The Friday Five!
Always a story.
Y’all: what is it about cold weather and the holidays that just makes me want to mainline sugar? Lately I swear I am dreaming of baked goods. And that’s when I’m not either making or eating them. This past weekend we went to our friend L.’s annual holiday party, where she has an *epic* sweets table, with a gorgeous gingerbread house at its center. I grabbed a chocolate cupcake with vanilla icing, only to realize there were crumbled candy canes sprinkled on top. STOP it. Right now. Unfortunately, I did not and had two. And now I’m planning to make a batch of my own. I am blaming this on taking up coffee again. Mostly because it is easier than just pointing the finger at myself.
Another recent obsession: organizing. This one I can track at least. After spending the last year or so writing, writing, writing, I finally reached a place where I could allow myself to Be Finished. Or sort of finished. Drafts of two books done, a partial of another and an idea to start in the New Year. I’d been pushing myself so hard for months, to the point that I was a little worried about how obsessive I’d gotten. (This is my process, or really my personality: either all in to an extreme, or nothing. I really need to learn to explore that gray area in between. Maybe after I make some cupcakes.) It is really hard for me to give myself permission to rest, even though I KNOW it is the only way to build up the energy and ideas to write again and, more importantly, do it well. So while I am not writing, I am methodically going through cupboards, drawers and closets, getting rid of what I don’t need and putting in order what is left. Books take a long time, so many versions and phases required that progress often feels stagnant. But a messy drawer or cabinet I can knock out easily AND see results. By the time I get back to work, everything will be very neat. And then I’ll let it all go until next time. I am, if nothing else, predictable.
A moment of silence now, please, for my Roomba, Scooter. Purchased during the pandemic, this little robot vacuum gave all it had to us. (Even though it had a habit of getting stuck under chair legs, at which point I’d get a notification of my phone: Scooter needs help! Don’t we all?) Also, it proved to be an entertaining nemesis for our bulldog Chloe, who regularly chased it, baring her teeth. Yesterday, I went to start it and…nothing. No charge. No connection. Scooter was, apparently, done. The ghost had been given up. I was reminded, again, that the pandemic was almost five years ago now, although at times it feels like only moments. Is it just me, or does time feel weird since then, both stretching out and snapping back at the same time? Maybe for robot vacuums it’s even worse. Like dogs, there are Roomba years?
We recently decorated our Christmas tree, which always ends up plummeting me into so many memories and stories. My family has come to expect this, now used to having to pause, their own ornament in hand, while I tell yet again the origin of whatever I just added to the tree. I have learned to cut back. Two of my very favorites, though, are required. One: the few plastic candy canes I bought the first year my husband and I had a tree together, back in the 90s. They were 10 for 10 dollars at the old Kerr Drug at University Mall, marked down by 50%, and I was so happy as I hung them on our sad little tree, which I’d also bought on clearance last minute from the lot, Charlie Brown style. The other ornament I LOVE is one from even further back, which my mom passed down after years of it hanging on our family trees. It’s a walnut shell with a little baby tucked into it, covered with a blanket. The string is frayed: every year I have to retie it, just hoping it holds. I could replace it, I know. But there is something about this fragility that says more about the holidays than any gift ever could. Still here. A bit battered, but adorable. Just like us. (If I may say so myself.)
Regular readers of this Substack will remember that this summer, I was *really* into birds. Feeding them. Watching them. Getting co-dependent with them, in the case of hummingbirds. Then I got blue and distracted and just stopped. (See my black and white tendencies, no gray, above.) For months now my feeders have sat empty, long ago picked dry of any seed. The other day I was right here at my desk when I saw a bird fly up to them. It bend its head, pecking at the opening. Found nothing. Flew away. A few moments later, another did the same. And I found myself, well, surprised. I mean, there wasn’t anything there yesterday or the day before, and on and on. And yet these birds, ever optimistic (or maybe just with really short-term memories?) continued to come anyway. I felt so bad I immediately went out and bought a big bag of seed to fill the feeder. In seconds, I had a crowd. They’re all circling, fighting for space, as I write this. During this fall, when I was (again) struggling with a lot of bad decisions I’d made over the last few years, my husband sighed and looked at me. “Everyone is forgiven,” he said. And while I am not sure this is entirely true, there is a certain peace in believing it. I bailed on those birds suddenly after caring a lot. They hung around anyway, believing, and now it’s paid off. Hope and stubbornness are powerful things by themselves. Together, they can carry you through.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
Please continue to tell the stories. One day you won’t be there to tell them. Sorry, a little dark but I lost my mom recently and I’ll never hear the stories again. 💜
Oh maybe you don’t have to cut back on telling your fam the “history of the ornaments” stories. Maybe make a video holding each one and retelling them, or put it in a little diary with descriptions or pictures. Someday, they might want to hear them again or share them with their own kiddos!