The Mom Survey

By way of Trop, and Hahn, and also Maria. With no further ado, my daughter's responses:

1. What is something mom always says to you?

Danielle, move your shoes!

2. What makes mom happy?

Reading a good book, and when she can, hang out with her children.

3. What makes mom sad?

When I disappoint her...well, when anyone she cares about disappoints her.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?

Tells funny stories.

5. What was your mom like as a child?

She was super quiet!

6. How old is your mom?

Soon to be...49

7. How tall is your mom?

5 feet 7 inches (ish)

8. What is her favorite thing to do?

Play Scrabble

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?

Wouldn't know, I'm not around.

10. If your mom became famous, what would she be famous for?

Best selling author!

11. What is your mom really good at?

Drawing, sketching, sewing, I mean double-dutch, she's good at a lot of thing.

12. What is your mom not very good at?

Sometimes is isn't the best chef.

13. What does your mom do for her job?

She does the accounting and is a manager @ a music company.

14. What is your mom's favorite food?

Not quite sure, she's on a diet. I don't know if she really likes that stuff.*

15. What makes you proud of your mom?

All of the things she has overcome in her life & her great optimism about life.

16. If mom were a cartoon character, which would she be?

mmmm...50% Marge Simpson & 50 % Rosie (from The Jetsons)

17. What do your and your mom do together?

We have traveled together. We try new foods, go to festivals and of course, we drink together.

18. How are you and your mom the same?

We look alike (well that's what other people say), we are sarcastic, which I learned from her.

19. How are you and your mom different?

I like men 99% and women 1% and she likes only women!!! hahahaha

20. How do you know your mom loves you?

She does a lot for me and my pets. If she didn't love me, she wouldn't help me and teach me. Plus, she tells me.

21. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?

I don't know, uhm...library?!?

*I don't eat diet food, per se. I've added a wider range of fruits, vegetables, spices, and preparation methods. Many Some of these have not met with Dani's approval, so she presumes that I don't like them either. It's an adjustment, but I'm enjoying the adventure and the results!

Oh What a Morning

This morning was one of those mornings. The kind of morning that has a body awaking at 5 and deciding to take said body out for a spin on the bicycle. Three miles later, invigorated body is poised to take on the rest of the day. Then sun comes up and oh. my. gosh, what a beautiful morning it is shaping up to be.

The kind of morning that inspired, "forget your troubles, come on...get happy" I'm sure.

In honor of the bright, bright, sun-shining day, bright outlook,and the joy at having the energy (& agreeable weather) to ride this morning I offer this game I lifted from MLC. Like her, I'm not tagging. Y'all know the drill.

Five names you go by:
1. Mom
2. Deborah
3. Miss Debbie
4. Debbie
5a. ‘cuz
5b. Aunt Deborah

Three things you are wearing right now:
1. eyeglasses
2. slacks
3. shoes

Three things you want very badly at the moment:
1. Her back in my life in that way.
2. A new kitchen –a fridge and dishwasher w/do for now.
3. whatchamacallit bar.

Two people who will probably fill this out:
Beats the heck outta me, feel free.

Two things you did last night:
1. hugged two cats and an ailing pup.
2. took a picture of my daughter’s dildo necklace

Two things you ate today:
1. bacon
2. brown sugar /raisin bread toast

Two people you last talked to on the phone:
1. son
2. mom

Two things you are doing tomorrow:
1. riding bicycle
2. notifying customers of old credit balances, hoping they claim them by placing orders.

Two longest car rides:
1. Chicago to Oh. Mah. Gosh Greenwood, Mississippi
2. Chicago to Flint, Michigan

Two of your favorite beverages:
1. Milk
2. Citrus (or lime) vodka, lemon seltzer water & jalapeno stuffed olive, or two.

Oh yes I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I've been prayin' for
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)Sun-Shiny day*

Not quite, not totally, but at the moment, the sun is shining and that is good.

*I Can See Clearly Now

Avoidance

I took a couple of days off for a mini-vacation weekend. Some weeks ago when I thought about taking this time off it was with the intent of going...

to celebrate.


Instead, I found myself doing what I could to avoid remembering. Worked pretty well until early this morning when the memories smacked me hard. Historically, when I've been there, Sunday was the laziest of the lazy days. As the time for me to leave was drawing near, we chose this day to lounge, usually in bed. One of us rose to make the special Bailey's laced coffee and we would sit and sip. Eventually, rising later into the morning to prepare and eat breakfast. Often retiring back to the bedroom for more lying about, watching movies, laughing, and talking.

Even with the specter of my departure hanging over us, I loved Sunday.

In fact, throughout our time together, Sundays had been our best of the days.

However, the mid-March mini-vacation 2009 was full of a pantry clean sweep, a few long, leisurely walks, a bicycle upgrade and then a couple of spins on the newly upgraded bicycle, shopping for ingredients and then trying a new recipe, roasting, broiling and boiling a week's worth of food (maybe?), that is to say, maybe a week's worth what with the bf factor and all, taking myself to see a movie, getting stuck in a throng of folks waiting to see the river get greened, getting stuck in a throng of post-parade people, getting excited enough to run with the helicopter and squirrel chasing diva dog, with a little bits of reading, writing, and drawing peppered in-between.

There is another mini-vacation planned for later in the month. That time there will even be a Wednesday in the mix. I haven't sketched out all the goings on yet, but I'm sure I'll be banking on more of the same with a bit of yard work tossed in to help see me through.

We Know of Each Other

She is not that kind of friend. She is more of an acquaintance. She was a co-worker many years ago. Briefly, I was her boss. We had a cordial relationship, but nothing I would categorize as “friends”. Yet, when the employment circumstances forced us to part ways, we traded email addresses and said we’d keep up, the way folks who worked together companionably do.

Like many of the others (the company that employed us went through a monumental change and 90% of the staff was laid off) who danced this ritual, the expectation was that after a few emails, perhaps a holiday greeting or two, new lives would emerge and communication wane.

Not Joan. A decade later and Joan still emails. To say that Joan and I have nothing in common would be the understatement of the millennium. Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. We do in fact, both wear glasses and we’re both women. Soon, we’ll both be in our fifties, though I think by the time I’m in my fifties she’ll be in her sixties. Or at least, knock, knock, knocking on that door.

