Winter On The High Plains

 Trying To Get Home From Work

 

It's no secret that I hate winter. What's to like? Ooh, the snow is so fun to play in! said no one. First of all, I don't play, unless one counts donning three layers of clothing, bundling up my dog and stealing down the icy front steps to do what it takes her all of five seconds to do as "play".

So why do I live in Minnesota? Why does anyone live anywhere? I don't have the means to take me wherever whimsy leads me; and I have a job. I grew up on the high plains (happily not in Minnesota), so I should be, and am, used to winter. I still haven't grown fond of it.

I surely don't want to move to tornado alley or hurricane-central, so everyone has their burdens to bear. It's just that winter is approximately six months long. When I was a kid I divided the twelve months of the year into four seasons. Kids are gullible. The truth is, spring and fall comprise one month each, summer is three months, tops. That leaves...yikes, actually seven months that are in actuality winter. So when October rolls around, I start watching the weather forecast, for all the good that does me, and laying out my winter wardrobe. It's always a smorgasbord of possibilities ~ snow, minus twenty-degree wind chills, ice, blustery gale-force winds; and generally a combination of one or two or three.

A typical work conversation goes like this:

"Has anyone seen an updated forecast?"

"I heard four to six inches."

"Really? Online, I saw six to ten!"

"I should ask for tomorrow off."

"I don't know. It should be okay driving in. I'm just worried about the drive home."

"You never know. It depends on what time it starts."

"I really should ask for tomorrow off."

I've had this exact same conversation approximately ten thousand two hundred and fifty-nine times.

If I have the luxury of requesting the day off, I take it. But that's not always possible. Sometimes I have actual responsibilities, believe it or not. A few years ago my husband drove me (or slid us) to work on ice-slickened roads because I had a training class of two people and what would they do if I didn't show up? Turns out both of my trainees called in due to weather, and we had risked death for no Godly reason.

And I submit that "weather forecasting" is a racket. Nobody wants to commit, because loathe as they are to admit it, they're just guessing. I did ask for today off, because my workplace is not in crisis mode, and the forecast calls for six to ten inches of snow. That means we'll maybe get three.

For an area that experiences multitudes of these events every winter, our TV weather people are oddly disinterested. Maybe they've been worn down by constantly being wrong; maybe "weather person" is the dregs of local news. Try to catch the latest forecast and one is greeted with what yesterday's temps and winds were. I'd respect them more if they simply shrugged and said, "Your guess is as good as mine."

The upside of a snowstorm is if one is able to anticipate it and gird for it, it can be relatively stress-free, snug, and excuse-ready (I can't do that. Don't you know there's a storm out there?) What one needs is plenty of comfort food, enough beverages of choice, a cozy blanket, cable or Netflix, a strong internet connection, a craft project or a good book. One must plan ahead. Just don't rely on your local meteorologist to forewarn you. They're too busy being hazed in the back office by the sports guy.

In the pantheon of songwriting, few songs have been penned about winter. The ones we're familiar with are mostly clinically depressing or are about cold graves. Winter is gloomy enough; I don't need to hear about someone gazing in the mirror as mascara-stained tears streak down their cheeks.

Leave it to Paul Simon, however, Here's one I actually like:



When I awake tomorrow morning, the snow will obscure my door stop. I'll pull on my snow boots, hat, down coat and gloves, velcro Josie's pink plaid coat around her tummy and head on out. When we return, I'll pour myself a cup of fresh-brewed Joe and anticipate a waffle-and-bacon breakfast; then pull the comforter around me and bless the fact that I'm warm and cozy inside, and that it's only Saturday. I have no place to be.

All in all, though, I'd trade a Minnesota winter for whatever you've got to offer.

Starting Anew In 2020

 

Like with most things, I'm a little off-kilter. Resolutions are supposed to start on January first -- everyone knows that, silly. I commenced my 2020 resolutions somewhere around mid-2019, but they still count. One might assume that as a person ages, they let it all hang out; give up, give in. I certainly thought that.

