Five for Friday! (On Wednesday) NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION TIME!

 

Well here we are:  the week between Christmas and New Year's.  A lot of people's work and school schedules are messed up, there's American football on TV pretty much every day, and we're all a little confused as to what day it is.

It's also that time of year when we all sit down and take stock of our lives and make resolutions to quit smoking, lose weight, eat better, blah blah blah.

2022 Was quite the year of upheaval here at the house, and much of 2023 is going to be spent dealing with the fallout. Things do look brighter, which is positive, but it's going to be a lot of work. Keeping that in mind, I've cobbled together my New Year's Resolutions for 2023.  (someone's going to have to remind me to give myself a report card next year!)

5) Stop using my Visa after February 1, 2023.

Part of the big upheaval is that I lost my fairly lucrative work at home job back in May.  Spending three months on Unemployment did not come close to covering the bills. Which meant we had to dip into the credit cards and the kitchen fund in a major way. Then I got a job, a full time job, that still wasn't making as much as my previous job, and oh yeah, I hated it. I felt caged. Then I found an awesome job.  Perfect in every way. Well, except it's currently super part time.  It'll be full time sometime after February 1, but this meant that much of Christmas went on my credit. A little frustrating, since we were in a really good place credit card wise back in May.  So, in 2023,I'm not going to promise I'm going to get my card paid off, but I'm resolved not to use it.

4) Time at the computer means working or writing. Not shopping.

Yeah, this is going to go a long way to helping the credit card situation.  As you know I'm an office girl by day and an author in my off time. (Thanks to my great new job, I'm an author by day as well.)  The biggest temptation when one is facing a computer screen is to, instead of working or writing, shop.  This was especially true in the last several months because, you know, Christmas.  So now, for 2023, the online shopping is, well, not done forever, let's be real, but it'll be cut down significantly.

3) Get back on the program!

This is not a weight loss thing, although it might sound like it. As many of you know, Hubby and I did Noom for about 18 months starting back in 2020.  I lost 37 pounds. For the last year I've been stalled and I've allowed 6 of those pound back on me.  I blame the job upheaval, but it's a lot of stuff that's gone on, I've gotten off the program, and returned to some of my bad old habits. So, for 2023, it's not about losing weight, it's about going back to what I learned a year ago, and being smarter about the food I put in my pie hole.

2) Take a class.

I've talked about a number of things I've wanted to do over the years, but I haven't mostly because it involves going back to school.  And who wants to go back to school, and having that cut into my TV time?  I live ten minutes from one of the best technical colleges in the country.  I don't know what class I'm going to take, but I'm taking something.  Watch out!

1) Replace guilt with self-care.

Friends, I'm old, I'm fragile, and I'm wracked with guilt about so many things I can't even count them.  This is the year I try and let go of some of that guilt and just...be better.  Be less fearful. Be more loving.  You get the picture. Oh, and also, maybe fall down less.  Because falling down is not good for someone of my advanced years.

So there we are: My resolutions for the near year.  Will I keep them?  Will I remember them past the end of today?  Let's plow through 2023 and find out!  In the meantime:

5 for Friday (on Monday): the only cleaning that matter for Holiday gatherings.

 

Good morning and Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

So, Hanukkah has begun and Christmas Eve is this coming Saturday.  And, even if you don't celebrate one of these two holidays, chances are better than even you're having some kind of late December celebration that involves extended family coming over for food and judgement.

Well, kids, listen to your good friend, Sarah, because I'm going to give you five tips to make you holiday prep much easier!  Hit these five points and your holiday will be fine.  (Hint:  No one cares about dusty floorboards or spots on the floor.)

Cleaning for the holidays is so overblown. I used to get myself in complete knots over making sure every nook, cranny, and corner was spotless.  Now, I'm older, wiser, and I have boiled down housekeeping prep to a list of 5 things you MUST do and the rest can be ignored.  Oh, and better yet, all five of these points are located in one room.  That's right. I'm not going to tell you to clean your oven or your microwave or even vacuum your carpets.  None of that matters.  (My sister-in-law once told me to clean my microwave during a Thanksgiving dinner because she was convinced my mother-in-law would think I was a slob. I cleaned the microwave, but other than sis in law, no one else looked in my microwave during that dinner. Also, at that point in my marriage, my mom-in-law thought I was a slob anyway. LOL)

I'm still a slob.  I live with two guys and four cats and honestly, 90% of the time I don't want outsiders in the house.  Those that show up are either people who are there all the time, like Skippy's girlfriend, Gigi, or like my mom, show sometimes shows up unexpectedly to  use my bathroom.  Well, you get what you get.  It's not always pretty.

But the holidays are a time for people from far flung regions (and branches of the family tree) to show up at the house and one must make an effort.  

Thusly and therefore, I give you my five points for holiday prep. Do these five things and nothing else matters.  

5)  Clean the toilet, sink, and mirrors. (Duh)

The toilet is the number 1, number 1 thing that has to be cleaned.  Scrub it, let bleach sit in it to white out the stains, and then drop in one of those blue blocks that makes the water blue. (Makes it smell nice and further hides any stains you might have on an older toilet, plus it looks like you made an effort.) Make sure there's no hair on the seat lid or on the floor around the toilet. 

While cleaning the bathroom sinks and mirrors might seem pointless, much the way cleaning the entry floor is because after the first person uses it it's no longer clean, at least run over the sinks and mirrors with some glass cleaner.  Takes forty seconds.

You don't need to do the shower or tub unless you're having overnight guests. Just pull the shower curtain/shower door closed. Anyone who snoops behind there to see if it's dirty should be ashamed.  If you do have overnight guests, here's a quick tip:  fill the tub 1/2 full with water. Pour half a gallon on bleach in there. Let sit for a couple hours.  Clean tub. For shower walls spray down with foaming spray and let that roll down the walls before you rinse.  Clean walls.  Spray bleach spray on any grout or calk that looks dingy, then rinse.  Done.

