Clean in Haste, Repent at Advent

For many years, the joke in our household was that if you couldn't find something, to look under Dad's bed. That was his catch-all.
Important papers, dress shoes, Christmas presents, firearms ... if it needed tucking away, under the bed it went, generally never to be seen again. At least not in under 12 months...

I'd love to say that my housekeeping skills are somewhat better than that. The blood of a neatnik Finnish grandma runs in my veins, after all. But apparently, house pride is a recessive trait. My approach to cleanliness is much more lackadaisical. (You won't, like, die in my house or anything, but don't bring your white gloves, 'k?)

Last spring, I had company come to stay (yeah, those guys with the dog) and not much notice before they arrived. So I gave my house what passes around here for a thorough cleaning, grabbing armfuls of crap and stuffing it into the nearest available hidey-hole before slamming the door/drawer on it.

Which meant that last month, it took me four hours of intensive searching to discover the whereabouts of my cold-weather shirts.

The "after Christmas sale" stuff I got at Walmart's last December 27th?
Five whole days I've been hunting for that bag.
Nuttin'.
I even checked under Dad's bed, lest some sort of residual psychic vortex was toying with me.
Nada.

Anyone seen about 18 packages of cellophane Santa cookie bags and a set of Yuletide votives? 'Cuz if you have, I think we've discovered a wormhole!

(N.B. - Only five more days for cookie exchange sign up!)

A Worry-Free Thanksgiving

Finally!

A way to relax and fully enjoy Thanksgiving!

I wonder if the jar holds enough to get me all the way through Christmas?

Happy Thanksgiving, All!

Seven Things

I'd been ignoring this whole VBA thing because I just flat out refuse to pick 15 blogs to nominate. My blogs are a package deal - you get all or none!
But since lm & gg trail-blazed by bypassing the 15 other bloggers criteria yet still posting the 7 things about themselves, I shall follow boldly in their footsteps (in my own subordinate follower kind of a way) and do the same.

So, ready?

1- I squeal like a little girl at the sight of mice.

2- I LOVE ice skating and water skiing. 
(There's a walking on water joke in there somewhere, but I haven't refined it yet.)

3- I sing or whistle much of the time - but rarely in tune.

4- I am an absolute sucker for pizza-flavored Combos.

5- My very favorite podcast is "Stuff You Should Know"
(I *heart* Josh and Chuck.)

6- I lead a vacuum-cleaner-avoidant lifestyle.

7- Even my real name isn't my real name.

Thanks to the people who thought of me.
And if you're reading this, consider yourself nominated, as well.  :-)

Calling All Bakers

On Wednesday, December 7, 2011, Blogland will see the return of The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza - but we need YOUR help!

Last year, I had thought if I could get six people to play along, I'd be tickled pink. Well, we had twenty-three participants (with, astonishingly, no cookie duplication!) and I'm hoping this year will be even bigger and better.
I'm thinking more countries, more cookies, ... more fun!

But that needs more bloggers.
 So won't you please come to the cookie party?

Anyone is welcome to join us. The more, the merrier, in fact.
All you have to do is to post a recipe for a holiday goodie on December 7th.

However-
If you want your name to show up in the list of participants that I will be sending around for posting, there is a deadline.
(I type fast but still, I need a little lead time to pull this together.)
;-p

So please email me by Monday, Dec. 5th if you plan to join us. (Include your name and the title of your blog, please. It's astonishing how quickly I can get completely muddled.)

And even if you don't play, please come by and check out the recipes!

Hope to hear from you soon...

Dec. 6th-

Participant list sign up now closed.

Look for those recipes tomorrow!

Lurker Love

It's Love Our Lurkers day again.
A day that's dedicated to you, the faithful yet silent majority.
A day when we tell you we love you (which we do!) and we appreciate you (which we do!) and that we're really, really glad you keep coming around (which we are!)

It's really a bit of a sneaky ploy, isn't it?
We say all these nice things (that we mean!) to cajole you out of your silence, coax you to step into our world, to see you to de-cloak, like a Romulan Klingon Bird of Prey. (Sorry. I get rattled when aliens decloak...)

This is not really how I see my lurkers. I just liked the metaphor...

