Swell unwellness

I am unwell. In the head. Well, specifically unwell in the sinuses. Because my sinuses are welling. Welling and swelling. With what, I cannot, in good taste, say. But it's not good. Oh, no, the welling and swelling is not swell. So I am not well. 

Apparently, when I am sick I feel compelled to channel Dr. Seuss.

I am suffering from an upper respiratory tract infection. This is a fancy way of saying that I have a cold. But saying that I have a cold does not really give you the full image of the depth of my suffering. So I prefer upper respiratory tract infection. 

I might even add an "itis" to it, lay claim to one of the subspecies of same. How about rhinopharyngitis? With an occasional roughness to my usually delicately tuned vocal cords, we could even venture to laryngitis. 

The sudden onslaught of illness is even sadder than it might otherwise be in my incredibly boring life, as I had plans for this evening. (It is New Year's Eve, in case you hadn't noticed.) Social plans. That would've most assuredly included champagne. 

Now, my only shot at champagne is if I can prop my eyes open at 11pm to drive over to T's house in my jammies to join T and M in a quick toast before bedtime. 

Do you hear the violins playing in the background for me? ;-)

Was planning on discussing something deep and meaningful today. But I am constitutionally incapable of doing so at this time. Probably because my skull is full of stuff that is not gray matter. 

Speaking of skulls with unwelcome guests, I eagerly await the torrents of apologies from the wingnuts who were certain Hillary Clinton was lying about her concussion to avoid the Benghazi discussion on Capitol Hill. 

Acute Benghazi allergy, indeed. 

Wait, maybe that's my ailment! Perhaps I am simulating congestion to avoid my hearing on Capitol Hill tomorrow. 

I don't have a hearing tomorrow? In Oak Park or on Capitol Hill? 

Oh. Never mind.

Well, I do hope that I am more well and less swell by tomorrow morning. Perhaps I don't have a hearing. But I do have a baking and a birthday celebration for which the baking must occur, in honor of my son's 25th anniversary of his natal day, more commonly known as his birthday. 

No matter my state of wellness or swellness, I look forward to celebrating that, Hillary Clinton's recovery, and the New Year to come in 2013. Clinks to all!

Relax, damn it: Alternate ending

Yesterday, in the middle of writing my blog, I was distracted. By me, of course. I meant to go down path A, but went down path B, instead. Well, I really wanted to go down path A. So here I go: 

I have trouble doing nothing. Relaxing. Twiddling my thumbs. These are non-actions that I don't NOT do well. If you know me, you might find this surprising. If you live with me, you might find this even more surprising. 

You might expect that, with such a high energy level, I would reside in a pristine and completely organized abode. You might think that I should have taught myself French in my spare time. You would, perhaps, ponder why I gained 40 lbs in the past 10 years if I never sit on my rear-end. 

But I didn't say that I never do nothing. I just said I don't do nothing well. I tend to, well, fret (as my dear friend JH would say.) If I am sitting still, my mind is going a mile a minute, thinking of all the things I should be doing, could be doing, might be doing, ought to be doing. Guilt, goad, guilt, goad.

I'm in therapy. Have I mentioned that recently? 

Since this is the week between Christmas and New Years, it seems right and proper that I should be on vacation. Hence the focus on doing nothing--and doing it well. Yes, leave it to me, folks. Not only can I guilt myself for doing nothing but I can also apply a further measure of guilt--gild the lily, as it were--by feeling guilty for not being capable of relaxation. 

But the whole vacation mindset is eluding me. Today stretched before me in an unbroken swath of nothingness. I could literally do anything I wanted to all the live-long day. I have numerous possibilities, occupations of nothing-ness from which to choose. 

For example, we have a jigsaw puzzle up. What a relaxing prospect, eh? Nay. When I work on the puzzle, it is EXACTLY that: work. I cannot relax doing it. Because I completely suck at activities that require spatial intelligence. 

But there are plenty of other relaxation activities (that could be an oxymoron, couldn't it?) that I can do at which I do not suck. Reading, for example. I know how to read. And am good at it. Fast, too. Right now, I'm reading Susan Hill's latest Simon Serrailler novel. Which is wonderful. 

But I don't let myself sit down and actually read it during daylight hours. Like an alcoholic beverage, I feel that there are certain times before which a person of high moral fiber should not be sitting on her bee-hind, reading for sinful pleasure. 

Even though reading is, as a general rule, a good relaxation activity for the Puritanical of mind and heart. The reader gets to sit, relax and truly escape that which is on her mind. Yet, she is doing something Good. Because reading is Good. Unlike watching TV. Watching TV is Bad. 

(Hmm. Yes, this is sounding distinctly Puritanical. Good thing I'm in therapy, as I noted in yesterday's blog.) 