Our dance, Joan’s and mine usually begins, “Hi Debbie: I haven’t heard from you in a long while.. " And that would be because we’re not friends and certainly not confidantes. And yeah, she has always called me Debbie despite my gentle prodding when we worked together, Deborah. She continues, “write you this little note to find out if you are okay and what is going on with you.”

A little background, I get one of these haven’theardfromyouinalongtime emails every 5 or 6 weeks. I reply with a short, friendly or rather cordial update of the current surface factoids of my life. In my reply I inquire in-kind and get zilch in return, until another 5 or 6 weeks. That is unless she’s in the middle of a crisis with her “man friend” or in possession of gossip concerning another former co-worker that she's itching to spill.

She finishes, “I am okay. Please write soon and let me know what is going. God bless you, Joan”.

As previously noted, my replies are short and to a particular point. Given that we have very little in common, there is little in the way of quid pro quo and I'm rankled by the write soon directives, I should probably refrain from replying at all.

But I do, mainly because she has the number (and extension) to the job. She will call if I don't reply. I know, she's done it. Trust me when I say, addressing Joan's sporadic emails is a more palatable exercise than conversing with Joan on the telephone.

Be that as it may, I am of the mind to re-assess my approach to one Miss Joan.

Guess What?

It has been a year. A YEAR! Can you believe it? Last year daughter was all atwitter about dressing Pete, the cat. As you may have guessed Pete has been able to resist any and all of D's efforts to dress him, as has his nephew, Buttah. The boys, as has been mentioned before get along famously and use their awake times very constructively. I was told yesterday that D came home to find many of their various toys strewn about the dining room. In fact, since the new diets (we have all taken steps to reduced our respective girths) there has been a marked increase in destructive active behavior. Then again, it may not be connected to the diets at all. It could be two-year old Buttah and now three-year old Pete just getting even more comfortable with each other and their surroundings. We are certainly getting more and more comfortable with each of them.

Cheers & Catnip to Mr. Pete, The Cat. THREE today. YaY !

It Rained All Weekend Randomness

I wasn't surprised by the "L" ending. Nor was I particularly disappointed, since I saw it coming long ago. I was disappointed before, however I'd gotten over it by tonight.

The rain was totally insane Saturday and today. Totally.

Diamond does not like walking won't walk in the rain, so taking her to do her business was a bit of a trial. We got in three good walks between downfalls.

My blood-pressure registered within the normal range for the first time in three years today.

I feel like I took 525,600 steps over the previous 7 days. My pedometer battery died, so who knows, I may have. Perhaps.

I felt myself shrinking with each step. Or was that somethin...oh, nevermind.

Friday evening I participated in an event. I met some women. Lesbians. Woo Hoo.

It was fun and I'll be looking for more of the same. Has anyone seen "Water Lilies"?

I've been trying to hook up with some local walkers but so far no luck. Maybe that luck will change with the time.

I have two vacation days scheduled for this week. Loooong weekend coming. Woo Hoo

My mom hasn't liked any of the supportive living situations. The search continues. She'll be signing a new lease for the current apartment, so no move for at least a year.

People I don't know are following me on Twitter. I wonder if they think I'm somebody else?

I don't Tweet (is that the term?) very much. I wonder what they saw that prompted them to follow?

Speaking of following on Twitter, how is that different from stalking?

Who do you think killed Jenny? Do you even care?

We're 8 (very nearly 9) days into March. Mad Yet?

And just so this doesn't end with a question....I'll get on the scale in the morning. I'll know then if all those steps had any impact beyond what I felt in my thighs, knees and lower back.

Commuting With A Zit Picker

The morning commute is more times than not a routine hustle and bustle of folks making their way to work, school, court, or wherever. Once on the train (or bus) you are more times than not surrounded by the usual suspects. You have folks talking on the phone, reading (a newspaper, magazine, work or school report, summons or whatever), there are folks playing with various devices, the sit and stare crowd, or the slump and sleep group.

Now and again you are graced with the zit picker.

This morning’s zit picker proved herself on a mission. It was clear from her ministrations that it was not only her zit that nagged her psyche. She went from picking at the zit to scratching her head then back to the zit. She rubbed her cheek (zit was on chin) then back to the zit. Her hand went to her nose and I thought, “oh noooo, not a nose picker too!” but no, she just rubbed, scratched her nose, then back to the zit.

This morning’s zit picker even went under her coat and down into her shirt to scratch her breast or tug her nipple, not sure which, then back to picking the zit. A mission.

Once permanently distracted from my own reading material and the music streaming into my ears, I began to work up a horror tale of the zit being picked to the point of popping. The popping prompted the spewing of zit juice. The zit juice spewed on and on, until the car started filling. People startled awake and alert. There was screaming. There was general panic and total mayhem. We all nearly drowned.

Then it was time for me to get off the train.

May I?

Preface: Any resemblance to persons, places or events is purely coincidental.

The wind whips about my head at gale forces. I wait for a bus at an un-sheltered stop, no edificial barrier against the un-tamed winds trying desperately to stand firm against the beast. The wind begins to bite.

Lacking any defense, I seek refuge inside my mind.

Not surprisingly I find her there. More specifically, I find her spot there. That soft, supple, delectable place just behind her left ear weaves a memory, conjures the taste of vanilla in the recesses of my mind.

The taste so potent, the hunger so present I’m prompted to growl back at the howling wind.

I recall lying in the folds of the comforter, enveloped by her embrace. My lips nestled upon her skin, resting in my favorite place. Our bodies not yet completely silent from the last hurrah were beginning to settle when deliberately, I allow my tongue to find her spot once again. She whispers a mild protest, I return an urgent plea….may I?

Surprised? Yes, Maybe A Little Take -3-

Heavy rain, fog, and snow in forecast
from chicagotribune.com

Moving on . . .

In keeping with the quest, I’ve been working to keep my caloric intake low. I’ve also been working to keep my body moving. That generally proves to be my biggest, what with weather related, knee & foot pain related, emotional issues and time crunches. But, I forge ahead.

Thanks to my mom, I experienced a burst of motivation. But, unfortunately that burst was short-lived due to the mother of all mothers, nature and her biiitchy sister, Flo.