Alas, I spent a good number of years going where the winds took me. Life was a series of circumstances; little effort was required. What was gonna happen was gonna happen. It's not as if I was a passive observer. I could definitely step up when it counted ~ I raised my two boys to be upstanding, flourishing individuals (it worked). I had my professional career phase, in which I had the opportunity to apply everything common sense tells one is the means to uplifting people (it worked).

Now I'm kind of all about me.

Around May of 2019, I realized that being "obese", as doctors like to code their claims, was doing me nothing but harm. I no longer cared about how I looked, but how I felt. Climbing stairs caused my knees to creak. I slept like crap. I finally understood that losing weight wasn't a "diet", but a lifestyle. I love, love junk food. Give me a donut and you'll gain a new best friend. Unfortunately, enough finally became enough.

To date, I've lost thirty pounds, and I look pretty good, if I do say so. It's not easy. After eight months of deprivation, resentment surreptitiously comes a'knockin'. I took a diet vacation in the two weeks between Christmas and New Year's, and now I feel like a novice, fighting hunger pangs and battling to re-assume the program.

It's also interesting how eager people are to feed you when you are tussling with the devil on your shoulder. My cubicle neighbor is attending culinary school and likes to bring in delights to share with select persons. It's a fine line between assuaging someone's feelings and guarding one's hard-fought victories. I've settled upon taking two bites. It's a compromise.

My husband, who is a man and thus self-absorbed, enjoys picking up delicacies at the deli as a treat for me. I eat them, naturally, all the while mentally calculating how I'll need to make up for it the rest of the week.

Crafting:

I started doing counted cross-stitch in the eighties. I no longer remember if I came up with the idea on my own or if peer pressure caused my obsession. I was working at the hospital, and all the nurses (well, maybe not all, but most) were working on projects. This was what we did on the second shift. It's not that nothing happened during the evening hours, but the air was quieter.

I completed dozens of projects from 1980 to 1988, framing them all, giving some as gifts. I became a crafting master. Then I stopped. I don't remember why. I think life just got busier and I was no longer working odd shifts. Now some thirty years later, I've taken it up again, and it relaxes me just as it did back then. It's a strange phenomenon ~ it's really not the finished product that hooks one, but the "doing". Repetition? I can't explain it, but it works. It really works. I will keep on.

My first project back (in progress):

I want to finish a third April Tompkins novel; at least I think I do. Writing can be fun and it can be complete tedium. I've written so much of this follow-up novel that it would be sacrilege to not finish it. It could turn out to be a novella ~ time and imagination will tell. The good thing about writing is that one falls in love with her characters, even if no one else does. Discipline is an issue, though. A real writer would have completed the damn thing in a month. I've had this current project in progress for about a year. Obstinance will force me to finish it ~ I know me.

I'm still here ~ still kickin'. When I was a kid and I thought about the year 2020, I assumed I'd be a crotchety old lady digging her own grave. Turns out, like most things I assumed back then, that's not exactly right.

Here's to keepin' on.

Getting It Together

 

Humans are funny. They have an innate need for order, yet if they are like me they subjugate it until things get completely out of hand or a new year begins; whichever comes first.

As the world's ultimate procrastinator, my trigger is irritation. "Where the *#!! is that ____? I know I have it...somewhere. This is *@*#! ridiculous!" Then, "I need to get organized."

As 2019 drew to a close I began re-ordering my life. Now I'm on a mission. Beware: Once you start, you are incapable of stopping. Not only have I undertaken an overall tidying of my home, but it has extended to my little office cubicle. December at my workplace is so ridiculously busy that papers and notes scribbled on yellow legal pads get tossed into a pile, and I can barely concentrate on the current email question without mentally scanning the other fifty unread missives in my in-box. Actual cognitive thought is relegated to auto-pilot with double fingers crossed. Now that it's January and things have cooled, I've begun sifting through all my scribbles and categorizing them or jettisoning them, whichever seems appropriate at the time. Additionally, Clorox Wipes are awesome. Today I cleaned, rearranged, shredded, and categorized three months worth of detritus. Look at me now!

