great uncle went off all alcohol during that time. When my great aunt died, my great uncle went right back to his cocktail with alcohol, and kept that up, I believe, until after he'd stopped eating dinner.
[Footnote: when you grow up in an alcoholic household, this type of tradition can no longer hold. We were always looking for blankets in the blanket chest and finding empty bottles in the top layer. My mother could keep liqueur in the house, but no wine or the type of booze that people of that generation typically served to guests. She finally discovered that she could keep alcohol for guests in her shoe closet -- the one hiding place that my step-father never went into. A few years ago, we visited a family friend in her summer place, and we noticed a half-full bottle of scotch on a table. My mother pointed out that you never saw that in our household -- either a half-full bottle, or a bottle out in the open.]
Yesterday, when I was talking about our both eating white food, I was reminded of a little tradition in my family. In the summers, we all moved to a big house with my mom, her parents, and her mom's parents (and lots of visitors). Every night before dinner, we had a cocktail; I even had little fizzy tablets that were put in a glass of water so that I could have my own cocktail. Very civilized.
My great aunt (my grandmother's sister) and her husband (the one who died recently) kept the same tradition. In my great aunt's older years, she was no longer allowed alcohol. So they continued to have a drink before dinner, except that it was always some kind of tasty juice. My great uncle went off all alcohol during that time. When my great aunt died, my great uncle went right back to his cocktail with alcohol, and kept that up, I believe, until after he'd stopped eating dinner.
[Footnote: when you grow up in an alcoholic household, this type of tradition can no longer hold. We were always looking for blankets in the blanket chest and finding empty bottles in the top layer. My mother could keep liqueur in the house, but no wine or the type of booze that people of that generation typically served to guests. She finally discovered that she could keep alcohol for guests in her shoe closet -- the one hiding place that my step-father never went into. A few years ago, we visited a family friend in her summer place, and we noticed a half-full bottle of scotch on a table. My mother pointed out that you never saw that in our household -- either a half-full bottle, or a bottle out in the open.]
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