What Flo does to me, beyond the water weighty bloat is drive me to food and drink. Not so much chocolate and other sweets (of course if I see ‘em, I’m eatin ‘em) but more the fatty, salty, greasy variety of food. Big, fat, juicy, burgers and mounds and mounds of hot, crispy, salty fries call my name, every day. "Deborah, come…eat us". Cold beer and colder martinis complete the crave craze. I resist the pleas, mostly.

So, it may not surprise anyone that I gained weight over the last week. I’m still at a net loss, but not where I’d hoped to be by this point in the quest.

Hi-ever, I am zooming into the next four weeks, rocket jet fuel propelling to the half-way point with a bigger bang. I have even thought of taking a class. I have done classes with our local park district, but . . . a room full of mirrors, other women (sometimes men), and a teacher exhorting me to “get lower” usually invigorates the klutz factor and well, it isn’t pretty, or safe. Anyhooooo, I saw an article on Zumba, which is apparently big now. And since I’m generally better at dancing (& dancing was part of the original plan) than the more traditional jumping and lunging, I figured win-win.

I looked for a Zumba class that was both schedule & budget friendly. Failing to find one that fit both bills, I’ve decided to do my own brand of Zumba. Home-grown Zumba, if you will with a little northern shimmy thrown in for additional seasoning. Or get a DVD.

Given my tendency toward klutz, it could prove . . . interesting. But at least I’ll be in my own bedroom (executive decsion, xx-ing out living room dancing) and can stumble onto the semi-firm mattress. Unless, I stumble in the other direct . .

Ok, ok think positive, no stumbling. On with progress and down with weight!

Surprised? Yes, Maybe A Little -Take 2-

I’m a Lesbian. I’m a lesbian. I’m a lesbian. I’m a lesbian. I AM A L E S B I A N.

Surprised? No, of course you’re not. I came out…here on my blog, after coming out to my son and daughter. Those who know me from the blog and the few who have met me in person have only known me as such. (Oh, there were a few months where my status was…not specified, but it was such a short time, it is nearly forgotten).


I came out here. I “dated” on-line and told you some of those tales. I met and dated seriously for nearly two years my lady love and told you some of those tales. I AM A LESBIAN.

That IS my identity here.


That IS my identity in my home I’m a lesbian.

But, beyond that, my status is . . . not specified.

I’ve been feeling the need to put a face on my lesbian status, to give that status a live, in real-time, voice. I’ve been feeling the need to let those who know me as otherwise, know my truth and nothing but the truth.


I am emboldened by my reading, blogging, support of those who’ve commented (& subsequent emails) not to mention, the fantastic support of the lovely ladies I’ve met face-to-face. And certainly knowing and loving Neta has provided yet another level to that courage. But, having had zero connection to any facet of “the family” here in my own backyard, so to speak, on that level I feel . . . alone.

(Note to QM: IF mom had asked, I would have answered, truthfully, honestly).


You’re probably saying, “But Deborah, you are so strong, so confident, so lesbian”, how could this be?

I FEEL strong, confident and certainly lesbian, especially here, on-line. I also FEEL strong, confident and certainly lesbian when I’m in like company. But, as I said, I have had zero connection to any facet of “the family” here in my corner of the world.


In a sense, I am alone. And, I’m basically shy.

However, to remedy that alone feeling I’ve scurried up the gumption to attend a Women Like Me meeting at our local GLBT Association, this past weekend.

There, I met 13 women, like me who are married, separated, divorced and/or coming OUT later in life. Thirteen women who are all working to give real-time voice to their truth and to live that truth, openly, honestly and in every corner of their lives.


One of the 13 women I met at the meeting is a woman I’d met before under other circumstances. She is in her fifties and has just come out to her husband and children. She and I met through D, who is not aware of this woman’s truth. She asked me not to reveal as she’s not quite ready.

I understood. I agreed. I am no longer alone.


And soon enough I’ll be living openly, honestly in every corner of my world.

Surprised? Yes, Maybe A Little -Take 1-

For a little while now, I’ve wanted to check out the Windy City Rollers, the local roller derby teams. One thing or another has kept me from the matches these past couple of years. I have to admit that I wasn't all that comfortable about the neighborhood where the matches were being held, so the excuses were easy find. However, the venue was changed for the 2009 season. The matches are being played in a public transportation / ‘we’re all about diversity’ friendly neighborhood.


So, I planned to attend Friday’s match. I invited my daughter along as usual. She was not as nearly as excited about the prospect, but she agreed. We went to Friday's bout.

Though it was not quite the roller derby I remember from my youth, nor did I fall in love with a roller derby queen, we still had a blast. She got hit on by a guy who was, as my mother would say, “drunk as a skunk”. He was enthralled by her funky N*ikes. He seemed to be by himself and like us, virgins to the “talk derby to me” crowd.

I was very pleasantly surprised and pleased to find a wide cross-section of very knowledgeable and vocal fans enjoying the bouts. M called the next day and during our conversation he revealed that he has a friend who skates. He couldn’t remember her “skate” or team name. I’ll have to show him the roster to see if that jogs his memory.

The house was nearly packed and the atmosphere was charged. We had a blast. I don’t know about D, but I certainly will be going to more of the matches.

Talk derby to me.

A Year Ago

I remember like it were yesterday, of course I have a blog post to jump start that memory. For the record, my prediction was wrong. Diamond did not shred Hills to smithereens. She generally ignores her unless someone presses the issue. Diamond is particularly particular about her toys, or rather toy. There is only one, a squeaky soccer ball, that garners any real attention. So much so, it rarely squeaks anymore. But, back to the point, a year ago . . .


My daughter was excited to cast her vote on Super Tuesday and even more so in November. Today, her president proposes, negotiates, parents with the weight of the world on his shoulders.


We didn't have Buttah (who has just celebrated his 2nd birthday) the cat. I was not thrilled with my daughter's act of defiance bringing Buttah into our small space in last summer. But I couldn't be more thrilled to have him here today. He's brought many hours of joy and huggy goodness. He, like the rest of us is watching his waistline (well, he isn't but he are) and is a tad cranky about the new feeding plan, but all is forgiven quickly enough.


The biggest change today over a year ago is I don't have a girlfriend. I am no longer in the throes of romance, the joys of anticipation, or the glow of . . . love. Oh, I'm still in love and I love her still, but as the nature of our relationship has changed, so too has our interaction. I miss her.


I am tired, yet energetic. I am driven to complete work-related tasks, yet feel scatterbrained and lost. I am positive and upbeat, yet weepy and low. I am, in the words of my lovely daughter, "a hot mess", or feel like it anyway.


