There hasn't been all that much going on lately. A typical case of blogger's block for someone who is even less interested in writing about my atypically quiet life than you are in reading about it. It's all been very workaday around here and, frankly, kind of nice in that regard.
I'm enjoying the calm mostly because I know it will not last. Brainiac is doing a spot of travel next week, the social calendar is filling up in a very agreeable way with lots of Advent, Christmas and New Years fun and there's nothing like a solid month of baking and crafting to put a smile on my face. And then there's the gingerbread party and the church craft fair, the preschool Barnes & Noble night and, my favorite, the Sunday afternoon carols and lessons at church. Lovely stuff, all, but nothing that could ever be described as restful.
A colleague jokingly accused me of undermining the team by responding, when asked, that "[my] shopping" is nearly complete. On the one hand, of course, being "finished her shopping" smacks of rushing the season and focusing on the materialistic. I take a different view that sees the month of December as properly being shopping-free, focusing instead on the actual liturgical and spiritual aspects of both Advent and Christmas. By planning ahead I am now free to focus entirely on the giving as opposed to the buying. Plus, Christmas falls at the same time every year, it's not like one cannot plan, right?
Truthfully, I'm not all that bothered (well, not much - see below) about the whole Christmas present thing. It's the memorial of a birthday and we give presents on birthdays. Makes perfect sense to me. What I don't get is the whole presents for Advent thing. Advent is about waiting and hope and gathering excitement over the wonders that are unfolding. And, if can stretch the birthday idea further, we don't give presents to a kid every day for a month while she waits for her birthday now, do we?
There's not much waiting and gathering excitement when there's a present every day leading up to Christmas. (Aside: I am not meaning to pick on this particular blogger, not at all. Her project has turned out beautifully. She's also just the first link that turned up when I googled "advent boxes" - I'm actually impressed that she made them, when commercial versions are popping up everywhere.) We use both an Advent wreath and a small tree that is dressed one ornament at a time throughout December leading up to Christmas. Neither these are particularly necessary either, of course, although they do certainly add to that feeling of anticipation. I've seen the Advent calendars that reveal a chocolates behind their numbered drawers and one year was badly tempted by Playmobil's Advent Calendar (which, I suppose could technically be used year after year if one doesn't have the kind of child who would abscond with all the pieces to integrate into the Lego space station set up he's built in his bedroom). Anyway. My point is that Christmas is the present and lots of piddly (or not so piddly - jewelry?) presents leading up to the day kind of dilute that meaning.
Ah, well. Since I'm on a tear with my cranky old self I should probably just get off my chest the conviction that anyone who believes that his partner needs to be thrilled by the holiday presentation of expensive sparklies and/or automobiles or she will not be happy - neither with him nor the relationship - needs to have drilled into his brain that said partner will likely not be happy in the presence of those things, either. I mean, they're nice and all, pretty to have around and I'm all for them, generally-speaking, but their happiness-inducing qualities are small and very temporary. I just feel so terribly bad for the male of the species this time of year - the full court press from jewelry and car sellers is just so relentless. Relentless.
I believe there is a word for the phenomenon where one learns a new word and subsequently hears that word all over the place. Not that people are suddenly using the word to reinforce one's advancing vocabulary, of course. As they say (to wildly mix a metaphor), when the student is ready the teacher appears - so now all those helpful word-saying people are like the teacher.
Interestingly, I've recently become very aware of all the things about which I've just learned but to which the entire world evidently beat me. This is always happening to me - I am the one at the cocktail party who says something like, "Oh! Did you hear that Al Gore has made some kind of film about the weather?" - not unlike your dear but befuddled great-aunt, the one who can't keep up with the Thanksgiving dinner conversation and in the middle of your nephew's explanation of his first grade art-music-gym rotation shouts, "Who went to prison" just having caught up on the bit about your cousin's wife from hours prior.
The latest parties at which my arrival has been delayed:
1) Beverley Nichols' entire body of garden and kitchen memoir. Nichols was an incredibly prolific writer whose witty takes on everything from roses to parliament are worth staying home to read. In my enthusiasm for Garden Open Today I sent an excited e-mail to a friend with a recommendation and an offer to send my own copy only to receive a "duh, Marsha" in return, along with snippets of messages which I'd apparently received well into the past that made not of the book's popularity among gardeners. Seems like everyone has made Mr. Nichols' acqaintance but me.