I want to preserve it for posterity! I wish I had "before" pictures.

For the remainder of the day, I was gleefully productive. Many things cause endorphins to be released -- exercise, alcohol (truly), chocolate, music (duh), even lavender. But I submit that organizing is a gigantic endorphin generator. I'm almost looking forward to returning to work on Monday simply to gaze at my handiwork.

Granted, it won't last, but I have seven months, tops, to maintain a semblance of neatness. After that, welcome to my cube, replacement!

The pending end of my work life is rather bittersweet. My first thought is, good luck; nobody will do my job better than me. My second thought is, do you appreciate me now? Funnily, I'll miss it, though. I'm feeling wistful. I'll get over it, no doubt.

Finally, getting it together is a wondrous feeling.

Worst Trends Of The Decade

My list of the worst trends of the decade is not universal; it's comprised of things that annoy me. My world mostly consists of work and the net and, sure, TV. Thus, my most annoying trends are things that affect me personally. (Also, it's a chance to bitch once more before the decade ends, so hey!)

So I'm going to start with the most annoying verbal tic of the past ten years. So just bear with me as I describe what I'm talking about. So the most annoying human utterance is starting every sentence with the word "so". It happens at work; it is ubiquitous in television interviews.

"Dan, what is the most pressing issue facing our young people today?"
"So, when I talk to students..."

"Let me now introduce our CFO to tell you about our financial performance this year."
"So, we've had a challenging year..."

So?

Are you saying you don't care?

Don't get me wrong; I do it myself. It's impossible not to; not when every human being within earshot is saying it constantly. "So" is not exactly slang, but it has the same effect. I never once in my life uttered "groovy" other than ironically, but I've latched onto stupid fad jargon, just like everyone else. If everyone around me was constantly jabbering "squeegee", yep, it would become part of my everyday vocabulary.

"Let me now introduce our CFO to tell you about our financial performance this year."
"Squeegee, it was a fantastic year!"

(because "squeegee" just sounds like a happy word.)

Instructions That Are Indecipherable

I do a lot of Amazon shopping and I'm not ignorant of the fact that a lot of Amazon's products are manufactured in China. Mostly it doesn't matter. I don't need to assemble a purse; it's basically fully-formed when I open the box. I also know how shoes work. The same cannot be said for anything that requires a bit of construction. I recently purchased a display cube to hold my dad's watch and AA book. Even the pictures in the booklet didn't help. I still haven't determined if pieces were missing, if I'm a hapless imbecile, or if the manufacturer had employed one of those Chinese-English dictionaries that never actually translate words accurately. I almost threw the random pieces in the garbage, but I set it aside to possibly give it one more try, after I've done my Zen meditation.

Unfortunately, the issue doesn't only exist among people who are trying their best to communicate in a second language to dumb rich Americans (ha). Ever try to find a solution to a computer problem online? Google is my go-to for any question, from how to roast a turkey to "what's the name of the song that has 'toast' in its name?" I am currently experiencing a problem with installing Windows updates ~ I keep receiving error 0x8007025d ~ so naturally I looked to my old friend to help me out. I've had personal experience with IT people, and I do believe they are passive-aggressively subversive. Don't get me wrong; they are generally nice people (or are they?) But the ones online are no doubt laughing maniacally knowing someone is reading and trying to follow their "directions". I honestly believe they deliberately omit a step just to mess with people. This includes Microsoft folks, who created this Windows piece of crap.

Online News Sites That Expect Me To Pay To Read More Than Five Articles A Month

On my morning break while slurping my Greek yogurt, I like to peruse the news. "You've read your maximum five stories this month. Please log in or subscribe to continue reading." Does anyone do this? The only stories I can't actually Google are those exclusive to a particular site, and guess what? If I want to read them badly enough (shhh!) I can pull up a different browser or swipe them on my phone, or touch the link that some kind soul provided on Twitter. I once emailed my local newspaper to protest and the response was, "Most people don't even reach their five article limit in a month." Seriously? I read five stories on any given site in one sitting. I'm sorry that newspapers are dying, but honestly, who wants to read day-old news? Don't charge me to make up for your financial losses.

