Hope your holidays have gone from this ...
... to this! Merry Christmas!!!
Best Wishes for the Season!
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Category Archives: random thoughts
Christmas Dads
You know, we almost always think of Christmas as a woman’s holiday, right? I mean, typically it’s the woman who shops and decorates and cooks and manages family logistics. It’s the woman of the house who remembers that Aunt Peggy likes chocolate-covered cherries and that we’ve sent the California cousins a balsam wreath three years in a row already. It’s the mom who gets everybody where they’re supposed to be on time, wearing the right clothes and bearing the appropriate gifts. And, let’s face it, motherhood pretty much has a starring role in the Christmas story. But let’s pause for a minute and celebrate the dads — those guys in the background who may grumble and grouse about all the holiday goings-on but who are alwrays always ALWAYS there when their family really needs them. Those of us who are lucky enough to have one or more of them with us this Christmas need to turn around RIGHT NOW and make sure they know how much we appreciate them. Go ahead. I’ll wait … … … … … There. Aren’t you glad you did that? Merry Christmas!
No Stress Allowed
I’m not very much of a nature girl. I mean, if it’s a choice beween curling up with a
good book and a cup of good coffee versus lacing up the hiking boots, I’m taking the book and coffee every time. But sometimes, nature just sort of demands that you put the book down and unplug the computer and forget where you put your cell phone and simply be still and appreciate. Which is what some girlfriends and I did this past weekend when we rented a house on Smith Lake in Alabama and then proceeded to do not much of anything else. No, that’s not true. We ate and talked and laughed and drank and talked and laughed. And reveled in the peaceful and utterly quiet surroundings that demanded absolutely nothing of us except to enjoy. We’re making it an annual tradition to get away on the weekend before Thanksgiving, before all the holiday craziness — which we wouldn’t give up for anything, by the way — makes us … well, crazy. It’s like filling up your tank with super-extra-serene fuel to get you through the next few weeks, topped off with a refreshing oil-change of quality friend-time.
Why I’m A Proud Mom
Y’all have got to read my younger daughter’s newspaper column that was in the TimesDaily, Florence, Ala., this past Friday. She wrote about moving from our house of the past 15 years, and how the house had taught her to embrace a spirit of adventure. She is awesome like that. My older daughter is awesome like that, too. How did I get so lucky? Still not lucky enough to have the Interwebs at our new house, but lucky enough to have awesome children. And we did get TV yesterday, so things are looking up.
Random Mutterings of a Cluttered Mind
I don’t mind not having TV at our new house yet. I don’t mind not knowing where my good boots are, or my blue leather purse or black leggings I just bought. I don’t mind that I still have to wind my way along a path between boxes 
or that we still have bath towels covering up a couple of windows. These are all temporary glitches along the Road to Completely Unpacking and Feeling At Home, and I embrace every challenge. (Also: I’ve been reading Anne Lamott.) But I really really really don’t like not having Internet yet. I’ve hit every WiFi spot and skulked around street corners and parking lots in my new town until the convenience of actually sitting in my own living room on my own couch with my own coffee cup and my own Internet kicks in — hopefully, my husband says, this weekend. We’ll see. In the meantime, here are some of the things that have been going on: 1) My 12-year-old nephew in Chattanooga had some dastardly kind of resistant staph infection in his elbow and was in Thompson Children’s Hospital all this past weekend. He was brave and put up with all sorts of IVs and needles and other unpleasant things and was worried mainly about missing school work — which is all his mom because his dad (my brother) would have considered a week off from school a major and unexpected gift. 2) While I was in Chattanooga hanging out with the family, I also got to visit with Younger Daughter, who recently moved there to work and go to school and live in my brother’s basement, which is a much cooler place than it sounds. I went to the grocery story where she works and met all her super-sweet co-workers and admired her handiwork in building her first display of chocolate and cheese — two of our most favorite foods. I’ve taught her well. 3) But in more family medical news, a couple of days later, Older Daughter went in for some allergy tests to try to find out why she’s constantly congested and she found out she’s allergic to — you’ll never believe it – glycerin. Glycerin! Who knew this was something to be allergic to? Of course she couldn’t be allergic to something simple like dog hair — which she actually was hoping for as an excuse to pass their annoyingly yappy dog on to another family. But, no. It’s glycerin. Glycerin!!! I don’t even know what glycerin really is. But whatever it is, it’s in EVERYTHING. Go to your bathroom right now and check all your makeup and lotions and creams and toothpastes. It’s there. It and its evil siblings — glycerol and glycol and other gly-names — are in foods and fabrics, too. apparently glycerin is poised to take over the world. Who knew??? Older Daughter is in for a huge overhauling detox. Or she may just shrug and say, “Oh, well.” She hasn’t decided yet.