That should take you all of 15 minutes per bathroom, not counting sit time for the bleach tub.

4) Bathroom floors

Unlike the entry floors and the kitchen floor, you can't completely skip the bathroom floors.  But, you also don't have to go nuts cleaning. If you must mop, I can't stop you, but I've found that a million bathroom floor problems can be covered by a bathroom rug.  While you're cleaning the toilet, run a bleach wipe on the floor immediately around the toilet. Otherwise, a freshly washed or brand new bathroom rug or two will take care of the floor.  DO NOT use a fuzzy cover on the toilet.  While a fluffy rug is inviting, a fluffy toilet seat is asking for trouble.

3) Declutter

Normally, I'm all about covering housekeeping shortcomings with twinkle lights and shiny things.  But NOT in the bathroom.  Fancy soaps, kitschy things, and family pictures need to be GONE.  (Wall hangings are fine.)  In the bathroom, an empty surface is a clean surface.  DO NOT COVER THE TOIULET SEAT WITH ANYTHING FLUFFY.  Clear out the baskets you might use for hair tools, makeup, all of it. Box it all up and put it in a closet.  You want a spare decluttered room. Clear off the shelves, clean out the drawers.

2) Make the bathroom user friendly.

Now that you've decluttered, it's time to prep the bathroom for guests.  This is why you've cleared off the shelves and cleaned out the drawers.  

First:  A PLUNGER must be near the toilet, in plain view. Do not hide the plunger.  Do not put the plunger in a closet.  Put it next to the toilet.  Trust me on this one.

Second: extra hand towels go on the shelf.  A wet hand towel is gross.  Set out a folded stack of hand towels so no one has to use wet ones.  Also, set a basket someplace and mark it "wet towels."

Third: Bleach wipes on the shelf.  You don't know what kind of toilet emergency your guests might have and they want to keep it that way.  Have a large container of bleach wipes out in the open.

Fourth: Feminine Punctuation protection in a drawer.  I don't care if your party is nothing but guys and elderly women. Have a package of pads and tampons in the drawer closest to the toilet.  These things don't spoil, but your party will if some woman has an unexpected punctuation and has to go asking people for help.

Fifth: TWO extra rolls of TP ON A SHELF.  Much like the bleach spray and the plunger, you don't want people unable to find extra TP when they need it.  Yes, you have adorable TP covers or a lovely basket or a discrete shelf.  Screw that.  Put the TP on the shelf by the bleach wipes and the extra towels.

1) If it smells clean it IS clean.

I worked for a cleaning company for 12 years, so I know what I'm talking about.  Keep the bathroom smelling clean.  Have a small, clean scented candle (not floral or baking, something fresh like clean linen or spring air or something like that) burning throughout the length of the party.  Also have a full can of air freshener out in a obvious place.  You may want to check periodically and spray the room just as a precaution.  

Oh, one other thing to ponder:  Sound proofing.  Smells and messes aren't the only thing people want to hide in the bathroom.  Bathroom sounds need to be muffled as best as possible.  A vent fan is a good start, but for the holidays, especially if you have a bathroom close to the kitchen or other room where everyone will be, you may want more sound buffering.

I recommend putting a radio or MP 3 player or something other music thing and have holiday tunes playing for the whole party.  Believe me, this will ease a lot of embarrassment!

There you go.  The rest of your house won't matter if you take care of the bathroom. Also, make sure you have, you know, food and drink.  But a successful holiday party is NOT going to hinge on how clean your microwave is.  People will remember feeling comfortable in your house, especially in your bathroom.

5 for Friday: I was going to write something nice...but then I went to the grocery store.

 

Happy Holidays and welcome to December 15.  That's right. You have 9 legitimate shopping days (and one day to pick up stuff at Kwik Trip) for Christmas.  If you're ordering from anywhere other than Amazon, don't bother, it won't get here in time.  Wrap a picture of it and put that under the tree. If you're ordering from Amazon, you MIGHT get it in time...but you should probably pay for the super-premium shipping just to be safe.

Your best hope at this point is to shop old school. Get in your car and drive someplace. (If you haven't seen the latest "5 Below" ad for their store, that's what I imagine people doing right now.)  

Me?  Oh, I started shopping in June. I have a chart that I keep for exactly what got everyone last year, what I got them this year. I make sure people have the same number of gifts under the tree, befitting their relationship to me.  Skippy and Peaches have the same number as Hubby.  Children's partners have the same number as each other. Nieces and nephews have the same number of gifts as each other.  I even have a box of "just in case" gifts wrapped and ready to go in case someone I'm not aware of shows up on my doorstep Christmas morning.

Don't be jealous.  I haven't baked a thing. I've got premade cookie dough out on the counter waiting for me to do something, anything with it. I doubt I'll do anything.  I've already informed Hubby there will be no homemade Kringle this year.  Also, I'm thinking Christmas Eve dinner is going to be Pizza.  Frozen Pizza. Christmas cards are probably going to be Epiphany Cards, which we'll then push to Easter and then decide nothing's really gone on that much that people need a card from us. 

So yeah.  I'm still the same old mess you all know and love.

Now today I was going to write a nice 5 for Friday about 5 holiday songs you don't have on your holiday playlist, but you should.  It was going to be a very nice little blog that was going to put you all in the right mood to get you to Christmas morning.

And then I went to the grocery store.  My dad is sick so I offered to pick up a few things for my mom, so they won't have to go out in the snowy slushy mess that's happening in our weather right now.

And now we have a different 5 for Friday.  It's FIVE THINGS THAT PISSED ME OFF AT THE GROCERY STORE THIS MORNING!

Ready?

5)  DON'T YOU PEOPLE HAVE JOBS OR SCHOOL?