Repetitive-To-The-Point-Of-Nausea TV Commercials

I like kids. I feel for kids experiencing life circumstances. What I don't like is a charity that obviously spends the majority of its donations on marketing. I'm not giving you my money because you're not a trustworthy executor. And I don't need "skits". You know who you are. Your commercials run every six minutes or so on my favorite news channel. Honestly, I much prefer seeing the Pillow Guy.

I probably could go on and on but I won't, because the new year is supposed to be a happy time!

But (ahhh!) I do feel better.

Here's wishing you a non-annoying, trouble-free 2020.

The next decade will be verrry interesting.

The Requisite "Best Of" List

I wasn't going to do it. First of all, it's virtually impossible. I barely remember yesterday (truly), much less the last ten years. But it seemed sacrilegious to let the decade slip away without some sort of retrospective.

I did a search for some "best of" lists in order to jog my memory, and it appears I am woefully out of touch. Which is fine. I'm not the key demographic advertisers are trying to reach. The prevailing wisdom is that people my age are already set in their ways and are thus unconvincible. Naturally, the prevailing wisdom is wrong. My hunch is that advertisers view GenX'rs and millennials as ripe for the picking; willing to go into debt for today's hot commodity. And isn't that marketing's goal? God bless 'em.

I suppose I should list the top ten surgical procedures and brand-name medications. The top lab tests for geriatrics, top incontinence products and Medicare Advantage plans. But that's not really fun.

Thus, I'm going with the usual TV shows and movies; the grizzled edition.

Top TV Shows of the Decade

A disclaimer ~ I don't subscribe to HBO, so if it's not on Netflix, I'm not aware of it other than in passing. There are most likely wonderful TV series not on my list, but I have to go with something I've actually watched.

  9.  Mad Men
  8.  Rake (check it out on Netflix!)
  7.  True Detective, Season One
  6.  Scientology: The Aftermath
  5.  The Crown, Seasons One and Two
  4.  Downton Abbey
  3.  Parks And Recreation
  2.  The Office
  1.  Breaking Bad

Honorable Mention:  The Americans, which I've only seen a couple seasons of so far.

Caution:  Spoiler!



Top Movies of the Decade, Geriatric Edition

I'm not a regular movie-goer. I probably see three to four movies a year. The trouble is, most of the movies released sound utterly uninteresting, and I'm not into cartoons (better known as super-hero films.)

  5. Winter's Bone
  4. Bohemian Rhapsody 
  3. Bridge of Spies
  2. Gran Torino
  1. Bridesmaids

Top Country Songs of the Decade (I don't actually listen to current country music)

  2. Wagon Wheel, Darius Rucker
  1. Nothing



Something relevant to me:

Top Websites of the Decade

5.  Wikipedia
4.  Twitter
3.  YouTube
2.  Amazon
1.  Google

Whew. Now I've done it; compiled a stupid "best of" list. 

Stay tuned for tomorrow. It might just be time to enumerate some "worsts".

Worst Christmas Songs Of All Time

Someone out there, someone whose name will never be known, has written a new classic Christmas song. It won't ever be recorded because this writer savant doesn't know how to get his or her song to the right people, or because no one is interested in new holiday tunes. After all, there's plenty of old ones to recycle.

Like all music, there are great Christmas songs, middling tunes, and finally, the putrid.

In the late nineties in my workplace we had piped-in music. Songs were cycled on a predetermined schedule. Like all Muzak, it was aimed at offending no one. Thus, we heard "The Weekend" by Steve Wariner forty times a day, and something by Mariah Carey. Come Christmastime, holiday songs abounded. You know how it is when you hear a tune that makes you grit your teeth, and then you have to hear it once an hour, on the hour?