My daughter, her ribbing aside (actually, part of her charm) has been a tower of strength. It could not have been easy for her to see me crumble. She hasn't seen it often and I think, not ever since she's been an adult. She's been great. She suggested we go speed-dating, "you know, just for fun...and material." (Daughter is an occasional contributor to a friend's cable access talk/variety show).


I'm working to maintain as I have goals to achieve and a life to live. I'm still tinkering with the details on just how that progresses from this point forward. But thanks to daughter, the kindness of a few friends, laughter, and even tears, forward, the star of this story, is within reach.

Took Stock

So, I get this letter from the investment firm holding my shrunken retirement funds. The letter informs that my advisor has left the firm and joined another. The letter goes on to relate how the urge to flee the firm to follow a preferred advisor is understandable, but may not be the best course of action.

Stop. Think. They warn.

I did, for all of 30 maybe 45 seconds. I am cuttin’ and runnin’ but not after my advisor (especially since there was no head’s up re: the departure) I’m cuttin’ and runnin’ primarily because the letter announcing my advisor’s departure and re-up with another firm identified her as a him.

My confidence in the firm shot to hell in a hand-basket with that gaffe. Two days later I received another letter announcing the assignment of the new advisor. His introduction did little to change my mind.

Buh- Bye.

It’s actually decent timing as I’ve been re-evaluating much these past few weeks, so thanks.

A Week Ago, Yesterday

My maternity leave started at the end of January. The hope was to have a month to prepare for the delivery expected at the end of February. About 5:00 a.m. the morning of the 8th, it was clear I wouldn’t get that month.

The pains started around 3 a.m. My husband was getting ready for work, trying not to wake me, not knowing that I was already awake. The pains high and wide, radiating over and around the top portion of my body, were not acute enough to mention, but insistent enough to keep me awake and uncomfortable. I let him leave without a word about what I was experiencing.

I initially thought I was experiencing was a severe attack of gas.

A couple of hours of tossing, turning, trips to the bathroom, marked with more frequent and acutely painful episodes, I began to prepare for my trip to the hospital, for it was clear, this was not gas. My only hope now, was that the pains would subside enough to delay the ambulance call. I didn’t want to ride to the hospital in the dark. I don’t know why this was important to me, but it was.

Though this was my first labor and I was alone, I didn’t feel anxious or afraid. I felt determined to wait for daybreak. I like to believe my relative calm kept the pains at bay. More likely, I was just lucky.

I made the call at first light. The ambulance arrived about 10 minutes later. The ride to the hospital took 6 or 7 minutes. I’d called my mother and husband during the 10 minute wait, instructing them to join me at the hospital.

My mother appeared while I was still in the labor room, staying behind while they wheeled me to the delivery room some time later.

Once in the delivery room, the doctor and nurses seemed to ignore me, scattering about the room attending to various things. After a few moments I started screaming, “The baby’s coming, it’s coming, NOW!!” several times over. As one, they arrived at my side in time to catch the baby just as it plopped out of me.

In my mind’s eye it was a very close call, but in actuality, not.

The birth of a male child for 10:04 A.M.

Twenty-seven years, one week ago, yesterday.

pictured: the birthday man and his little sister following a celebratory brunch

Chillin Cat

Me and Buttah are completely simpatico these days. He is quite often doing exactly what I'm feeling.

My most favorite of his moves is when he's sauntering about and then suddenly he's splayed over the floor as if every bone in his body decided to melt, dropping him on the spot.

Thankfully I'm not walking behind him at these times as this melting and melding to the floor comes without any warning.

The Quaint Scent

Before I start, thank you all for the kind words.

An upstairs neighbor has a teen daughter. As memory serves, where there is a teen girl, you'll likely find a teen boy.

Teen daughter is not allowed to entertain her teen boy friend in the upstairs neighbor's apartment when mom is away, or at all for all I know.

Thus, the entertaining has been taking place in the vestibule, daily when school is in session, timed to assure full entertainment before mom arrives home. Well, as full as a public vestibule will allow.

They are often still entertaining when I arrive home.

I had forgotten the oh so ripe scent of teen boy. A teen boy right after school, practice, flirting, cuddling with teen girl in vestibule.

Getthemailquick. Getthemailquick. Getthemailquick.

Oh, boy.

A Different Chill In My Bones

The brand new parka offers no defense. The many layers of clothing are not helping much either. The sneaking suspicion is not even the higher temps forecast for the coming weekend are going do little to warm me. I can’t shake the chill.

Movement, maybe keeping busy will help.

The chill started a couple days ago. Beginning with, “Sweetie, sorry . . .”

It continued, “I care deeply about you and always will, but . . .”

Everything after but, became a blur including, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Chill settled in around my shoulders and hasn't released me.

I’ve read and re-read the missive and those that followed. I’ve talked with Neta and it’s clear she doesn’t want or rather, can’t be in an intimate, romantic relationship any longer. I have no choice but to accept her decision.

We have talked and will talk more. We will try to forge ahead with a friendship. We may become much better friends than we were lovers, or rather the lovers we were growing to become.
In our time together, given that we were 500 miles apart, there were many things that we hadn’t done as a couple. We’d had the opportunity to celebrate only a few “firsts” in our nearly two years.

There were many more “firsts” penciled on my list. Saying, “Neta was my girlfriend” wasn’t one of them. Thinking of and referring to Neta as my former girlfriend will be, surreal.

Maybe more hot tea will help this chill, though I rather doubt that it will.

Four Hundred and Sixty (C)

You remember four hundred and sixty, now A. Then there was four hundred and sixty (B).

Today I'm having . . . feelings. Get hooked on a feeling.

Four Hundred and Sixty (B)

Remember some days ago, the post titled 460? Turns out, post 460 was not really post 460. There were two drafts and drafts count in the total, so, this is post 460B (460 being re-named 460A) and then we’ll have post 460C, thus will end the 460 cycle.

