The Distracted Woman's Daybook (34)
The Distracted Woman's Daybook - Holiday Edition
(idea based on one by Peggy Hostetler; concept revision by Angie Brennan; other changes + logo are mine)
In my front yard... and outside in general, the weather's been unseasonably warm. (According to the weather expert interviewed on NPR this morning, a "Godzilla"-proportioned El Niño is to blame.) That said, it's also been damp and grey round these parts, so there's still a winter vibe.
Around the house... clutter reigns. I sorted a bunch of recycling this past weekend, though, and set out three big bags of trash this morning. Call me Sisyphus.
In the kitchen... See above.
I am pondering... Christmas, and, folks, I think I am officially over it. Thirty years of dealing with the demands of the academic calendar (a million papers to grade every December) at the same time as being a church musician (Christmas = extra services to plan and staff) have utterly worn me down. At least when I was married, I had help putting on a holiday for my family: to pull it off, however, the Man had to do much more than his fair share of the heavy lifting, and even then we barely managed it. On my own, I'm afraid, it just isn't happening, and I have decided to forgive myself for it.
Here's how things went down on Christmas Eve 2015. Number Three Son and I did some last-minute shopping in the a.m. (I had to buy a red shirt, the ladies of the church music team having decided the night before that the Dec. 24 uniform would be red over black), after which we put up our tree, after which I had to make a very early exit for church (the musicians' call time was 4 p.m., but I needed to be there by 2:30 to do some last-minute practicing and arranging). Nine hours later, my three services were over, and I phoned Number Two Son to see where things stood with the boys. They'd only had one service to attend (at our old church), after which they'd visited my mom (she always has an open house for the extended family on Christmas Eve) before drifting over to the Man's place, where Number Three had promptly fallen asleep. And I ... let him sleep there. I simply didn't have the heart to get him up at midnight just so he'd wake up at home -- in my/our home, I mean -- on Christmas morning. It's not like he's ten years old anymore; he already knows what his presents are, so that first-thing-in-the-morning thrill isn't really part of the experience. And it's not like I'm a newly deserted mom anymore, desperately staking out my moral high ground by jealously doling out kid-time to the Man. (Oh, don't mistake this for maturity. I still kinda believe I'm entitled to do the doling; I'm just too tired to bother.)
The upshot was that I faced spending Christmas Eve night alone in a house for the first time in ... wow, for the first time ever in my whole entire almost 55 years of life. (Even when I was in the UK in the 1980s, I spent the holiday in a home with other people -- Scottish cousins, in case you're curious.) As I drove toward my development from church at approximately 11:45 p.m., I actually felt something a little like dread at the prospect of my empty house ... so I didn't go straight there. Instead, in a move that now makes me a full member of the Pathetic Divorced Persons' Club, I stopped at the one place I knew would be open even at midnight on Christmas Eve: our local Waffle House. The only customer there, I ordered eggs & coffee and brought in Christmas with the friendly young (young, young) cook and waiter ("You traveling?," they asked me) before finally straggling home to wrap Three's gifts and catch a couple hours of sleep.
Yep. I'm officially over Christmas. And I'm not really sad about it, either.
I am hoping... that my leg, which has been giving me grief since early November but now seems to be on the mend, will be in reasonable shape by the time I go to NY (in a few weeks).
I am learning... not to get too attached to anything. At least, I'm trying to learn that, before the universe snatches the next big thing (health? employment? both were precarious this year) from me.
I am thankful for... my family.
I am wearing... grey trousers and a black & grey (faux) twinset.
I am creating... little oases of order in my home's clutter-y chaos.
I am going... to a Sherlock Holmes society meeting in about an hour.
I am reading... Holmes pastiches -- Santa left me a few *last* Christmas which I am just getting around to looking at now.
I've been watching... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too much TV. Christmas morning, I arose early (having gone to bed late) and, while waiting for the boys to come over from their dad's, turned on the tube for company. Five NCIS episodes later, I was actually beginning to see what my parents used to rave about (they're long-time fans of the show), and I confess that I've seen even more episodes in the three days since then (NCIS re-runs appear to play almost round the clock on the USA Network).
Oh, I also saw the new Star Wars movie on opening day at the cinema with Three and (wait for it ...) his dad, to whom Two gave his ticket when he realized (after making me buy them way in advance) that he had a conflict on the chosen date. It (the new flick) was 100% derivative of the original SW film, and nevertheless (or should I say "consequently"?) hugely satisfying. I guess I am a philistine.
I've been listening to... NPR, though not as much as I usually do (can't listen while the TV's on, I guess). I do enjoy their holiday and end-of-year programming.
I am looking forward to... my NY trip, of course.
One of my favorite things... is Chinese food, or what passes for it in the States. There is leftover mu shu pork in my fridge that I'm looking forward to consuming tomorrow.
My plans for the rest of the week... include de-cluttering the house and dealing with students' appeals of Fall semester grades. (*sigh*)
Our quote for today... comes from the last Sherlock Holmes story Arthur Conan Doyle wrote, 1927's "The Adventure of the Retired Colourman." As the tale begins, Watson arrives at 221B having passed on the stairs his friend's latest client. After characterizing the man aloud as "pathetic, futile, broken," he receives this reply from the Great Detective:
But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow- misery.
Gee, d'ya think Doyle was tired of writing these things, or what?
Here is a picture I am sharing with you... from Facebook, where I found (and have already shared) it. Enjoy!