There was a song by Andy Williams that I can't find anywhere online, probably because someone had the good sense to burn the master in a fiery blaze. It was jazzy. The lyrics went something like this:  "boo-dee-doo-dee-boo-dee-bup-POW!"  Nothing quite says Merry Christmas like an over-age hipster throwing tradition to the wind. I regret that I can't remember the title, because I would cherish sharing its awfulness with you.

I'm not necessarily a traditionalist. I'm down with Wham! and with rockin' the jingle bells. I do believe, however, that Christmas tunes should fall into one of two categories: wistful or gleeful. Many people associate the holiday with Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole, but give me Dean Martin any day. Dino'd had an eggnog or two before he sauntered up to the mic and he was in a good mood, like we all should be this time of year. He didn't take the whole thing too seriously; too somberly. If I want a good cry, I know which songs to punch up; but if I just want to feel good, who's better company than Dino Crocetti?

But aside from jazzy cocktail tunes, the worst for me are the drudging, tedious ones. I don't understand why anyone would like this one:



I've sampled it by many different artists, from Johnny Cash to the old boo-dee-doo-dee-POW! Andy Williams, and I don't care who sings it, it reeks. Here it is, in a nutshell: "PAH-rum-pum-pum-PUM".  I can't begin to describe how much I hate this song. Any tune that relies on onomatopoeia can go to hell.

Here's another one. First of all, the tune is kind of scary for a kid. It sounds foreboding, like something evil is wafting in on the wind. I don't think that's what Jesus intended:



I don't include kids' songs on my list, because kids are entitled to like stupid songs. That's how they learn about music. At age eight, I instinctively knew that "Up On The Rooftop" wasn't a standout song, but it was easy for a kid to sing along to. I can even tolerate Alvin and The Chipmunks. In fact, when I was little, I sang along to lots of dumb holiday songs, but I liked "Winter Wonderland" and "Silver Bells" the best (I wasn't big on reindeer, and my older sister had wised me up to the Santa Claus scam at a young age).

Late on Christmas Eve as I'm nursing a glass of wine, give me "I'll Be Home For Christmas" or even "The Christmas Song". Something sad and pretty. If I'm wrapping packages, I'll take Brenda Lee and Bobby Helms. Hell, there just aren't any great new Christmas songs being written ~ sorry, aspiring songwriters. Just don't play stupid, scary, scatting, or pandering songs.

And I'm sorry, all you nostalgists out there, but I really don't like Andy Williams.

I may or may not write another post before the Big Day, so if I don't, please have a happy Christmas.  Remember what matters.

And it's okay to be a bit grumpy.

The Most Wonderful Time Of Year?

I'm not saying it was easier in my parents' day. Mom was expected to bake fifty different kinds of cookies ~ I think she even made a fruitcake one year (that no one, of course ate). Money was not plentiful and at various times, there were six offspring to buy presents for. I will say, though, that our decor consisted of...a tree. That's it. Dad had to untangle the same string of lights each year and curse when one bulb didn't work and he had to dig in his junk drawer to find a replacement. We bought a new pack of silvery tinsel each season and vomited it onto the tree.

There weren't little ceramic cherubs and red pillar candles and reindeer throw pillows scattered about the house. Stockings? I had three pairs of knee-highs, but I wore those to school. It wasn't so much a Christmas "season" as it was a "day". Of course I tingled with anticipation for weeks and combed through the Sears Christmas catalog as I lay prostate on the kitchen linoleum and circled my choices with a number two pencil (I never got any of those things ~ they were too expensive ~ but it was still fun to dream.)

What there wasn't was peer pressure. Christmas hadn't yet become a contest. In my neighborhood the timing of outdoor lights is entirely dependent upon who starts first. Then, like dominoes, house after house becomes festively lit. Humans are inherently competitive. Somehow, at some point, however, it simply got out of hand.