I saw this here, at Sassy's, her place and surprisingly, here. I’m sure it’s been elsewhere too, as these things tend to get around. I’m participating because I needed to round out the 460s and killing time between the SuPeR commercials. So, I give you, Getting to Know More of MeMe:

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? I thought my daughter was right about my eyebrows.
2. How much cash do you have on you? Oh, I don’t know, probably about 5 singles and maybe 8 quarters.
3. What’s a word that rhymes with Door? Floor. Cracked, ack!
4. Favorite planet? I never gave it a thought, hmmm…Jupiter, I guess.
5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone? Probably my daughter’s boyfriend, but I’m sure she was using his phone.
6. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone? Whatever it is the daughter downloaded, having deemed whatever stock tone I was using, dorky.
7. What shirt are you wearing? Well, these days it’s shirts. A black tank and a black tee emblazoned with: Pessimism Never Works
8. Do you label yourself? 100 % human made material
9. Name the brand of shoes you’re currently wearing? Lands End clogs.
10. Bright or dark room? Bright. Even at night, even for sleeping, I prefer some light over pitch darkness.
11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you? I saw it in 4 places and I think all 4 women are smart and bold, each in their own unique and quite entertaining ways.
12. What does your watch look like? Though I don’t wear it much anymore, it’s black with a fabric band and digital face that scrolls. People have said, “cool watch” but it has begun to irritate, so I don’t wear it much. There are clocks everywhere.
13. What were you doing at midnight last night? Odd, but sleeping. Odd because until about 3 weeks ago, sleeping did not come very easily for me. But recently? Better. Good, that.
14. What did your last text message received on your cell say? “Mom, um ddog is 20 lbs!!!She went up not down!
15. Where is your nearest 7-11? Sheeeesh, we’re stinky with them here. Near home base, the nearest is about 4 blocks west. Near work, there about 4 within a mile radius, that I’ve come across, so far.
16. What is a word that you say a lot? Hello
17. Who told you he/she loved you last? Neta
18. Last furry thing you touched? Diamond. Or Buttah. They vie equally for attention.
19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days? A multi-vitamin and a very small dose water pill for hypertension comprise my daily intake. Now and again a headache will get bad enough to move me to a pain reliever. That’s it. Ever.
20. How many rolls of file do you need developed? Need? No rolls, but I do intend to print a shot or two from a memory card to send to N.
21. Favorite age you have been so far? I like right now, though I think it will only get better. Especially when a certain aunt stops visiting.
22. Your worst enemy? Distance
23. What is your current desktop picture? a pic of son and daughter.
24. What was the last thing you said to someone? Karma’s a biiiitch!
25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be? Is this a trick question? Show Me The Money!!!
26. Do you like someone? As a matter of fact, yes.
27. What is the last song you listened to? “Make Yours A Happy Home”
28. What time of day were you born? 11:50 A.M. It was a Saturday.
29. Favorite number? Well, I don’t really have one, but if I were, it would probably be 3 as the number 3 has been part of my address (home & work) and phone numbers for the past 25, 26 years or so. Despite having moved (home & work (once) several times in that time period.
30. Where did you live in 1987? Illinois, in a suburb of Chicago on a street by the same name.
31. Are you jealous of anyone? Well, no one in particular. I do tend envy those folks who don’t battle weighty issues.
32. Is anyone jealous of you? I doubt it.
33. Where were you when 9/11 happened? Home and then work.
34. What do you do when vending machines steal your money? Depends. If food product or beverage, I chalk it up to fate and thank it for doing me a favor, for clearly I didn’t need whatever I was trying to purchase. If a washer/dryer at the laundry, I go to the attendant to ask for a refund. If there isn’t an attendant I say, “shit” and stomp off to find some quarters, somewhere.
35. Do you consider yourself kind? Sure, I’d like to think so anyway. I'm sure there are times when I don't react kindly.
36. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be? Had to?Why would I have to get a tattoo? If I had to, it would be on my right shoulder. But, ain’t happenin’ cap'n.
37. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be? Oooooh may I have two? Spanish and Italian. 10 years ago the answer would have been Spanish and French. 10 years from now, maybe Spanish and Greek. In either case, I should get Spanish. Done.
38. Would you move for the person you loved? In a heart…well, truthfully, perhaps, likely. Yes?
39. Are you touchy feely? So-So, depends on the person, circumstances etc. I think I am selectively touchy and electively feely.
40. What is your life motto? These dishes will not wash them…oh, motto, not mantra. Uhm, Do unto others, yadda x 3
41. Name three things you have on you at all times? Kidney, liver, pancreas.
42. What is your favorite town/city? Well, I’d say Chicago as it is the city of my birth and where I’ve spent most of my life (as a resident or employee), but I don’t think I’ve visited enough places to name Chicago as a favorite, it is just the most familiar and growing more and more in my estimation every day.
43. What was the last thing you paid for with cash? Fed quarters into washers and a dryer.
44. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it? Last week. I write (and mail) two to three letters a month.
45. Can you change the oil on a car? Probably. I haven’t, but I probably could.
46. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her? Monster cramps and needed to get off the phone, before she got ‘bitchy’.
47. How far back do you know about your ancestry? On my mother’s side, as far back as my great-grandmother. I don’t know much at all about my maternal grandfather’s family. I have a booklet outlining my father’s family, but I haven’t read it, yet.
48. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy? Hmmmmm, I think it was an award ceremony, M was nominated for an award. I wore dressy black slacks, white shirt and a speckled black/white (nearly grey) blazer and black boots. I even put gloss on my lips. Faaaancy.
49. Does anything hurt on your body right now? Now that you ask, no. How cool is that?
50. Have you been burned by love? You know, I thought I had been, but it turns out it was just gas.

Good Thursday Morning

It was a balmy 21 degrees this early morning. That may not sound too attractive to some of you but when it's been in single digits or worse, anything below zero, 21 feels balmy. 21 is balmy. It was colder yesterday morning and will likely be colder tomorrow morning, but on this morning it is 21 balmy degrees.

There is snow and ice everywhere, still. Though balmy, 21 degrees will not alter scenery. Not even the 32 we surged to last weekend made much difference to the landscape. There was however, enough warmth to warrant caution especially around buildings. Falling ice. The forecast calls for a similar warm-up this weekend. Caution Falling Ice signs will again appear.

Though in the midst of colder than average temperatures, seemingly never-ending snow and ice covered streets, I am good. Heck, compared to what some folks woke up to this morning, I am more than good.

I've only fallen down twice (yes, again since the stairs event) this season (so far). Once again, the daughter was there to witness my lack of grace. Still, I am good. Heck, more than.

