Only So Many

Even as we decorate our home for Christmas, I've found my plan to downsize is still in action. Today I crawled to the back corner of the attic and slid out a bin that hasn't been opened for a couple of years. Why not now? asked the retired me, even as I remembered how overwhelming the holidays are for someone who works full-time. In it, I found several cookie tins and a teacher's career's worth of Christmas coffee mugs of all sizes. And I smiled in gratitude for the thoughtful gesture that each one represented as I moved it to the giveaway box.

Getting the Dander Up

I generally don't mind cleaning house, and it was my idea to cut our housekeeper's visits to once a month when I retired. Even so, in the early weeks of my new responsibility, I found vacuuming particularly onerous. Just the thought of hauling the expensive upright we purchased a decade ago up and down the stairs made it difficult to get motivated for any chore. 

Our house might have quickly declined into slovenliness if it had not occurred to me to do a little research on those new, lightweight stick vacuums. And lucky me! I found one with excellent reviews on sale for only 75 bucks. 

I was still a little skeptical when it arrived, and it languished in its box for a few days while I let other things take priority over our floors. But with two long-haired cats and a dog who tracks in all manner of soil, not to mention that I am less than conscientious about crumbs when cooking, the place needed to be vacuumed. How delighted was I when the new gadget was super-efficient, lightweight, and easy to use? Not only did I no longer dread vacuuming, but I looked for vacuuming opportunities almost every day.

The only drawback was that the battery life was just this side of 45 minutes, and it took several hours to recharge. The other day, though, when that amazing machine cleaned up all the needles our tree had dropped as I put the lights on, it occurred to me that we could get a second battery. 

And so I did. (Fair warning to you, dust and dirt: my cleaning capacity has doubled!)

Dear Prospective Juror

I recognized the envelope right away.

But today, when I received my summons to jury duty, gone was that knee-jerk anxiety, the worry that I would be seated or not, and either way, I would have to make sub plans on the fly for days or even weeks,  modifying and amending my lessons so that they might work whether I was there or not, because I wouldn't know until 5 PM the night before if I would be available to teach.

My only concern, today? We don't have a 2025 calendar hanging in the kitchen yet, so I can circle January 28, and write Jury Duty.

Let There Be Lights!

The year 2020 had a lot of things going against it, but pandemic aside? It was a big year for Christmas lights. In this area, at least, tons of people stuck at home but with the privilege to spend their time and money on such things went all out on their holiday decorations. It was one of the joys of the year to walk outside with friends and ooh and aah over the lights.

The ensuing years cannot compare, and I confess that, although I understand, I am disappointed, even in myself. 

When we were down in Myrtle Beach for Thanksgiving, I felt like that vibe could be changing: so many houses had so many lights. I wondered if it was a function of the percentage of retirees residing in that neighborhood (God knows we have time on our hands and the willingness to use it), but back at home, I noticed a similar trend.

"It's like everyone said, 'Let's get those Christmas lights out of the attic!" this year," I said to Heidi the other evening as we walked Lucy in the gathering dusk. Then I shrugged. "But it does seem like a good idea."

And I am in! I did our lower deck tonight, and I've got plans for the upstairs and front porch, too. As the longest night of the year approaches, any light in the darkness makes my heart sing a little.

Out in the Storm

The weather was predicted to worsen as the day wore on, so at noon, I laced up my boots, put on my raincoat, and took Lucy out for a walk. The wind was manageable, and the temperatures had not yet fallen to their predicted chill, so we ambled a relatively pleasant two miles before turning back toward home. 

No one else was out, so it seemed as if we had the world to ourselves, winding in and out and behind the bike paths, buildings, and courtyards of our neighborhood. Lucy was all in; a little rain never dampened her sense of smell or exploration. As we neared home, I collected a few evergreen branches and holly sprigs for a Christmas arrangement just before the wind picked up. 

It was a lovely walk. 

A few hours later, when I went to fetch Heidi from school in a now torrential downpour, the radio was tuned to a holiday station. Michael Buble sang, "Oh, the weather outside is frightful!" 

And I had to agree, but when he continued the song, I made a little lyrical substitution for myself, "but since it's no use to complain, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain!"

Check that Out

This afternoon, I had to reach higher than usual to put my groceries on the cashier's belt. For a moment, I wondered if I was shrinking, but when I got to the register and met the tall young man working there, I understood. Even so, I couldn't help myself. "This belt is so high!" I told him. 

He laughed and showed me the switch that could raise and lower it.

"That's crazy!" I said. "I've never noticed that they are adjustable!"

"It's good for me," he laughed again, and we continued to chat amiably as he scanned my groceries. 

As we talked, I noticed he was wearing a button that read, I'm new around here, so I asked him how long he'd been on the job.

He told me a complicated story about his first two weeks and then his second two weeks, and then he shook his head and laughed again. "Let's say about a month," he answered, then held up my rutabaga. "What's this?" 

"Rutabaga or yellow turnip," I told him and watched as he quickly typed in some letters on his screen. Rutabaga flashed by momentarily, but then he swiped to a different screen. "Oh! I saw it back there!" I told him. "The code was 4747."

"You saw it?" he asked with surprise but typed in the numbers. Rutabaga flashed across the display, and he tapped enter.

"Maybe you should work here, too!" he said.

"Maybe," I agreed, "but we'd definitely have to lower the belt!"

Have Yourself a Sloppy Little Christmas

I'd gotten a bit behind on my Hallmark Christmas movie viewing this year until we spent a weekend at a mountain resort with its own Christmas Village. Then, tuning into a Christmas movie before bed seemed just right. 

Over the weekend, we saw most or part of several of this year's new offerings, and I noticed a trend. Almost every story we watched featured a middle-aged woman who wanted Christmas to be perfect. Whether she was the main character, the main character's mom, or the boyfriend's mom, by the end of the movie, she always learned that imperfection makes each Christmas special. As long as the family has each other, whether in person or in spirit, the holiday is a success.

An ad for Hallmark that ran several times during every movie reinforced this common theme. The message of the commercial was that Hallmark may inspire us at the holidays, but the rest is up to us, so relax and enjoy your holiday.

I have to wonder-- has there been a backlash? Has Hallmark been getting some shade about presenting Christmas scenarios that are too perfect and somehow deflating their core viewership? Such a scenario seems kind of likely, and count on that network to know it, too. 

Even so? It's a lesson worth remembering.