Seriously. 9:30 on a Friday morning. Even allowing for the senior citizens (isn't Wednesday supposed to be the day we let the oldsters out to shop?  What are they doing blocking my way on a Friday?) and the shopper people shopping for people who don't want to shop, there were a TON of job aged people dragging school aged children.

Yes, when my kids were small I took them and the kids I babysat to the store. Sure I did.  It was an outing.  I taught the kids how to make a shopping list, how to navigate the aisles in a store, and when to use a coupon and when it doesn't pay.  (Not that any of those kids remember those lessons, but whatever.) That said, NOW if I'm in the supermarket on a weekday morning it's because 1) I'm in the middle of a cooking/baking project and realized I need one weird ingredient and I need it NOW or 2) I'm picking up a few things and I have a busy day so I need to MOVE.

And yet, I'm trapped behind a family of FIVE kids and every single one of them is shouting about some sugary snack or whatever and the parents, who clearly would rather be at their jobs, are ignoring the children and arguing with each other about which can of yams is a better value.  (Here's a hint: NO ONE IS GOING TO LIKE THE CANNED YAMS. Stop buying them. The stores will stop trying to sell them and then they can use that shelf space for something better, like cookies.)

4) Could we PLEASE go back to stocking at night?

Oh, my lord.  I know that Covid changed the landscape of retail grocery stores forever.  I realize we'll probably never have our pick of 24-hour supermarkets to shop at ever again.  But...for the love of all that's holy, could we PLEASE at least have the stockers go back to working when the store is closed?

When stores were opened 24 hours a day, I was okay with having to weave around flatbeds of boxed goods at 11 at night.  There weren't a lot of other shoppers to contend with, so it was okay.  But now, now I'm fighting traffic with shoppers AND stockers. It's like the opening five minutes of "Office Space" where the office employees are stuck in traffic.  

Oh, and here's a rule:  If it's something I need...either a giant pile of boxes will be in front of it, or a couple grannies in those motorized carts will be double parked in front of it.  

3)  If I hear that joke one more time...

We've all been there:  We're rolling down the big aisle of the grocery store and some jackwagon pops out from a crossing aisle and you very nearly crash and one of you says, "Oh they should put traffic lights up here." Ha ha.

To quote a wise saying from my youth, "Gag me with a spoon."

Repeating that stupid joke does not clear you of stupid cart driving.  If you're crossing the main aisle, slow the bleep down and look!  Don't just shove your 300-pound cart (with your fourth grader riding on the rack underneath, even though the signs on the cart say, "Don't put a child in the bottom rack.") out into traffic and then act all shocked when someone nearly sideswipes you. Hey, if your fourth grader loses his fingers in an accident like that, you're probably not going to find the joke funny. Or maybe you're a terrible parent (which one could surmise, given you're letting the kid ride under the cart) and you still think the joke is funny.  

My point is, WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING.  And if you're a slower shopper, MOVE OVER for those of us who have an organized list and know what we're doing. 

Also, if you're comparison shopping, and that's fine, how about if you DON'T angle park your cart so it takes up the entire aisle.  I'm not in the store to make chitchat.  Asking you to please move so I can get by might just use up every spoon I have and then I won't have the energy to make dinner for my family and they'll wind up ordering pizza which will raise their blood pressure and blood sugars and make them fat.  DO YOU WANT THAT ON YOUR CONSCIENCE?  NO?  Then move your cart OVER if you're slow shopping.

2)  I bet you train your employees, right?  Then why do you assume we all know how to do this?

Self-checking.  I've been against it from the start.  First of all, stores spend time training their employees on how to be cashiers. I remember. I worked for Aldi for a brief time. The training was intense. So I make a point to use those highly trained employees whenever I can.

But somedays the line for a cashier at Woodman's is ten deep.  Sure, they have like fifteen cash registers, but only two lines are open.  The other fifteen checkout stands are self-check.  Sometimes I don't have the time or patience for it, or I've made the mistake of wearing my coat into the store and now I'm melting because the store's thermostat is set to "SUN" and I'm already a warm person (thank you, Menopause).  So I wind up in self-check.

Like I said, I've worked as a grocery cashier, but not everyone has.  Case in point, the two women in front of me at Woodman's today.

Woman 1:  A TON of stuff in her cart and she was picking things out in a particular order.

Woman 2:  Less stuff in her cart, but she couldn't find a UPC code to save her life.

I got behind woman 2.  And I struck up a conversation with the guy who got behind woman 1.  

Woman 1 got her groceries scanned first.  Annoying.  Woman 2 had to flag down the ONE cashier in charge of the SEA OF CHECKOUTS because she got herself a big old bag of rotten bananas for 99 cents, but there was no UPC code on the bag. (I know this because believe you me, she checked every side of the bag and half the bananas in it.) I don't know what she thought she was doing, but apparently WAVING HER CREDIT CARD in the air without saying anything out loud was the move she hoped would attract the cashier's attention.

Did it?

Would I be blogging if it had?

She finally murmured something like, "Excuse me?"

I was melting, I was annoyed, and I was watching my new bestie scan his cart and leave the store and I hadn't' moved an inch.  So, I yelled, "EXCUSE ME!" in my best teacher voice the same time little Miss Timid murmured.  She looked shocked. Not because I was yelling, but because she honestly believed that sound came out of her.

The cashier came over, scanned the bananas and that should have been the end of it, right?

Nope. Now it was time to stick said credit card into the machine to PAY for the groceries. Little Miss Timid, and I'm not even kidding, took a deep breath and slapped her hands against her thighs like a gymnast gearing up to mount he uneven parallel bars.  

Spoiler alert, I give her payment routine a 4.2.  She got the card into the payment machine, but it took her a couple tries to get the right PIN.

1) If you're going to make us use self-check, how about if you make sure ALL THE SELF-CHECK LINES WORK?