The warmest parka from last season has been replaced. The zipper that failed, was replaced, failed again and yet again replaced (or repaired) held up for a time, but then began to fail. On one of the colder days, it failed multiple times causing many moments of mid-section freeze. So I got a new parka. I like this parka much, much better. One, it's warmer than the other parka. Two, it has an excellent zipper. Three, it has pockets. Many glorious pockets. Patch pockets, slash pockets, inside pockets, even a hidden pocket.

So yeah, it is cold, snowy, icy and more. But I have the comforts of home, am surrounded by the glow of love, and a new, even warmer parka. So, on this day, at this time, I am good.

I wish good, heck, more than good for all those finding it otherwise this Thursday morning.

One Leg-Warmer Short

The long cold day and finally come to an end. What a relief.

Sitting on her bed, finalizing the de-layering process, Deborah was interrupted from leg-warmer removal by daughter popping her head in the room to tell a tale of the day.

One leg-warmer off, Deborah moved into the kitchen for further discourse with daughter and to check on the status of dinner. Laughter and teasing ensued. Satisfied that dinner was moving apace, Deborah moved back into the bedroom to resume leg-warmer removal.

With both leg-warmers now off Deborah moved to stow them away. Only one leg-warmer was present. Twisting and tuning, looking about the room, the bed, under items not yet stowed, no second leg-warmer. Wha….?

Daughter returned to doorway looking to add to her previous tale stared at Deborah with mirth in her eyes and a questioning smirk on her lips. Deborah asked, “didn’t I have on both leg-warmers?” Daughter replied, “I would guess, since you have two legs.” Wha….?

Deborah stowed the one leg-warmer, checked that the other pair was indeed, a pair for they would be needed the next day and let the one leg-warmer ease off her mind assuring herself that it would turn up.

The next morning’s routine was just that, routine. Deborah rose, fed the cats, brewed the coffee (well tried to brew the coffee…coffee must be put IN the filter/pot), showered, prepared her own breakfast, and prepared to get dressed.

She looked about her feet, taking note of Buttah (the orange cat) and his examination of the new scale. There, next Buttah and the new scale was the second leg-warmer. Deborah checked the drawer to see, yep, there in the drawer, one leg-warmer and a second leg-warmer on the floor.

Wha….?

Buttah looked up at Deborah, meowed and sauntered away (in triumph?)

Hmpf.

If at First You Don't Succeed . . .

Yesterday, I was on a mission. Through no fault of my own (or maybe it was) the mission was not accomplished.

Today I was going to write about the mission and failure of same, but the cat (the orange one) wasn't having any of that.

He's being particularly needy this evening.

I'll try again tomorrow. Of course, it might not be about the failed mission by then.

We'll see.

Goodnight.

Four-Hundred and Sixty

My twenty-three year old daughter, as you may know, lives with me. We are the best of friends, mostly and the arrangement is agreeable, mostly.

Being here together and being women we tend to share some things. My socks, my sweats, my cash, come immediately to mind. We don’t, however, share shoes because her feet are bigger and she wouldn’t want my shoes because she hates my shoes, mostly.

Which leads me to the point, which is, what we don’t share generally, is taste in clothing or rather, style. Granted, our age difference is 25 years and we probably shouldn’t be interested in the same style of clothing, and believe me, we’re not, but what I’m talking about goes beyond that.

And while she prefers mall shopping, I’m a catalog (electronic mostly), mail order kind of gal.

Still, periodically clothing catalogs arrive addressed to her. Most are addressed to me and some are simply addressed to our shared first initial and our shared last name. Usually, it is crystal clear as to which {D} would be more interested in the contents of a particular clothing catalog. The division between what (and from whom) we buy is pretty definitive.

Sometimes, however you can’t tell by the cover.

Last week’s mail yielded a few catalogs. All but one addressed specifically and directly to one or the other of us. THE one, company unknown, product line borderline, was claimed by the younger D with her saying, “there’s cute girl-y stuff in there, this isn’t for you, you don’t do cute.”

Huff. (sorta)

She continued, “well, you don’t! You got that butch thing goin’ on. Hey, that works for you.”

I countered with, “butch can be cute.” And she said, “yeah, but not girl-y cute.”

She’s a cutie, that daughter of mine.

Sunday PM Ramble at Random

You know the difference between minus 10 and minus 17? No, me either with the possible exception of my toes starting to tingle 5 minutes sooner in minus 17 than they did in minus 10. Let's hear it for 25 degree days. YaY!

My mom and I don't see eye-to-eye on many topics. So says she, I've contradicted her from the time I was twelve. I think more likely, it probably started at age twelve when I felt the confidence to be vocal about certain things.

I've had much more fruit in the past couple of weeks, oranges among the lot. My daughter notes that I don't eat oranges sexily, "don't eat them in front of your girlfriend." I beg to differ. Perhaps. Though, I'd have to agree, the display my daughter witnessed could not have been construed as sexy. I'm sure it was a messy display. It was a very juicy orange and it was cold. Why my daughter made a connection between me, eating oranges, and sexiness is a question for another time, perhaps another forum.



Speaking of oranges, allergies kept me from eating them (and other citrus fruit) for most of my life. Only in the last couple (or three) years have I been able to eat oranges, grapefruits, lemons and limes with any type of consistency without suffering irritating outbreaks. Yuck into Yum.



That said and allergies aside, I avoided all things orange for quite a while in part because of my older brother's mis-hap and partly because oranges (and other citrus fruits) require peeling and can be messy, especially for someone like me. Though I eat oranges (and other citrus) now, I still do so in relative private and not when I'm out and about. I never even considered the sexy (or lack thereof) aspect.


Moreover, though I like oranges, I'm not wild about orange flavored products. I'm not even all that wild about bottled juices. Much too sweet for my taste.



And just one more thing about oranges, the juice of 4, combined with a bit cumin and honey make a pretty good glaze for chicken being roasted. If you cut up some veggies (potatoes, onions, celery and carrots), place them under the rack while the chicken coated and basted with the orange-sweet and savory concoction, you've got yourself a yummy side.




My quest and involvement with the group getting on a scale, acknowledging, and recording my weight has become a weekly ritual. I've gone back and forth not only with the weight, but with the value of the scale. I've gone through cycles where I avoided the scale, while still trying to maintain, there was some level of success. For a time I felt that obsessing over the number on the scale was counter-productive to the over-all goal, so I didn't weigh, except at the doctor's office and there was some measure of success there as well. I don't know which is right, which is best, never-the-less, it is my life now and in a few hours I'll know how I did this week.