Timeout for Sisters
These are my children — my two daughters. They are beautiful young women, inside and out. How I came to be so lucky as to be their mom, I have no idea. But I’m glad it turned out that way. Younger Daughter, on the left, recently celebrated her 24th birthday by getting a new job and heading out of town to follow her dream of becoming a sign-language interpreter. She’s moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee, to live with my brother & his family while she looks for an apartment, wows ’em at her new job and figures the school thing out. I’m in awe of her adventurous spirit and boundless enthusiasm. I’m also in awe of Older Daughter, on the right. This week she’s fighting a nasty sinus infection, teaching her dance classes and keeping up — as always — with our grandson, 2 1/2-year-old Capt. Adorable, and still had time to teach me the secrets of hula-hooping (shift your weight side-to-side and keep your upper body stable). This photo is so them, too. When they were little, I used timeout to get their attention, but it was a different timeout for each of them. I sent one daughter to her room with her door closed because, as a definite people person, she considered being deprived of other people to be a dire and serious punishment. I insisted the other daughter serve her timeout right beside me at all times because she’d be perfectly happy all by herself in her room and so being forced to be with people was a major infringement. I think this photo shows exactly which daughter is which!
A Blue-Ribbon Effort, or Why Was Your 1994 Soccer Team Named ‘The SandSharks’?
Thank you all for wondering where I’ve been the past few days. I think this photo says it all, and here are some clues: I’ve been collecting boxes and saving newspapers from the recycling bin. I’ve been comparing prices on new refrigerators. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s really up in the attic and is it worth bringing down. And I’ve been wandering through more than two decades of family memories. Yup, you guessed it. My husband and I are packing up and moving out. After having our house on the market for one year — that’s ONE FREAKIN’ WHOLE YEAR, people! — our always patient and optimistic Realtor has found the perfect family for it, and we’re outta here. But as I keep telling folks, we’re not really moving away. We’re just sort of transferring our stuff a little bit down the road. We’re downsizing to a cute new house that’s an easy commute for both my husband and I — we don’t even have to get new library cards, so that’s a good thing. But we do have to go through all the Very Important Things we’ve accumulated through the years. And we’ve accumulated a lot. I mean, I’ve been decluttering and throwing away and simplifying for months now, and we’re still uncovering hidden treasures. Such as my two now-20-something-year-old daughters’ sports ribbons and trophies. I can’t throw them away. You can’t recycle trophies (I’ve tried). My daughters don’t really have space for them but don’t want to get rid of them. So they chose a few memorable ones (you know — pardon me while I brag here — record-breakers, high-point winners, first places) and we boxed up the rest and designated them as “Keepers.” So let this serve as a cautionary tale for all you young parents out there who are so proud of the trophies and plaques and ribbons and medals your children are starting to bring home. Warning, warning! You’re going to have to deal with them all someday. Don’t think you can just put them under the bed and be done with them. Oh, no! In fact, I think they multiply while we’re not looking.
Boats and Books
I don’t want to make light of the situation in case this actually really ever has happened to you, but a boat almost fell on me the other day and I just sort of thought that maybe you should add “falling boats” to your list of Road Hazards to Watch Out For While Driving. Along with — in my part of the world, at least — roving panthers (it’s true that the presence of panthers in our area is only a rumor — but there are those who swear it’s true), streams of tobacco juice and lazily drifting plastic Wal-Mart bags. And the thing is that the falling boat was only the beginning to a very strange 24 hours. So strange, in fact, that I had to break it up into two newspaper columns to get the whole story out. Read Part No. 1 and then go on to this past week’s column, Part No. 2. There are just some days when everybody stays away from you because it’s obvious you have somehow invoked the god of bad karma and all your friends are smart enough to take cover. Thankfully, all boats stayed firmly anchored the next day and all was well.
And here is one reason I’m so glad I’m married to my husband. I was browsing through his extensive book collection
when I found his decades-old paperback copy of “The Andromeda Strain,” which I’d never read. I zipped through it that night and when he asked me later how I liked it, I shrugged. “It just sort of ended with the scientists saying the organism had evolved into something harmless and it was no big deal,” I said. “Seemed like a letdown for such an intense buildup. My husband just stared at me. “Uh,” he said, “I don’t think you read the whole book. There are a couple of pages at the end that you need to go back and look at it.” So I did, and he was right. Husbands rock!
Main Street, Crazy Town, USA
Oh, Crazy Town! How I’ve missed you! The Land of Stars, Sparkles and Sequins … otherwise known as Dancing With the Stars. Welcome back!!! You bring joy and happiness every time you reappear. Aw, c’mon now. You there — I see you rolling your eyes. But have you tried DWTS? Have you actually sat down and watched the fabulousness that is The Journey to the Mirrorball? I have to admit that I’m a late adopter. When it first came on, I thought DWTS was simply about dancing. Wrong, wrong, WRONG! Once you realize that the dancing is only an excuse for the crazy, you can’t get enough. I’m telling you: DWTS is crazy in its purest form. There’s bad music, bad hair, bad jokes. There are various stages of fake tans. There are fake eyelashes unlike any ever seen anywhere. And, the very absolute best of all, there are fashion choices that … well, all I can say is that Younger Daughter and I thanked the Mirrorball Gods of Ultimate Crazy for co-host Brooke Burke’s “is-she-seriously-wearing-that?” dress from Monday’s premier show. It can only get better from here.
There’s Some Bad Grammar There
There are no words for such poor grammar. Well, actually, there are some words: The correct ones.
Coffee with Cathy 