2) We've started a new thing we call "family movie night" and once or twice a month we all pile onto the futon with a bowl of popcorn (eating in the family room? Mom's done craaaaaazeeeee) and watch a, well, family movie. Making liberal use of Gnovies I've been able to "discover" new movies in the way that only a person who hasn't set foot in a cinema in six-plus years can. Virtually my entire family and most of my circle of friends were astonished to learn that I had not, until recently, ever heard of National Treasure which was a blockbuster of some note quite a while back. It was a really fun film. Total nonsense, of course, but nothing that I (a dedicated devotee of suspending disbelief wherever possible - and even sometimes when it's not) couldn't eagerly embrace.
3) I'd always wondered how the needlepoint bloggers 'round about the web made such cool designs on "blanks" (plain napkins, shirts, pillowcases, or whatever). I made a comment to a friend expressing my total admiration that someone could, say, cross-stitch a three-tone lilac onto a linen handkerchief. How could such a thing be possible, I wondered. How could I have been born so utterly deficient in spacial skills that this is completely beyond me? "Uh, Marsha," said A., eyes a-rolling, "You may want to google iron-on needlepoint transfers." So I did and now I know and am deeply relieved that I have not been denied some kind of handcraft skill bestowed upon the rest of the world. I am also now the proud owner of several iron-on cross-stitch alphabets.
4) Just this week I fell inlove strong like with a slow cooker. A few key changes around the Hot Water Bath homestead meant that dinner times have lately started to become somewhat lacking in leisure and taste. That my sisters have been singing the praises of slow cookers for years did nothing to sway me to adding one to my own kitchen until faced with either making nice with our changing schedules or starting a diet comprised exclusively of stir-fry. I'm a little disappointed with the "pour in a can of cream of whatnot soup" recipes that are out there but my own experiments have been successful enough that my (again, late) enthusiasm earned me yet more eye rolling and "duh, Marsha" from the other moms at preschool drop-off.
For my next trick, I think I'll call my mom and tell her about this great new television show I've discovered. They take a two teams of people and put them at some remote location, where they compete in all kind of immunity challenges and stuff. It's really neat!
Interestingly, I've recently become very aware of all the things about which I've just learned but to which the entire world evidently beat me. This is always happening to me - I am the one at the cocktail party who says something like, "Oh! Did you hear that Al Gore has made some kind of film about the weather?" - not unlike your dear but befuddled great-aunt, the one who can't keep up with the Thanksgiving dinner conversation and in the middle of your nephew's explanation of his first grade art-music-gym rotation shouts, "Who went to prison" just having caught up on the bit about your cousin's wife from hours prior.
The latest parties at which my arrival has been delayed:
1) Beverley Nichols' entire body of garden and kitchen memoir. Nichols was an incredibly prolific writer whose witty takes on everything from roses to parliament are worth staying home to read. In my enthusiasm for Garden Open Today I sent an excited e-mail to a friend with a recommendation and an offer to send my own copy only to receive a "duh, Marsha" in return, along with snippets of messages which I'd apparently received well into the past that made not of the book's popularity among gardeners. Seems like everyone has made Mr. Nichols' acqaintance but me.
2) We've started a new thing we call "family movie night" and once or twice a month we all pile onto the futon with a bowl of popcorn (eating in the family room? Mom's done craaaaaazeeeee) and watch a, well, family movie. Making liberal use of Gnovies I've been able to "discover" new movies in the way that only a person who hasn't set foot in a cinema in six-plus years can. Virtually my entire family and most of my circle of friends were astonished to learn that I had not, until recently, ever heard of National Treasure which was a blockbuster of some note quite a while back. It was a really fun film. Total nonsense, of course, but nothing that I (a dedicated devotee of suspending disbelief wherever possible - and even sometimes when it's not) couldn't eagerly embrace.
3) I'd always wondered how the needlepoint bloggers 'round about the web made such cool designs on "blanks" (plain napkins, shirts, pillowcases, or whatever). I made a comment to a friend expressing my total admiration that someone could, say, cross-stitch a three-tone lilac onto a linen handkerchief. How could such a thing be possible, I wondered. How could I have been born so utterly deficient in spacial skills that this is completely beyond me? "Uh, Marsha," said A., eyes a-rolling, "You may want to google iron-on needlepoint transfers." So I did and now I know and am deeply relieved that I have not been denied some kind of handcraft skill bestowed upon the rest of the world. I am also now the proud owner of several iron-on cross-stitch alphabets.
4) Just this week I fell in
For my next trick, I think I'll call my mom and tell her about this great new television show I've discovered. They take a two teams of people and put them at some remote location, where they compete in all kind of immunity challenges and stuff. It's really neat!
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