While channel surfing yesterday I caught a movie somewhere in the middle. I stopped because Jennifer Beals was on screen. I read the synopsis and mildly intrigued, watched for a bit. Shortly after, my attention was diverted to something else, so I didn't finish the movie and I don't know how it ended. I'm not sure I want to know, but I'll probably seek it out on purpose at some point. Still, it got me to thinking, if there is such a gene and I do indeed possess same, it might have been nice(er) if action with the realization could have occurred sooner in my life rather then the later. Still, better later than not ever at all.




You "L" fans know that the sixth and final season begins today and of course by now you've heard or read the thrust of this new and final season. I won't spoil it here in case you haven't heard, but suffice to say, if the writers do what I fear I'll be royally ticked. But only for awhile. It's only TV, I'll get over it soon enough.

Finally, hunger is present. But not a hunger for food or even a particular food. No, not food at all.


Just to feel her, to hold her in my arms again . . .

A Chill In My Bones

. . .and everywhere else. It was block two when I realized which part of my body was in-sufficiently protected from the biting winds (oh yes, biting) and sub-zero temperatures. Have your thighs ever been so cold that it felt like they were being pricked with one million needles only to then begin to like they were being set ablaze?

Daughter gave me a lift to the train, after the short train ride to the work 'hood, I had a walk. On normal days, it is a leisurely, 6 or 7 block jaunt that I've made often. I usually add intensity by stretching out the stride, amping up the speed.

This morning, I sped up (as much as I could, what with the snowy, slippery sidewalks) because to slow surely meant to be frozen in place. Keep On Movin' looped over and over in my head, keeping my feet in timed motion.

My first action upon reaching our building was to take the quaint elevator to our floor and head directly to the women's room. The friction my pants caused rubbing against my thighs made me shriek, just a little. My thighs, ice cold to the touch, had taken on a lovely shade of red. They kinda looked like Boston Baked Beans. The friction made me shriek, the squat made me scream, just a little. However, I took the opportunity to rub my bruised and bewildered thighs ever so gently. Recovery was nearly as rapid as the assault and by the time I'd finished, I was feeling closer to normal.

Still, I'm getting myself geared (and layered) for my afternoon walk and even more so for the commute home. Hey, gotta keep movin'.

Soooo Not About Cold or Snow

Buttah's adoption papers report an approximate birthday date of 2/8. February 8th is a BIG day around these parts, beyond his Buttah-ness. However, more about that later. Now, back to Buttah. He'll be two on his birthday and in his short time here has stamped his imprint onto and into every corner of our world.

A few more observations about Buttah, formerly Tacoma.

He's a top. Every time I catch he and Pete in their more-than-brotherly embracing, Buttah is clearly, driving the action, so to speak. Pete will sometimes instigate but as soon as Buttah's engines are purring, Petey flops and is content to let Buttah dictate. Pre-Buttah Pete exhibited some aggressive behaviors. And while he still does on occasion, much less so, post-Buttah.

Buttah is a quiet cat. Except for meal time. He becomes quite vocal at the sight of food, any food. Buttah boy loves to eat. He has begun to nose around Diamond's bowl and that simply will not do.

He likes to be in the bathroom, but only when somebody else is in the bathroom. He will butt his head on the door and if it isn't closed properly he'll come in. He tries to get on your lap when . . . well, when you're sitting. Otherwise he'll camp outside the door until you emerge and he'll follow you around a bit as if trying to decide if you're somehow different.

Buttah is less nimble than his feline counter-part. Pete sprints and leaps at great speeds and with height and distance. I give him a 10. Buttah jogs, stops, measures, and then jumps. I give him a 6. Because of this disparity their games of IT are a bit one-sided. This is where Pete comes out on top, again, so to speak.

Anytime spent at the computer station is doubled because Buttah takes your presence there as an invite to drape himself on the keyboard, your lap, the desk. While Pete was intrigued with the screen and the moving images, Buttah seems content to just be near, to be held.

He's giving Diamond girl a run for her precious pup money in the attention getting category. Trust me, she's up for the challenge.

How cold? Wed. projected hi: 16F / low: minus 4F brrrrrrr

A First For Me, Perhaps.

I was block four into my planned fourteen block afternoon walk when I remembered what had slipped my mind last night. I'd never gotten around to soaking my feet, which meant that I hadn't gotten around to clipping my toenails. I meant to address, at the very least, one particular toe this morning because I knew with two pairs of socks and an extended walk over snowy terrain, given the shoes I was planning to wear, pain would try to become my friend.

Well, block four into the fourteen block walk this afternoon, I remembered. However, thanks in small measure to the un-even terrain and by shifting my weight over level ground, I was able to continue and complete the walk.

However, now the one particular toenail had to go.

I don't think, in my nearly 30 years, have I ever clipped a toenail at work.

I closed the door but it still felt weird.

Near Miss

Enthusiasm about going outside to do some stuff waned at about inch three. But, enthusiasm or not, stuff must be done so out we went.

I think there was nine - ten inches before it was done for the time being. I shoveled three times before calling it a day. The capper? The Titans lost. How many times has the top seed blown it lost before THE game?

In other news, Arizona's looking good. And the team's playing well too.

Thinking dry. Thinking heat.

Phone Tree

My son has a friend, Dave.
Dave has a mom, Mrs. N.
Mrs. N has a friend, Sara.
Sara has a daughter, Jackie

Jackie is employed by the same local eatery that employed son’s dad until the stroke.

Jackie discovered that my son’s father moved to Mississippi (from Wisconsin) a few weeks ago. Jackie called her mom, Sara. Sara called Mrs. N and Mrs. N called my son to tell him that his dad is in Mississippi and is walking a little bit more.

Why no direct communication? Good question.

located image here.

Getting To Be That Time

A co-worker has turned his first two vacation days request for 2009. Historically, his first two vacation days of the new year are the Mondays following the NFL Championship Round and the Super Bowl.

This year, same deal.

Though I'm not as IN to football these days (as evidenced by my very poor Fantasy record this season and last) I do enjoy the play-offs and championship games. I don't enjoy them so much that I need to take days off work, but yeah, fun.