Every single store I go to has self-check now. And in every single one of those stores, no less than 30% of the self-check machines (and it's usually closer to 50%)  are OUT OF ORDER. How is this EVEN POSSIBLE???????????  HOW??????????  

Had all the self-check lines at the grocery been operating this morning, there would have been no blog. I wouldn't have gotten stuck behind Little Miss Timid.  My buddy would have been behind me, not behind Woman 2, who while she scanned faster than woman 1, bagged her groceries like she was playing Tetris and if she didn't get every bag perfectly packaged someone would skin the child she had riding on the bottom of the cart. 

Instead, half the checkouts don't work.  I get they can't find people who want to work as cashiers.  It's not a great job.  The hours blow, it's not a great paying gig, you're on your feet the whole time, standing on concrete, and you have to deal with just the worst people on earth:  The check writers who don't bring ID.  The people who HAVE TO PAY with EXACT CHANGE. Or, you know, me.  

What was my point? Oh right.

Anyway, I get that stores are having a tough time getting cashiers. But you can't even get your self-check machines to work for you?  GIVE ME A BREAK!

So there you go.  I meant to write a nice blog, but then this happened.

Oh, and the five songs you should have on your holiday playlist, but probably don't?

5) Selah Light of the Stable

4) Rick Springfield  Christmas with You

3) Mike Westendorf Nativity Song

2) Ana Gasteyer Sugar and Booze

1) Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings Big Bulbs

Five for Friday: My trip to the Chiropractor.

 

Good morning!

Okay, fellow Christmas folk, we are t-minus 23 to the big day.  Don't get frantic. We're all going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine!  

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. My visit to the chiropractor.

I've haven't been to one in years. And by years, I mean...I think I was pregnant with Skippy the last time I went. Which would be...a lot of years.  But, back in early November, my left hand went all weak. I couldn't grip anything, and it actually hurt to make a fist.  Not that I need to make a fist in my everyday life.  So, hubby suggested a trip to the chiropractor.

No surprise, I put off calling.  It's not that I fear doctors or dentists or medical people in general. I just am annoyed I have to go spend time sitting in their waiting rooms when I could just as easily be watching TV, lying on my couch.  Wait, I mean, I could be cleaning my house and cooking nutritious meals based on my new cookbook, now out and perfect for holiday gift giving!

Sarah's cookbook. Click here.

Anyway, I put off going. Then I made the appointment. And then I got a super bad cold.  So, I rescheduled. And rescheduled again.  And rescheduled again.  By the time I managed to haul my cookies into the office, my left hand was FINE.  I could grip stuff, and all was right with the world. Except hubby was still at me to get looked at.

So, I got looked at.  And here are 5 things that happened.

5) Apparently, I really like circling stuff.

Because I hadn't been to Badger Health Center for Chiropractic care, I had to fill out some forms. And one of the forms was a picture of a genitalia-free human body. The point was I was supposed to circle the part of the body that hurt.

Once I started circling body parts, I couldn't stop.  Left hand and elbow.  Check.  Neck...well, yeah.  Shoulders? Both of them.  Knees?  Well, always. One always hurts.  Feet?  Like I'm going to leave out the feet.  By the time I was done circling, I had a headache.  So, I circled the head.

4) Ma'am...please don't take that off.

Unlike every other medical professional I've ever seen, including the massage people in that building, I got to keep my clothes on. Wish I'd known that, you know, before I started disrobing. In front of the nice young front desk person. While the door was still open. 

3) Just Call me Boris Karloff.

If you've been to a chiropractor, you know the weird table they have.  You basically walk up to the thing and lean on it while it slowly lowers you to a lying position. Fun ride, right? I think I even said something stupid like, "Whee...."

 Then the doctor comes in and starts jumping on you and shoving her knee into your kidneys, and parts of the table sort of fall away, with a very loud sound. Overall, it feels and sounds like she's trying to kill you and your body is breaking into several pieces, turning to stone, and crashing to the floor.

Then I flipped onto my back (gracefully of course...) and she yanked and pulled and twisted, all while the sections of the table gave way randomly. At the end, the table slowly rose, while I was now on my back. It looked a lot like that bit from Frankenstein, where the monster is coming to life and getting off the table. 

2)This came back to bite me in a big way...

Since I circled everything on that form, the chiropractor was going to address...everything.

Neck and shoulders?  "You're very tight. Let's just do a light adjustment..." CRACK BAM CRACK.

Knees? "Oh, your ligaments are loose and your hamstrings are hard.  Let's just poke and push on them until you scream. And now...we yank!"

Lower back?  "Do you have lower back problems?"  (It was literally the one thing I didn't circle.)  I said, "No...no...I'm good."  What she heard was, "Stick your knees on both sides of my hips, find the really tender spots and then bounce on me for ten minutes yelling, 'yee ha' the whole time."

Elbows and hands?  

*This paragraph has been blacked out due to images of violence, torture, and foul language.

Feet?  I stopped her there.  It was a bad day, arthritically speaking, and I can barely tolerate any pressure on my right foot on a good day.  So...let's just leave that alone.

Then, after all that, she says..."Do you suffer from arthritis?"

Well, I DID, but now I suffer from YOU!

1) Wait, we're not done? I'm not cured?

Finally, after it was all over, and every joint I own was screaming in agony, she helped back to the front desk and there said two things that struck me down with fear.

1) "I want to see you in the next couple days again."

2) "According to your insurance, you have twenty visits between now and the end of the year.  We can really work on what's hurting you."

GOOD LORD...I'm not done?  I have to come back?  And you want to see me up to 20 times before the end of this month?

Well, okay then. I'm going back next week. On Monday, I think. Because why wouldn't you kick off a Monday with something like that?

