working through it

You may be aware that I am afraid of birds.  Well, "afraid" may be a tad over the top.  Let's just say that I acutely aware of their presence and hyper aware of gatherings that exceed two.  The film, Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" may or may not have any bearing on my . . . condition.

I saw the film for the first time when I was a child; probably around 7 or 8 years old.  I didn't know it then but the film was several years old by the time I saw it.  I'm sure it was featured on some mystery or horror TV programming my older brother was always dialed into. 

Oddly, I don't recall being scared out of my wits when I saw it.  I mean sure, it was creepy and more than a tad unnerving but not scary in a, 'too scared to come out from under the covers' or 'too scared to go outside' kind of way. I remember watching the film often throughout my childhood and young adulthood.  I even introduced my children to the film sometime during their childhoods. 

By that time it was kind of campy. 

But somewhere along the way I discovered that I do not like being in the company of birds....plural.  A single* cardinal, wren,  robin (or even a pigeon--though rarely are they tapping around solo)  doesn't bother me.  But if I see more than one sitting on a branch or a wire, I give pause and give them as wide a berth as possible.

As an aside, I cannot for the life of me I can't imagine why folks would want to own a bird!

I say all this to say that my daughter gifted me the DVD (along with a player and a larger screen TV to replace my dinky little set) for Mother's Day and while back.  The DVD was presented as kind of an inside joke as she has often been at my side when I have pointed out a flock, colony, fleet, parcel, or group of birds and the little shriek that went with the pointing. 

My uneasiness tickles her so she took the opportunity to needle me a bit. 

Gotta love her.

And no, I haven't (still / yet) watched the DVD.  I'm not afraid, I am just . . . busy.  Yes, busy. 

*all bets are off crows (or any of the large breed birds) 

Games. People.

 

A part of me feels the need to write about my father but a much larger part is sick and tired of the entire rather road weary affair.  It must be addressed and it will be, just not here or now. I will say that the let's get his family together experiment is, in the words of SJP's Carrie Bradshaw, "so over we need a new word for over."

Let us then move on to a new game, Holiday (psst, Christmas) gifting One Oh None.  

 The Granny Sling Shot.  None. For one, I loved my granny. Well, both of them actually, though I didn't know the paternal one very long or very well (she died when I was young a due to fractured family ties we didn't visit often.) But she seemed nice enough. She made great pancakes. Or at least she did that one time I remember staying over. While the pictured granny doesn't put me in the mind of either of my grandmothers as neither was Caucasian, I would still feel quite uncomfortable flinging a granny off the edge of my fingers, sending her soaring through the air only to crash . . . somewhere. Ouch. No.

Now, a book. . . One! Books are almost always a good idea. You know, as much as I read, as much as I love reading, my loved ones rarely gift me with books. Weird, that. Anyways . . I have already turned fifty, in fact am a year over that mark and well on the way to fifty-two. Still, I presume much of the advice and insights from the fifty notables is applicable to fiftysomethings as well as to the 50 year old.  For example, something like, "wear comfortable clothes" means as much to me at 51 as it would have at 50. Heck, I've been following that sage advice since my thirties, at least.    

A thoughtful gift-giver musing over the 50 Things might wander over to what I'm considering the companion piece, "60 Things To Do . . . " Gifting this tome to a 50something provides said fiftysomething a bit of a head-start in absorbing the words of wisdom from the sixty experts featured. A head-start is an extremely thoughtful pose. For a fiftysomething might need the rest of her fifties, for instance, to prepare for such sixties advice like, "take your clothes off."

Okay, maybe not.

Still, I bet there is a treasure trove of useful, relevant, and uplifting thoughts within the 678 pages (combined) offered up by the one hundred and ten (again, combined) experts who have "been there."

Okay, forget the books. How about just a treasure?

Or, given how I feel today, one whiskey, neat.  

PaJamas

I am tired. But it is much too early* to turn in. Going to bed now means that I'll be awake at the very wrong side of dawn, unable to get back to sleep until it is too close to time to get up, which will make me very cranky. I'm having lunch date with mom on Thursday (I get released from work at 12:30 woo hoo) who is "anxious to talk with me" about something. What? I don't know, I'll find out. If I had to guess, I'd say another diagnosis and / or new med 'scrip and she'll be wondering if I think it is a good idea to . . .

Anyhoo, point being, 'tis best to avoid crankiness, especially when lunch with mom is on the docket. Moving on . . .

Pajamas. I like them well enough, the concept of them anyway. But, I wouldn't categorize myself as a pajama kinda girl. I mean I am usually attired in something, that something having been designed and produced for use beyond the purpose of sleeping. That is to say, I usually sleep in a tee shirt and lounge pants or boxers if it is very warm. If I buy a pajama type product it is almost always just the bottoms and almost always from the men's department.

Four, maybe five times over the past 3 years I've been gifted with pajamas. Tops and bottoms, women's, 3 of the pairs flannel (long sleeves, long pants) and all printed with . . . something. three of the four (or five) were most memorable for their . . .design. One was dotted with horses. And cowboys. The field was mostly blue and the horses & 'boys, brown. I donated them to Goodwill (or someplace like that). Another was dotted with skillets and fried eggs. The eggs were not in the skillets, each element was floating about a sea of yellow flannel. After a hearty laugh, I donated them to Goodwill (or someplace like that). The most recent were dotted with . . . well, look
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not judging if something like this is exactly your style. If this is for you, then fantastic. But, this outfit is definitely not for me. At all. Not only is it printed all over with . . .well, you see, but the pants are too short, and well, for me, just butt ugly. Not quite as ugly as the cowboys and horses or the fried eggs and skillets (and yes, I'm regretting not having taken photos of those) but ugly none-the-less. To me, for me. Just not me.

As you may have guessed the same person is gifting me with these treasures. Her intentions are swell and I appreciate that, but . . . major fail otherwise. This time I asked, "why do you keep getting me pajamas? (I'd mentioned the previous times that I'm not really into pajamas and further, all-over patterned wear . . . ick. However, plaid is barely ok). Her response, "well, I figured they'd be warm."

Well yeah, except I have not complained about being cold when I'm inside and I don't sleep outside. And if I did, not even these very action-packed, flannel things will offer much comfort. Unless of course, they were but one of many layers. This time I said, "I appreciate the pajamas, but they are not really my style and I really prefer other sleepwear. Please . . . "

We shared a laugh over her having forgotten the previous conversations along with me offering, yet again, a definition and description of lounge pants and yes, I know that sometimes they are called sleep (or even pajama) pants, but in my view the pants I prefer can, in a pinch, be worn outside. I would not, even on a dare, wear pajamas (especially those butt ugly ones) outside, not even to empty the garbage.

It would be nice if my request was heeded. But, in all likelihood, it won't

Thankfully, there is Goodwill (and places like that) who will gladly accept these treasures.

*when I started it was barely 9 pm. I have in the meantime, had a martini, two conversations with son and one with mom (to solidify the lunch plans, still no clue about what is on the "agenda") it is now 11 and after a shower, sleeeeeeep.