Back when the home team was up for the big game a video was produced to celebrate, promote and raise money. The video was a big hit. So big, that my little guy's head-start decided to stage their own production that year as part of the end-of-school-year celebration.

His first foray onto the stage was not much to his liking. It took several years to get him back.

But we were talking about football and since the home team is now on vacation, Woot! Woot! to the Titans and a shout out to the Eagles.

I don't know which team or teams the co-worker is rooting for this time around but I'm sure I'll find out. Historically, he's been quite vocal about his passion for this time of year.

This Is My Quest

For the past couple, three years I’ve been trying to reduce my body mass. Toward that end, I joined a gym, WW and a couple of other on-line support-type groups, reduced my over-all caloric intake, made more careful choices regarding snacks and made a concerted effort to ramp up my physical activity.

There was some level of success. I had to dump the gym and WW. The other efforts continued to show positive results but often, I'd celebrate those results by over-eating and eating all the wrong foods.

C-E-L-E-B-R-A-T-E Good Times!

Still.

The pants I bought a few months ago, a size smaller than that of the previous season are a tad snug today, so I know I’ve loss some of the ground recently gained.

I could continue on the same vein and limp my way along to more 10 lb, 1 pant size losses over several months only to rebound with a 5 lb gain and so on, but I’ve had enough of that. I need a new plan of attack, new and aggressive goals, actions, and motivations.

Shrinking Piggies II and related accountability fits the bill.

It is my goal to lose 40 lbs. by July 6, 2009. If I stick to my plan for longer than the usual month to six-weeks, don't go food crazy at the first sign of jiggle-less showers, the goal is reachable.

So it is written, so it shall be done.

There, I feel lighter, more importantly, tighter already.

Odd Number Year

Now two full days in and I’ve managed to keep my food and drink intake within a manageable and reasonable level. I’ve had some giggles and a serious conversation with the daughter, an interesting and enlightening conversation with the son, a distressing conversation with the mom and a fun, challenging, serious, enticing, and invigorating conversation with the girlfriend.

In short, the first two days of the New Year represent business as usual, mostly.

I haven’t gotten the amount of exercise I’d hope to get but I think Saturday and Sunday will be my ‘get physical’ days.

Mom pointed out during our New Year Day conversation that I’ll celebrate birthday number forty-nine, she, sixty-nine one of her sisters, seventy-nine and the eldest sister, eighty-nine this year. (There are two brothers and another sister between my nearly 69 year old mother and her nearly 89 year old sister).

My mother doesn’t want to live to see 89. She told me so. She tells me so nearly every day. She reminds me how tired, frustrated, and overwhelmed she feels. None of her various conditions are, in and of themselves, life threatening, but they are debilitating and the constant pain is, well, a pain.
The meds tend to addle her already over taxed brain.

The details of day-to-day living are turning molehills into Mt. Olympus.

I, the only daughter, am in the process of helping her pare down even further her meager possessions, scout assisted living locales and file applications with the alphabet soup of government and social services agencies. Though tired, frustrated and overwhelmed she hasn’t quite reconciled her emotions to the eventual relinquishing of control over some aspects of her life.

Hopefully, the right locale, situation and set of circumstances will materialize sooner rather than later and she can move on to the next phase. Further, hopefully, she can begin to finally un-clench, relax and come to appreciate the good above lamenting the bad.

So, in short, 2009 so far, business as usual.

not quite what i had in mind

It was just about this time of year two years ago when I met Neta. I was drinking wine, trolling the various sites where I had profiles posted, checking the traffic, listening with half an ear and watching with half an eye TV. At some point that night I remember the movie Sideways was playing.

After several glasses of wine over some period of time, I saw Neta's profile. I was in the middle of a quasi-chat with someone not that interesting but enough to fill some empty minutes. I read Neta's profile 2, 3, 4 times and then decided to write. Not just a hello, but a real full-on, howyadoin' greeting. While I was composing same I saw that she'd written me. Be still.

We "talked" off and on the rest of the night and littered one another's boxes with mail messages over the next several weeks. My heart.

Last year, on this eve I was there with her. Right about this time I think we were napping, gearing up for the night. The plans were to go to her parents for shrimp cocktail and back home for steaks from the bar-B. I remember it was very, very windy. I remember the steaks were fuckin' awesome.

For a number of reasons we couldn't be together this year on this eve, physically. But we are more than ever together in every other way. Miss her wildly.

The cat I told my daughter she couldn't bring home has become quite the snuggle Buttah. Still, I have visions of . . . otherwise, on this eve. I'll be on the phone workin' some of that out a bit later.

To my love, I wish you a Happy Glorious Joyous New Year and heres to seeing you soon!

To one, to all, happy, happy, joy, joy and much Peace.

If you together with your loved one(s) be glorious! Celebrate, happiness, togetherness.

Cheers!

Four-hundred and Forty-Nine

He pinky swears to not taking a swig nor was he trying to hide my Skyy. I haven't decided if he can be believed. There have been incidents.

Sun Not Fun Day

I wish that I could blame it on "the holidays" but I can't. In truth, I probably wouldn't, even if I could because that would be a cop-out. I think it has to do with limbo. I think it has to do with stagnation. I think it has to do with...I don't know what the hell it has to do with.

Maybe the weather. But then again, maybe not. Today's weather was great by late December standards. There was much rain yesterday (flooding for some) and there was fog. But the temps climbed (yesterday). Though colder today, the sun shone and I walked some 4 miles.

There are a number of things (and people) making me happy these days but there seems to be an equal number making me sad. In some cases they are the same things (and people). Odd, that. Maybe that's . . .

I was looking forward to Christmas and the day was fine as far as that goes, but the day left me feeling. . .flat. The days since I've been scrounging around for something to fluff me again. Pie and the new obsession, peppermint ice cream help, but clearly a temporary fix not to mention offering the potential for even further angst-like feelings.

Things to do. I need things to do. I have things to do, like finding bowls for the dozen or so Tupper, Glad and various ware tops hanging out in my cabinet. Or not. There are other things of a much more vital nature. But, getting into them, problem.

Groove, none. Gone.

Temporary, yes. Hope.

Simple Requests

If you're here in the Chicago area and you've been dreaming of a white Christmas, please, enough already! Many thanks. AND oh by the way, have yourselves some nog of choice and . . .

merry, merry, joy, joy!