Meanwhile, 

A Different Kind of Holiday Letter

 

Hello everyone!  I'm taking a short break from decorating the house for Christmas to send you all a little bit of a holiday letter.  I can't promise you it'll be entertaining, but I guarantee it's not like any other holiday letter you've gotten.

We all get those letters this time of year, right?  Susie's on the honor roll. Jimmy's the starting QB.  Bob got promoted twice this year and to celebrate we took the whole family to Italy. And Sharon, well Sharon just wrote a song that got recorded by Blake Shelton (or insert some musician you like) so they all moved to Nashville and live next door to Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman.

Meanwhile, in your life...It's a shambles.  One kid's failing school, one kid dropped out of college, you lost your job and thanks to Covid, your husband's restaurant closed and he hasn't left the couch since 2021.

Normally I'm able to rise above all of the Facebook Comparisons and all that.  My kids are awesome, my husband is a pillar of any and all communities, and I'm perfectly happy living in the suburbs with my little job and my little writing hobby.

But this year I noticed something, especially last Wednesday night as we were driving to Hubby's mom's place for Thanksgiving:  I'm blue.  I'm not feeling the excitement and energy and joy the holidays usually bring me.  All I can feel is overwhelmed and...blue.

I know I'm not alone.  So many of my friends experienced devastating family losses this year of a spouse, a child, or a parent.  Maybe some of those losses were not shocking, because of age or illness. That doesn't matter.  There's one less person sitting at the table this year. 

Some of my friends and family experience the breaking of a relationship.  Or divisions within the family due to politics, religion, and whatever else we humans allow to come between us and the people around us. Some of us, many of us, okay, this would be me, lost a job and hard a really, really hard time finding anything to replace it.  Even now, while I like my job, it's not fulfilling our financial needs, and things are a bit tight here. We're not broke; but redoing the kitchen has been put on hold...for about the fifteenth year in a row. 

I don't have to look too far, either, to see people very, very close to me battling mental illness and suffering. I look at the younger generation, my children and their friends, and I wonder if we are addressing mental illness better now than we did when my grandmother was with us and so burdened and anguished with her schizophrenia, or if there are actually so many more people out there doing battle with the noises and pains no one else can hear or see.

Even saying the words, "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" has become a reason to be angry.  Let me tell you all this, my friends: I am a Christian, and I celebrate Christmas.  So if I say, "Merry Christmas" to you, I'm not making a political statement or judging you in any way. I'm saying it because, to me, even now in my state of blue-ness, Christmas is just the best, best, best thing and I want everyone to experience the bestness of it all. (And yes, that includes celebrating the birth of Jesus.)  

Conversely, if I say, "Happy Holidays" I'm warring on Christmas or trying to cut the Savior out of the celebrations.  I'm acknowledging that there are many other religions and celebrations this time of year and that I respect the right of others to celebrate what they believe how they believe.  (I don't understand why on earth every single religion in the world doesn't decorate in pretty twinkle lights this time of year, but that's just my thing. I love twinkle lights.)  I'm not trying to do away with Christmas. I'm wishing those around me a happy holiday, no matter what you celebrate.

But saying it here, I know it's just a drop in the bucket compared to all the yelling and shouting and unkindness out there. And friends, it's gotten to me.  

It's all gotten to me.  

My kids have struggles that never seem to end. And those struggles aren't public.  So the outside world doesn't really know just how awesome Peaches and Skippy really are.  The world sees what it sees and judges thusly.  

Hubby used to love his job. Now, he still works for the same company, but he lost the position he loved thanks to Covid. Instead, it's all remote, all day.  All day he sits at his desk in the house, working endless hours. The overtime is great, it almost makes up for the fact that I'm working halftime.  But toll it's taking on his heart is great, and it's got me down.  He spent too many years working jobs he hated when the kids were little because he had to. He shouldn't have to put up with all that.

As for me, sure, I like my new job.  But it's a job.  And, thanks to losing the job I loved for seven years this past spring, a move that didn't completely come out of nowhere, but really left me brokenhearted because not only did I lose a job I loved, I lost friends I loved, friends who got to keep their jobs, are still working at the same place even now, and they don't talk to me...and I have no idea why.

I had a job in the late summer that seemed possible.  But it sucked the lifeforce out of me.  A healthy adult shouldn't be going to bed at 6PM.  I made some friends there, friends who have stayed with me even though I only worked there seven weeks.  So that's a plus.  Now I have this new gig, and it'll turn into something, but in the meantime I don't feel like I'm pulling my weight around the house. The house, which is always a mess. Something's always broken. But I'm overwhelmed by it all.  I'm writing, because I'm afraid if I don't, people are going to look at me and say, "what is it you do all day?"

  

There is excitement for the holiday season, sure. In church this morning we talked about putting lights on the tree and how beautiful it is and how, "The darker the night the more beautiful the light." Of course, we were talking about the light of Christ in a dark world, but I went hope and started stringing a crap ton of twinkle lights in my living room. They're going to be able to see my tree from space.  I mean, if they drilled a hole in the roof. Oh, wait, there's already a hole in the roof.

Friends, I'm not complaining.  That's not what this is about. I wanted to let you all know that everything around here isn't a laugh a minute. I try to make it so, because if I didn't laugh at myself, I'd spend more time crying, and honestly, I'm what you'd call an ugly crier. Like really ugly.

I guess what I'm saying, in this completely introspective, depressing little tome, is that if you're feeling blue right now, during the holidays, it's okay. It's normal. If you feel like your family isn't as good as all the families on Face book, hey, you're not along feeling like that. 

When I was a kid, my parents got dozens of Christmas letters but one stood out in all those years.  It was a teacher friend of my mom's.  And one year the whole letter was about illness and surgeries and puss and snot.  We called it the depressing letter. Forty years later, if mom says the woman's name, I ask, "She's the depressing letter lady, right?"