When one has little kids, Christmas is different. Enjoyment comes from doing everything to make the time magical. My kids didn't get two presents each ~ they got everything on their lists. What the heck? It was worth it. I not only baked cookies, but I made fudge and divinity, and caramels wrapped in wax paper. I pushed a shopping cart from Target's front door through knee-high snowbanks to my car trunk and dumped piles of cardboard-encased Lego sets and Transformers inside. I slipped a Christmas CD into my changer, filled a glass with wine and spent hours decorating my tree until it was perfect.

I set aside a day to write out cards and tucked school pictures inside. I may have even done photocopied newsletters once, until I received too many laughable missives and realized Christmas newsletters were evil lies that cleansed everyday life of reality.

I bought presents for every sibling and in-law and every nephew and niece, because I could.  I scoured the Hallmark Store shelves for the perfect gifts for treasured co-workers. Every one of my employees got something that I, not the company, paid for. Because I wanted to do it. I stuffed gift bags with red and green tissue paper and diligently wrote out gift tags. I loved having the means to give.

Today? Like many companies, year-end at my workplace is insane. Christmas is an afterthought, once business gets done. Long hours, tons of junk food and caffeine; finally getting home and going to bed, only to toss and turn due to an overdose of adrenaline. Sleep dreamless sleep, stagger out of bed when the buzzer buzzes and start all over again.

My advice for the over-stressed?

• Simplify. Cross off your buying list those who frankly would be just as happy with a hearty "Merry Christmas!" as they would with a trinket they'll toss aside once they've torn off the wrapping.
• Don't go into debt to try to please somebody. You won't please them and you'll flagellate yourself every time you get your credit card bill.
• Buy three rolls of wrapping paper at Walmart or Target and be done with it. Don't spend $5.99 for a gift bag. Nobody cares. 
• Don't...don't! send out Christmas cards! How many have you gotten this year? Nobody does it except for Great Aunt Hilda. If you want to reciprocate Great Aunt Hilda's thoughtfulness, dig through your closet for that half-used pack of cards from ten years ago and send her one. (I don't even possess stamps.)
• All those trinkets are fun to take out of their boxes and place on the mantle, but they're hell to put away. Nothing ever tucks away smartly and you'll end up wrapping a piece of torn tissue around them and stuffing them in a cardboard box in the closet. Pick two, tops.
• If your family expects treats, whip up a batch of no-bake cookies. Online recipes abound. Years later, they'll proclaim their mom (or wife) was the best baker ever.
• Hang a stocking for your pet(s). They share your life more than real people do. Tuck a Milkbone or a baggie of catnip inside. They'll love you more than they regularly do.
• Buy a self-contained artificial Christmas tree. Pop, pop; plug in the lights, and voila!
• Do:  Buy a small token for someone who's touched your life. They won't be expecting it, and they may even shed a tear.
• For those who matter most, be attuned to them. What do they like? What do they spend their time doing? Can you gift them with something that enhances that? Search Amazon.
• Write, if you feel comfortable doing it. A handwritten note from the heart will touch someone's life forever; but don't be fakey. People will immediately spot a fraud.
• Do: Close your bedroom door and fire up the holiday songs you like best. Not only will they lower your blood pressure, but they may remind you of what the holiday is about. My recommendation is "Jingle Bell Rock", but you know you.
• If, like me, you get one measly day off for Christmas, shop smart for your holiday dinner. Anything that's pre-sliced or can be fired up in the microwave is preferred. Again, nobody will care.
• Wallow in nostalgia. I lost my best friend in 2002, but I have a recording of her singing, "Old Christmas Card", and I cry every time I hear it. Both my parents passed away in 2001, and "I'll Be Home For Christmas" stabs my heart, but it's important that I hear it once each year. If you've ever lost someone, you'll understand.
• Breathe deeply. It actually helps.

I don't hate Christmas. I hate the unrealistic expectations that surround it. If I could just be me, I'd dim the lights, light a candle and play some tunes that remind me of the people who mattered.

Let's not forget what it's all about.