So I was not reading, as it was only early afternoon. Liz's rules say reading cannot occur until late afternoon. Say 4:30pm or so. And then, reading is allowed if done while cooking in the kitchen. See, I'm not really wasting time, as I'm cooking, also.

It occurred to me that perhaps I could apply this same sleight of hand to the reading rule while doing other work in the kitchen. Perhaps I could intersperse sessions of cupboard cleaning and reorganization with book chapters, thus achieving low guilt relaxation and a clean kitchen!

It's a lot of work, being a Puritan. 

So I cleaned and reorganized 10 kitchen cupboards. I threw out canned goods from 2005. And I cleaned my refrigerator, inside and out. 

There's nothing like cleaning out a refrigerator to make me feel like a new woman. It's almost as good as washing windows, probably due to the shiny whiteness and glass factor. When my refrigerator is no longer decorated with dollops of raspberry jam interspersed with errant apple stems and stray spinach leaves, I feel like I have accomplished something with my life. Or my afternoon. 

Did some major dumpage of frig magnets and photo decorations on the outside of the frig, too. Gone are the emotion charts that Annie, Kathryn and I used when we were cranky but didn't want to say so. Not gone is the photo of A and K where they look like twins. :-) 

I threw away a number of magnets adorned with pithy and wise sayings. I threw away a number of magnets adorned with advertisements, too. I did not throw away my two most favorite magnets, one a lovely quote from Scripture, the other a highly inappropriate observation on how some men boost their self-esteem.

Two hours later, I emerged from my cleaning coma. I had, of course, forgotten to relax by reading chapters in between cupboards. And it occurred to me--news flash--that that was probably because I was already relaxing! Flow activities are intrinsically relaxing. And I was definitely flowing, and had totally lost track of time.

Relaxation was achieved and so was something else--best case scenario! Even better, I noticed that we had reached official Late Afternoon. I gladly climbed into the nest (aka our kitchen chair) and opened my book. And I didn't even cook dinner between chapters.  

Relax, damn it!

I have trouble doing nothing. Relaxing. Twiddling my thumbs. These are non-actions that I don't NOT do well. If you know me, you might find this surprising. If you live with me, you might find this even more surprising. 

You might expect that, with such a high energy level, I would reside in a pristine and completely organized abode. You might think that I should have taught myself French in my spare time. You would, perhaps, ponder why I gained 40 lbs in the past 10 years if I never sit on my rear-end. 

But I didn't say that I never do nothing. I just said I don't do nothing well. I tend to, well, fret (as my dear friend JH would say.) If I am sitting still, my mind is going a mile a minute, thinking of all the things I should be doing, could be doing, might be doing, ought to be doing. Guilt, goad, guilt, goad.

I'm in therapy. Have I mentioned that recently? 

Since this is the week between Christmas and New Years, it seems right and proper that I should be on vacation. Hence the focus on doing nothing--and doing it well. Yes, leave it to me, folks. Not only can I guilt myself for doing nothing but I can also apply a further measure of guilt--gild the lily, as it were--by feeling guilty for not being capable of relaxation. 

But the whole vacation mindset is eluding me. Today stretched before me in an unbroken swath of nothingness. I could literally do anything I wanted to all the live-long day. I have numerous possibilities, occupations of nothing-ness from which to choose. 

For example, we have a jigsaw puzzle up. What a relaxing prospect, eh? Nay. I like the idea of having a jigsaw puzzle up during the holidays. It sounds lovely, doesn't it? Sitting together as a family, puttering away over conversation both banal and deep. 

But it doesn't work that way here. Jon has absolutely no interest whatsoever, as he has two new video worlds to conquer. Annie happily keeps me company but is watching episode after episode of Grey's Anatomy. So instead of working on the puzzle, I am now addicted to Grey's Anatomy. 

And, even when I do work on the puzzle, it is EXACTLY that: work. I cannot relax doing it. Because I completely suck at activities that require spatial intelligence. 

People with spatial intelligence (you know who you are, TH) simply look at puzzle pieces and SEE where they are supposed to go. Apparently each piece has magic sparklyness that twinkles at a spatially intelligent person, alerting her to both its presence and the exact place in which it belong.    

People who are spatially challenged solve jigsaw puzzles in several ways. There's color grouping, of course. And grouping according to the scenes on the puzzle. But really what we do is take a piece and try to fit it into a spot. And then we take another piece and try to fit it into that spot. Later, we take the 27th piece and try to fit it into that same spot. 

This is a method that works. If you try each puzzle piece, eventually you will find the one that fits. But you will have gone completely insane by the time you have finished putting the puzzle together. 

I have noticed this characteristic popping up in my life quite a bit lately. Not going completely insane, of course, but liking the idea of something, finding the reality not to my taste yet persisting in doing something anyway.  