My point is, let's get real, people.  You want your distant friends and family to know what's going on, be honest.  Or if you can't be completely honest, at least don't lie.  There was a Christmas letter one year my parents got where the mom raved on and on about her five children and their accomplishments. Not one word about the husband. Not one.  My dad asked if maybe the husband died. No, he didn't.  She just couldn't find anything to brag about with him.  I mean...

Got nothing earth moving to say? How about telling your friends you're making it from day and to day and you're praying for better times?  How far would that go toward making your friendships, your real friendships stronger?  I get letters from relatives where it's, "Oh this kid was amazing and that kid cured the common cold." When we get letters like that, Hubby and I throw the letter in the middle of the room, get a walking stick, and beat the letter on the floor.  I'm not even kidding.  Brag too much, your letter gets beaten with a stick in our house.

Friends, it's okay to be blue. I am right now.  But let's not hide it.  Let's be okay not being okay.  Let's lean on each other, and on our faiths.  Let's find what unites us, even if it's just all of us admitting we pray for a blizzard so we don't have to go to the family gathering.

    Above it all let's all have 

AND  

If I have to eat Turkey, can it be this part?

 

            

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! This year I’m thankful, again, for so many things, but one big one is that yesterday, thanks to my commitment to the Nanowrimo challenge here in November, I managed to finish the first draft of Abracadabra: A Max Marchino Mystery.  True, it’s the most messed up first draft I’ve ever written.  It’s a mystery, and I was fairly positive no less than five times during the writing who the guilty party would be. I was wrong every time.  But the good news is that I didn’t make any changes along the way so now, during the second draft work, I get to make sure I have all my literary ducks in a row.  That should be fun.  Oh, and for more funsies, I also changed the names of half the characters at least once. I put all my trust in the find and change feature on Windows.

            Yeah.  So that’s sure to be fun.

            Anywhoo, I’m not here to bemoan my rough draft woes. It’s Thanksgiving which means it’s time for another tale from my younger years.  Or, as some people like to call it: stories that make it clear why Sarah is the way she is.

            We in America take a moment to pause in November to give thanks for the blessings we’ve been given.  And for football.  And for shopping.  And yes, we also stuff ourselves with way more food than anyone needs.  But mostly that thankful for blessings part.

            I'd like to pause in all this thankfulness to lodge one tiny little complaint:

            Turkey is gross. Why do we have to make turkey and pretend to like it?

            Oh come on. Turkey, 364 days a year, is the meat you eat when you're not supposed to eat meat.  It's the healthy option when your cholesterol is out of whack.  It's the preferred selection when you're trying to lose weight.  Turkey, to put it bluntly, blows.  Especially the white meat.

            Who decided white meat was so great?  I remember sitting in a restaurant with my one of my Tantes (that's a German word that means "aunt" and it's the word my family has always used for the sister or sister-in-law of the grandparent.) and she ordered a chicken dinner, but was very specific that she only wanted white meat. And all I could think was...WHY?  

            The white meat of any fowl is, without exception, dry, tasteless, and pointless.  There's a reason boneless, skinless chicken breast is the choice of dieters everywhere.  It's zero on the taste scale.  In order to make white meat of a turkey or a chicken taste good, you have to inject it with stuff, rub it with stuff, and stuff it with...stuff.

            You know who doesn't have to do that?  People who eat dark meat.

            How do I know dark meat is better?  Because God didn't put all the much dark meat on a bird.  God, well, the one I worship anyway, has always been sort of a 'you don't want too much of a good thing' sort of deity.  (And before you get all up in arms, my Christian friends, I'm not talking about the general plan of salvation or Jesus. I'm talking about dark meat on birds.  Calm yourselves.)  Need money?  Sure, but not too much. Need a house? Okay, but not too big. Need dark meat for Thanksgiving?

        Oh yeah, God said, but only two legs.  Maybe some on the wing, but a turkey wing is going to be such a big, bony affair, no one's going to bother with it.  

        Now, my favorite part of a chicken is the thigh. But do turkeys have thighs?  Nope. So, on a turkey,  the only source of delicious, moist, flavorful dark meat that doesn't turn into a knot of rope in your mouth while you're trying to chew it are the two legs.

        That might be enough for a normal family with a couple kids and a bunch of grown ups who all want the white meat.  (I don't know who they think they're fooling.  Sure, eat the white turkey meat.  But when you dump 8 gallons of gravy on it so you can choke it down, guess what?  The scale isn't going to give you credit for eating white meat.)  But my family was a little different.

        Thanksgivings for me growing up almost always included at least one of my mom's brothers, if not both, their wives, my grandparents, and my seven cousins.  When you throw in my brother, that's nine kids.  Nine kids begging for dark meat.  Nine kids and two legs.

        Jesus could have made it work, but my mother and my aunts? Not a chance.

        one other thing: In order to save time and space on the table, my mom and aunts ALWAYS made the turkey the night before thanksgiving, then cut it up and served it on a plate, with white and dark meats segregated into little piles on the platter.  And here's how we got served.

        the adults: Who took white meat.

        The babies and wee little kids the adults had to serve: who took dark meat.

        My older cousins who walked faster than I did from the kids' table to the main table: Where they got dark meat.

        My brother and younger cousins who, unrestrained by the parental admonition: "You're old enough to know better" would run to the big table where they got, yes, you guessed it, dark meat.

        And that left good old Sarah.  Sarah, who lived under threat of losing TV privileges if she embarrassed her parents in front of the family. Sarah, who was, by nature, not as loud or forceful as the rest of the cousins.  And Sarah, who, by the time she got to the table, wound up having to eat white meat because all the dark meat was gone.

        But, before you feel sorry for that little girl, ponder this: I might not have been as loud, or as forceful, or as amusing or smart or pretty or talented as the rest of the bunch.  But I was lightyears ahead of my cousins in one area:  Creative problem solving.  Given enough information and time, I can solve the crap out of any problem (except for most of my own LOL) in a way that few others have thought of.