Of course, you may prefer lurking - but maybe you're just shy.
I've tried teasing your out of your silence before but I was too subtle. So today, I'm just going to come right out and ask...

   Dearest Lurkers,
   Won't you please say hello today?
   It would be nice to make a new friend.

It is, however, awkward to just start talking to a total stranger.
So, here are some icebreakers - things I'd like to know about you.
Pick one (or two) and head on down to that "comments" link below! 

   1- Where are you from?
    (generally - I'm not asking you to out yourself.)

   2- What brings you here?
    Word of mouth? A link from another blog?
    A Google search for St. Augustine of HIppo?
       (Don't laugh - it's happened.)
    You tell me...

   3- What keeps you coming back?
    The bizarre juxtapositions? My endless supply of klutz stories?
    The guilty pleasure?
    Go ahead. I won't get mad...

   4- What are your views on sumo?
    (Just looking for a little support here, people!)

C'mon. I'll even answer, I promise!

Strange Literary Bedfellows - and Stuff

A few years back, I found myself living the opening of "Dante's Inferno"
I woke up in the middle of my life, lost in a wood, clueless as to how I'd gotten there. I had let life change so much in me that I could no longer recognize the person I'd become.
But I could still sense echoes of the real me on a different trail, over there behind the undergrowth somewhere. I became determined to find that person, walk with her, and make myself whole once more.
It took three years of stumbling and groping and cussing and crying - but I made it. It's me I smile at in the mirror again these days.

I thought about this the other day when I read something that brought to mind a scene from "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Not Enuf".
There is a marvelous description there of what I think is one of the primary stumbling blocks to both love and submission - that fear of losing our self, just as I did.

   somebody almost run off wit alla my stuff
   & i waz standin there
   lookin at myself the whole time

   & it waznt a spirit took my stuff
   waz a man whose ego walked round like Rodan’s shadow
   waz a man faster n my innocence
   waz a lover i made too much room for
   almost run off wit alla my stuff

   & i didnt know i’d give it up so quik
   & the one runnin wit it

   don’t know he got it
   & i’m shoutin this is mine
   & he dont know he got it
   my stuff is the anonymous ripped off treasure of the year
   did you know somebody almost got away wit me

   me in a plastic bag under their arm
   me danglin on a string of personal carelessness
        -Ntozake Shange

We resist letting people in, making "too much room", because we worry they'll take our stuff. And, having once lost mine, I totally get that. It's not a good feeling. In fact, it downright sucks.
But here's the thing I learned...

You can be messed with, fucked-over, soul-ravaged, and heart-broken, but no one can take you from you. Even when you give your all to someone or something else, it's more like a drag and drop copy. You may cede proprietary rights for as long as they want it, but ultimate ownership will always revert to you.

I'm not sure how we forget that.
Maybe it's not how we want to see our lives, maybe we don't want the responsibility. Maybe, like me, we just get busy and oblivious.
But the fact remains, we are the ultimate arbiters of what happens to our stuff.

We own our stuff.
Fear of losing it should never be the thing that holds us back.

In Which I Demoralize The UPS Man

In my defense, it was purely unintentional.

Victoria's Secret happens to be one of the very few places that sells slacks with 36" inseams. And they were having a sale. So, naturally, I struck while the iron was hot -- then promptly forgot all about it.

Days later, I was working outside, looking just about as dreadful as it's possible for me to look. As I rarely bathe *before* doing heavy yard work, I was unwashed, lank-haired, wearing ancient, oversized men's clothing and smeared with mud, grass, and mulch.
But, you know, you tend to forget about details like that when you're losing yourself in satisfying labor. So I greeted the approaching UPS man with an unselfconsciously cheery, "Ooo! Something for ME?!?"

We both looked down at the package in his hand.
I knew it was a pair of slacks.
He just saw a Victoria's Secret envelope...

He looked at me. He looked at the package.
Me. The package.
Me....

His cheeks flushed, his jaw worked, his lips struggled to form words.
I heard the distant shattering of a hundred thousand fantasies as they crashed about his youthful head.

Finally, he found his voice.
"Here."

He stuck out his arm and waited for me to take my package.
He turned and trudged back to his truck, morose and looking, well, smaller, somehow.

He's going to be a mess by the time I finish my Christmas shopping...