(Crossposted to Dreamwidth)
(idea based on one by Peggy Hostetler; concept revision by Angie Brennan; other changes + logo are mine)
In my front yard... and outside in general, the weather's been unseasonably warm. (According to the weather expert interviewed on NPR this morning, a "Godzilla"-proportioned El Niño is to blame.) That said, it's also been damp and grey round these parts, so there's still a winter vibe.
Around the house... clutter reigns. I sorted a bunch of recycling this past weekend, though, and set out three big bags of trash this morning. Call me Sisyphus.
In the kitchen... See above.
I am pondering... Christmas, and, folks, I think I am officially over it. Thirty years of dealing with the demands of the academic calendar (a million papers to grade every December) at the same time as being a church musician (Christmas = extra services to plan and staff) have utterly worn me down. At least when I was married, I had help putting on a holiday for my family: to pull it off, however, the Man had to do much more than his fair share of the heavy lifting, and even then we barely managed it. On my own, I'm afraid, it just isn't happening, and I have decided to forgive myself for it.
Here's how things went down on Christmas Eve 2015. Number Three Son and I did some last-minute shopping in the a.m. (I had to buy a red shirt, the ladies of the church music team having decided the night before that the Dec. 24 uniform would be red over black), after which we put up our tree, after which I had to make a very early exit for church (the musicians' call time was 4 p.m., but I needed to be there by 2:30 to do some last-minute practicing and arranging). Nine hours later, my three services were over, and I phoned Number Two Son to see where things stood with the boys. They'd only had one service to attend (at our old church), after which they'd visited my mom (she always has an open house for the extended family on Christmas Eve) before drifting over to the Man's place, where Number Three had promptly fallen asleep. And I ... let him sleep there. I simply didn't have the heart to get him up at midnight just so he'd wake up at home -- in my/our home, I mean -- on Christmas morning. It's not like he's ten years old anymore; he already knows what his presents are, so that first-thing-in-the-morning thrill isn't really part of the experience. And it's not like I'm a newly deserted mom anymore, desperately staking out my moral high ground by jealously doling out kid-time to the Man. (Oh, don't mistake this for maturity. I still kinda believe I'm entitled to do the doling; I'm just too tired to bother.)
The upshot was that I faced spending Christmas Eve night alone in a house for the first time in ... wow, for the first time ever in my whole entire almost 55 years of life. (Even when I was in the UK in the 1980s, I spent the holiday in a home with other people -- Scottish cousins, in case you're curious.) As I drove toward my development from church at approximately 11:45 p.m., I actually felt something a little like dread at the prospect of my empty house ... so I didn't go straight there. Instead, in a move that now makes me a full member of the Pathetic Divorced Persons' Club, I stopped at the one place I knew would be open even at midnight on Christmas Eve: our local Waffle House. The only customer there, I ordered eggs & coffee and brought in Christmas with the friendly young (young, young) cook and waiter ("You traveling?," they asked me) before finally straggling home to wrap Three's gifts and catch a couple hours of sleep.
Yep. I'm officially over Christmas. And I'm not really sad about it, either.
I am hoping... that my leg, which has been giving me grief since early November but now seems to be on the mend, will be in reasonable shape by the time I go to NY (in a few weeks).
I am learning... not to get too attached to anything. At least, I'm trying to learn that, before the universe snatches the next big thing (health? employment? both were precarious this year) from me.
I am thankful for... my family.
I am wearing... grey trousers and a black & grey (faux) twinset.
I am creating... little oases of order in my home's clutter-y chaos.
I am going... to a Sherlock Holmes society meeting in about an hour.
I am reading... Holmes pastiches -- Santa left me a few *last* Christmas which I am just getting around to looking at now.
I've been watching... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too much TV. Christmas morning, I arose early (having gone to bed late) and, while waiting for the boys to come over from their dad's, turned on the tube for company. Five NCIS episodes later, I was actually beginning to see what my parents used to rave about (they're long-time fans of the show), and I confess that I've seen even more episodes in the three days since then (NCIS re-runs appear to play almost round the clock on the USA Network).
Oh, I also saw the new Star Wars movie on opening day at the cinema with Three and (wait for it ...) his dad, to whom Two gave his ticket when he realized (after making me buy them way in advance) that he had a conflict on the chosen date. It (the new flick) was 100% derivative of the original SW film, and nevertheless (or should I say "consequently"?) hugely satisfying. I guess I am a philistine.
I've been listening to... NPR, though not as much as I usually do (can't listen while the TV's on, I guess). I do enjoy their holiday and end-of-year programming.
I am looking forward to... my NY trip, of course.
One of my favorite things... is Chinese food, or what passes for it in the States. There is leftover mu shu pork in my fridge that I'm looking forward to consuming tomorrow.
My plans for the rest of the week... include de-cluttering the house and dealing with students' appeals of Fall semester grades. (*sigh*)
Our quote for today... comes from the last Sherlock Holmes story Arthur Conan Doyle wrote, 1927's "The Adventure of the Retired Colourman." As the tale begins, Watson arrives at 221B having passed on the stairs his friend's latest client. After characterizing the man aloud as "pathetic, futile, broken," he receives this reply from the Great Detective:
But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow- misery.
Gee, d'ya think Doyle was tired of writing these things, or what?
Here is a picture I am sharing with you... from Facebook, where I found (and have already shared) it. Enjoy!
(Crossposted to Dreamwidth)