        These days I use my power for writing.  But when I was a kid, before I got serious about entertaining people with the written word, I used my powers to solve my little kid problems in creative ways.  

      Which is how, the year I turned nine, the turkey NECK became my favorite part of the Thanksgiving bird. I remember that first neck even now, all these decades later. We were at my aunt's house.  She'd made the bird the night before, and was finishing up the carving. The next step in the process for her was to make the gravy out of the drippings in the roasting pan.  I peered over the edge of the pan and saw a long, sort of tube-shaped meat-covered thing in the pan.  My nine year old brain couldn't process what I was looking at, so I asked the adults.

        "Oh that's the neck," my aunt said.  "Go ahead you can have that."

        I don't know if you know what a cooked turkey neck looks like, but I will tell you that eating that first neck was an amazing, eye-opening moment in my culinary life.  the meat on the neck takes work to get at and there's literally only one way to do it: you much gnaw on it. There's no polite way to eat the meat off a turkey neck.  It's all knotted and twisted around the neckbones.  But it is the loveliest, tenderest, most flavorful part of that stupid bird.

        So there I stood in my aunt's kitchen, gnawing on the thing and ripping the juicy strips of dark meat away from those tiny bones.  And then at dinner, I didn't have the sad face. I told the adults, "I do'nt need any turkey. I ate the neck!"

        Admittedly, that first year everyone laughed at me and my parents scolded me later for being weird and embarrassing them.  (I'm going to take this moment to point out that my childhood foibles, while embarrassing, couldn't hold a candle to what my brother was going to put them through in his teen years.  But that's another blog for another day.)  Every year after that, however, the neck made its way to the platter of carved meat and then on to my plate. And yes, my cousins mocked me for looking like a dork while eating neck meat. Please. My entire life was a string of one group or another making fun of me. At least with the neck meat I was getting something good out of it.

        Even now, I'm an old lady, and I still request that I get the neck, and only the neck. Let the kids or the adults with taste buds have the legs. I'll take the neck every time.

        Of course, if we could, as a collective mind, give up the notion that turkey is the meat for Thanksgiving, and maybe we switch it out with a nice rack of lamb or a big pork shoulder roast, that would be great.  But until then, as long as I'm forced to eat turkey, it's going to be the neck. 

        

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

What Sarah Did this Summer Part Five: Goodbye Stuff Empowered, Hello Stuff Recovered.

 

               

                It’s been a minute since I quit a job.  The last two jobs I had, I was fired from.  (But don’t tell anyone who’s recently read my resume.  My parting from Stuff, Installed has been downgraded to “an amicable parting based on a mutual disagreement.”  Yeah, I thought I was employed, and NBM disagreed. And it was amicable in that he was happy I was gone and I did a little gleeful dance out the door.)  Anyway, my point is, the last job I actually QUIT was back when I worked for Horrible Bossman (remember him?) back in 2011.  So it’s been more than a decade since I actually, you know, gave notice and went through that whole deal.

                Matty from Stuff, Recovered (the new job) assumed that Stuff, Empowered wouldn’t make me work out a two week notice.  This assumption was backed up by Peaches, Skippy, Hubby, and even Gretal, Skippy’s g-friend.  No one thought I was going to have to actually work those last two weeks at Stuff, Empowered.

                Well, except for Stuff, Empowered.

                I took the coward’s way out.  I typically do, but remember, I really, really do like the people I worked with at Stuff, Empowered.  I hate the whole disappointed thing. I can deal with every human emotion directed at me except disappointment.  (Maybe that’s why I skip out on choir practice so often.  I’m a disappointing singer.)  So, being the coward I am, I sent an email with a resignation letter that took me several hours to put together. I’m a writer, I like all the words to hang together in a poetic manner.

                Plus, I sent it on a Sunday night so everyone would have the news before I got there on Monday.

                What I didn’t count on was Stuff Empowered’s really hard-core spam filter.

                When I got there on Monday, I realized that no one, not one person, had gotten my email because it was deemed spam by the system.  Which meant I had to fish the thing out of my spam box and resend it. Which delayed the reaction from the managerial team by a couple hours.

                The reactions ranged from HR sending me half a dozen emails informing me that my benefits were going to end to Red, who walked up to my cubicle and gave me a big hug. I honestly thought they’d be angry at me.  Anyway, the others on the team sent me an email wishing me well.

                Not one person said I could leave early. No one sent the security guy “Ryan” to my desk. I had this great vision of Ryan coming to my desk and handing me a banker’s box and then watching me while I packed up before escorting me to the door. None of that happened.

                It was mostly business as usual, except that once news got around, everyone stopped at Tucker’s cubicle and gave him grief for driving yet another person away.

                Oh, and N.E.W. (New Elsie W) was all broken up because she was CONVINCED we were going to be BFFs.  Meanwhile, Red wasn’t entirely sure NEW was going to last longer than I did.

                Fun fact, a couple of days after I gave notice, Molly also gave notice. Not a surprise to me, mostly because she’d confided that working in a cubicle wasn’t also not her bliss, but once again, Poor Tucker took a beating from the other people in the department for driving yet another person away.  (Also, Poor, Tucker…alone in a pod with N.E.W.)

                So, I worked the first week, business as usual.  Then I got a call from Matty who asked if I could start a little early.  I was a tiny bit annoyed.  I knew this gaggle of geniuses was going to need an office mom to handle things, but the whole interview process lasted a week longer than it needed too.  See, Matty thought maybe I should meet the Wizard before I got hired. The Wizard really didn’t want to be bothered. Had Matty pulled the trigger the day I interviewed; I would have started the exact day he wanted me to. However, since they collectively dragged their feet, I had committed to a full two weeks’ notice.  Matty couldn’t believe they were holding me to it.