It occurred to me today that, while there are some activities that I don't enjoy doing but I must, activities that are want-tos are allowed to be things I actually want to do. I'm no longer parenting small children, such that I need to attempt to create a certain atmosphere that will be salubrious for their little souls. At the half-century mark, my time is my time, alone.

The puzzle is going back in the box. Instead, I'm going to savor the evening and reread both "A Christmas Carol" and "The Birds' Christmas Carol." Because the endless day made for nothingness has dwindled to a precious few hours, now that I've finished cleaning out the refrigerator, reorganizing most of the kitchen cupboards, taking inventory of the pantry . . . . 

One Christmas

Begin at morning. Still dark, though not as dark as bedtime after the Christmas Eve services a few short hours ago. Warm bed to warm shower to hot coffee to cold car to toasty church. Music and love and laughter, laced with hope and a few drops of tears. 

Back to the chilly car. Cold and quiet house, still, still. Not a creature was stirring. Then came Christmas carols and bacon spattering. House warms, pancakes sizzle. Stirring commences, along with Christmas stockings. Our traditional pancake brunch with several new elements: mimosas and tears. And, yes, a wee bit of yelling. Holidays are hard. And good. And hard. Repeat ad nauseam. 

Christmas still carols on, through the talking and the tears. And the cleaning. Then comes the crinkle of unwrapping paper packages, concrete attempts at love. More presents than usual, even though you can't heal pain with Gap jeans and video games. And even a few pictures of presents, because we are human and make mistakes and sometimes that's the best we can do. 

There's still more to come. Quiet gazing at the lighted tree, gauzy with its soft starry lights. A little bit of a White Christmas walk, with a little bit of time for more friends and more presents. And always the strains of music, twining throughout, eclectic and sublime and absurd, depending on the algorhythms of computer chips. 

And more cleaning up. There is an awful lot of cleaning up in life, even on Christmas Day. Particularly on Christmas Day. 

A late and hearty English Christmas dinner--roast beast, no wassail. And definitely no figgy pudding! Bayberry candles burned to the nub for good luck. And there's still more to come. A funny movie and a grateful dive into my cozy flannel-sheeted bed. And so one Christmas Day will end, as dark and silently as it began. 

It was not perfect, not even close. People disappointed, presents failed to make us truly happy, even the snow didn't measure up to our ever-great expectations. But there were moments of comfort. And joy. 

Maybe those fleeting moments must be surrounded by sometimes spectacular and continuous imperfection. Maybe life's flaws and imperfections are required to reveal comfort and joy to our through-a-glass-darkly eyes. 

Or maybe this is just the way life is: a mostly mundane and occasional hot mess with momentary bursts of joy and pain. Quite the weather report. :-)  

Important People Rant

In spite of election information overload, I continue to follow all things political. For me (and I'm not generalizing to you!) to not do so seems like I've stopped caring about the rest of the world. And, being a reforming fixer and all around Care Bear, it's hard to part with that viewpoint.

So I'm avidly watching the latest "right to work" clash in Michigan. And, again, what's with the conservatives viewpoint always getting to define our world? "Right to work?" As Obama thoughtfully pointed out, these union-undermining laws are really all about the One Percent's right to have employees work for way less money. 

Employees already have the "right to work" aka to work and opt out of unions. But, because they do NOT opt out of receiving the many benefits union leadership negotiates for them, non-member employees are required to pay dues to support this negotiation. 

(Yes, I know. This isn't sounding like a rant. Just wait.)

Passing "right to work" laws is a down-and-dirty method of financially gutting unions, thus allowing businesses to pay employees less and profit more. Yesterday's NY Times op-ed provides plenty of evidence for this assertion. 

I just do not understand the logic fueling a "race to the bottom" for the middle class of America, supported by so many of the 99%. "Please, please, Mr. Senator. Take away my ability to join with others to collectively bargain for real benefits and living wages so that I can leap backward 70 years and allow the robber barons of business to grow even more sickeningly wealthy while I subsist." 

Really? 

Today, I'm a little bit sick of the 1%. No, I'm a whole lot sick of the 1%. Otherwise known as The Important People. This is a personal as well as political sickness on my part. I do not want or need to be an Important Person. But I'm tired of being treated poorly or as less than because I'm not an Important Person. 

Our individual humanity is not enough to make us deserving of respectful treatment: living wages, reasonable benefits, healthy workplaces--with plenty of money left over for the 1%'s profit. 

This is why unions were formed. Smack on the head Leroy Jethro Gibbs moment, folks. There is no way to force Important People to treat you better alone. You must act together. Stop believing the ridiculous propaganda spouted by conservative 1% businessmen and protect the rights your fellow workers gained for you. Before it's too late.