                No one could. Bigger surprise, I was actually putting quite a lot of effort into my last days.

                I asked HR if I could leave two days early. The response was: “We can’t make you stay.”

                Cool beans.

                Now, the last three days of my employment at Stuff, Empowered, were kind of interesting. It seems that this giant company believes in FUN.  Like, lots of FUN.  (Well, except during working hours on days ending in Y.) They deemed that week the Customer Experience Appreciation Week.

                No one was quite sure what that meant. Are we appreciating our customers?  Are we appreciating the Customer Experience department?  Are we just appreciating the entirety of the customer experience?  (Which, since I was in Order Tracking and Order Payment, was NOT a great experience for customers or me.)

                The way this giant company appreciated whatever it was they were appreciating was to have what can only be described as a high school spirit week. I’m not making that up.  Monday was crazy hat day. Tuesday was sports jersey day.  Wednesday was generations day (They should have called it “misinterpretation of 80’s day” and been done with it.)  Thursday was “Stuff Empowered spirit wear…I mean, logo clothing. Friday was, and I’m not making this up: Flannel shirt day, so we can show everyone how cozy we are at work.

                That one made me laugh.  Flannel shirts were definitely not within the dress code guidelines. Also, “cozy” wasn’t the first thing one thought of spending time in that building. Not even my hot flashes could stave off the cold.  I had a small blanket (which I used the first couple days and then realized I looked like an old woman in a nursing home, so I took that home and brough a sweater.) And who, exactly, was going witness this coziness?  Customers rarely came to the building and never to the third floor.

                On my last Friday at Stuff, Empowered, the pod was abuzz with what kind of hat to wear.  Well, okay, Molly and I were.  Tucker, honestly, was going to do whatever we told him to, and N.E.W. insisted she didn’t have a hat.  Not one hat.

                “But you live in Wisconsin. You don’t have any kind of hat?”

                “I don’t like hats.”

                I don’t like hats either, but come on, in my house, there are at least a couple pieces of headgear that are “mine.” And Hubby and Skippy have dozens of hats.  I find it difficult that believe that anyone, really, ANYONE, doesn’t have access to a hat.  (Okay, maybe the kids hubby and I sponsor through Christian kids charity whatever don’t.  I mean, they don’t have food or houses, we’re told, so they probably don’t have hats.)  but N.E.W. swore up and down she didn’t have a hat. And then she looked at me with pitiful hobbit eyes.

                And I did not take the bait.  Ten years ago, working with Elsie W., I would have brought a hat for her to wear and she’d return it months later, covered in food and bent in four different ways.  Nope, this time I didn’t offer to lend N.E.W. a hat.  I call that growth.

                Or something.

                So hat day came and this is what I looked like:

 

 

 

 

 

                Hats didn’t last long for our pod.  The headsets were bulky.

                The next day was sports teams’ day. I figured everyone would wear Packers and Brewers, so I went with my other favorite team: Detroit Redwings.  So that was fun.

               

 

(I have no idea what's going on with that foot.)

 

 

                Day three of spirit week…I mean Customer Experience Appreciation, we could send appreciation notes to each other.  Seriously.  Remember when you could send secret messages to people during spirit week?  The girls from the pep club set up a card table and sold carnations of different colors and you could attach a message to the carnation and someone from the pep club would deliver it to your beloved/BFF/secret admiree.  It was like that, except no carnations, and no pep club.  I sent a couple notes, to Red and Molly.  And I got a couple, from Red and Molly.  So there’s that.

 

                Anyway, Day three of spirit week was Generations Day. Like I said, it should have been named, “1980’s misconception day.”  I managed to cobble together a legit 80’s outfit from my wardrobe. Apparently, my taste in clothes hasn’t changed much since 1986.  I even had proper high tops. I was missing the leg warmers, but I had tall, heavy socks which served the purpose of making my lower legs look bulky.  (Why was that a thing?)

                Things were kind of drab in my cubicle.  I’d taken home everything already, so I had nothing to distract me from the job.  Except for my chunky looking calves (like they need help) and my sweaty feet. At 4:30 my department manager came by and took my badge.  At 5:00 I waved to everyone and left the third floor one last time.

                Bye, Bye, Stuff, Empowered.

                Hello Stuff, Recovered.

                Now, Stuff, Recovered is a tiny little business that recovers data from dead hard drives, phones, video camera, lap tops, and the like.  I know even less about what this company does that what I did with Stuff, Installed or Stuff, Empowered.  I can’t even fake any kind of knowledge.

                What I can do, however, is be a great gatekeeper and coffeemaker.  Plus, I can clean an office quickly. These are all things this places needs big time.  I’ve now been here almost two weeks.  I’ve learned the following:

                Matty, a former tool and die shop manager, should not talk to people in a customer service capacity, like, ever.

                Computer geniuses don’t know how to dust, vacuum, or clean a mirror.

                The Wizard of Oz doesn’t like it when I go to his office if he’s in it.  If I must take a package upstairs, he’d prefer it if I did it when he’s not there.  In fact, if I could just teleport packages up there with my brain, that would be the best.

                Both the Wizard and the Tech have the same first name.  So, one’s Jackson. The other one’s “him.”  Take a guess which one is “him.”

                Training for this job was not at all intense or detailed.  Matty isn’t completely sure what he’s doing or how he’s doing it.  So…now that I’m on my own, I’m reteaching myself how to manage the duties they’ve given me.  All of which take about 18 minutes in any given work day.  The rest of the time…

                Well, the rest of the time I get to write, blog, and be in my own head.  And, once my brain has healed from the tumult of this summer, maybe I’ll learn something about the basic tasks of the business.  Who knows?  Maybe I’m a computer wizard, and I just don’t know it!