Meltdown

It's not the snow that's melting - it's me. You see, I had this grand plan for getting all my office work done before we pack up and hit the highway on Saturday. I've been working "ahead" in my job for the past couple of weeks, so that I could have all the work for next week finished and turned in before we leave.

Oh yes, I had it all figured out so perfectly. And I was right on schedule, too -even enough ahead of myself that I felt comfortable going in an hour later than usual, stopping to do some errands on the way in.

But it all went haywire. The nurses seemed to have worked overtime this week, and my boss (whose Executive Assistant I have recently become) decided to catch up on all her paperwork and correspondence. The result was a veritable cascade of new reports, letters, reviews, etc. -all for me to finish by Thursday.

I had a moment of real panic, about 1:30. In addition to everything else, I missed lunch, so my blood sugar chose that moment to plummet, sending my spirits with it.

After a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, I rallied a bit, and came up with a plan. I took a few extra minutes to organize my thoughts and my paper flow, and settled in to work. A marketing rep from a home health care agency stopped by with a big box of truffles, and that perked me up even more. I' m not out of the woods yet, but I think I'll make it - barring any more unexpected assignments!

There was a point in all this madness today when I felt like throwing in the towel. Forget traveling, I was tempted to say, there's simply no way I can ever get it all done. There's still shopping to do, still people to visit, still Christmas-y type things I need to get done. Not to mention trying to figure out all the things I need to pack for three days in the car (with dogs). I need diversions big time - books on CD, movies to watch on my laptop, snacks (truffles?). I'll never make it!

Then I thought about my lovely, quiet house in Florida. Being able to talk walks around the lakes every day, go to the pool, lie in the sun, eat meals on the lanai. Oh, my.

(Deep breath.)

Time to buck up and get the job done.

I'll save the melting for the Florida sunshine.

Winter Wonderland

For once, the weather forecasters were right on the money...as we slept, peacefully unaware, the snow kept coming, silently, stealthily, and so we awoke to bushes laden with heaping helpings of white, to the wind whistling around the south side of the house, and to the faint rumblings of thunder - yes, thunder snow, the meteorologists are calling it. It sounds like a locomotive traveling along a far distant track.

Here's what I love best about snowstorms -they force me to be quiet. After all, no one in their right mind would go out this morning. (Notwithstanding those crazy folks just featured on the news who made their way to Target at 7:00 a.m. just to get a Wii - remember, I did say no one in their right mind.) And so I have to stay home - there's no reason to risk life and limb for groceries at the market, or toiletries at Walgreen's, for a rehearsal at church, or even books at the library.

But it's sad, isn't it, that it takes an act of God to make me be still? It's a measure of how much I need this quiet that last night and this morning are the most content, the most relaxed, dare I say the most happy, days I've experienced in the past three weeks.

Why can't I impose stillness on myself once in a while? Write a prescription for it, deliver an executive order straight from the head honcho in charge of my life (that would be me, believe it or not!)

Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom, has given me this snowy, blustery day. A day to hunker down, put on another pot of coffee, maybe whip up a batch of cinnamon waffles or a rich ham and cheese omelet. There's a tall bookstack on my bedside table, a batch of Christmas cards that still need addresses, and a pretty new notebook I've been thinking about writing in.

The TV news people call it a blizzard.

I call it a gift.

A Weath of Information at Your Fingertips

A number of years ago we bought our son his first car - a used Pontiac Grand Prix. It only had about 40,000 miles on it, but it was out of warranty, and we decided to purchase GM's extended warranty policy. Normally, we never buy extended warranties, but on a car, we thought it could prove beneficial. Had we known about Finance Genius, we would have been able to do some comparison shopping before shelling out an extra 560 bucks for the GM warranty. Finance Genius provides a one stop shopping place on the net for Extended Auto Warranty, as well as auto and home loans, and savings institutions.

It's a wealth of information at your fingertips.

And, by the way, the warranty came in handy when the car blew it's transmission - normally a $2000 fix, which cost us only the $250 deductible.

A Mantel of White

They've been promising it all day, those weather forecasters relishing the role of doomsayer, announcing it with childlike glee and an unnatural twinkle in their eye, this impending snowstorm that could layer as much as eight inches of snow on our nice dry ground. "Punishing winds," they warn, "hazardous roads" and "blizzard conditions" will prevail, so be ready. I've been out and about all day- running errands this morning, attending a matinee performance at a local theater this afternoon, stopping for a quick dinner before Jim went off to a rehearsal - and though there were no visible snowflakes, I could feel them hanging over my head, the cloud covered sky thick with cold moisture that seeped over the earth, penetrating even my warmest winter coat.

In the time it took for us to scarf down an Arby's (fast food-a sure sign of an overly busy schedule) the clouds let loose and snow started falling, leaving a light coating on the pavement. Luckily, it wasn't yet heavy enough to require brushing off the car. But since I've been home, cranked up the heat, hurried the dogs outside to take care of business before things get too dicey, and changed into my warm fuzzies, it's started to increase in intensity. The grass has disappeared, and so has the pavement, the flakes fat and wet as they fall in the reflection from the floodlight on the garage.

I like snow, when I'm warm and toasty inside. My stereo is playing Josh Groban's new Christmas CD, because the weather outside seems to call for such seasonal songs. I'm about to open a bottle of red wine, because I need something with a little more heft than the icy Chardonnay I generally favor. I have a Netflix I've been hoarding for just such a night, when the big screen TV is mine alone. Dare I say it -I feel content - a welcome change from the general malaise of the past few weeks.

The week ahead will be fast and furious. I'm trying to squeeze in a two week's worth of work, in preparation for leaving town on Saturday. I have to get in all my Christmas visits, get the dogs haircuts and baths, make sure my mom is stocked up on groceries and all her medications before I go, wrap some presents, send out the Christmas cards...

Oh, stop, I'm ruining my own mood already.

For the moment, let me just have a little peace and quiet, while the snow falls gently and silently onto the ground.

Distancing Myself

Although the poet says "April is the cruelest month," in my experience, December bears that distinction. Every year it becomes harder for me to bear the expectations, the obligations, the commercialization, the frenzy that surrounds the holidays occurring in this last month of the year. In my childhood, I adored Christmas - especially the tree. I was enthralled by the concept of bringing a real tree into the house! My dad and grandfather struggling to straighten it in the red metal stand, my mother and grandmother shouting directions - "over this way!" "No, it's leaning forward!" "to the right a little more!" - until finally it was secured, and we could hang the ornaments. Each one of my favorites would could out of a little nest in it's plastic container, and I could carefully hook the skinny metal wire over the tree branch. Once the ornaments were hung, the multi-colored lights casting a rosy glow over the room, I would get my favorite book and blanket, curl up under the tree, and read until bedtime. Of course, the food was wonderful at Christmas time. My grandmother, a true Southern cook, always filled the house with smells of pies and cakes, baked ham, roasted turkey with her incomparable homemade cornbread stuffing...it's no wonder I had to buy my clothes in the the "Chubby" department. My childhood Christmas' were idyllic - at least in retrospect. I wonder if the adults in my family felt as harried and cynical about the season then as I feel about it now. I hope not - I like to believe in the image of a simpler time, when life was less driven by consumerism and greed. I blame my husband for the way my feelings about December have changed - or at least, my husband's family. My in-laws were two of the most difficult people I have ever met. They were argumentative, pessimistic, and generally joyless. Yet they had this "thing" about holidays - the family was supposed to be together, even if "the family" was fractured, dysfunctional, and miserable. I rarely enjoyed Christmas - or any holiday for that matter - after I met Jim. Even though they are no longer in the picture - my father in law long dead, and my mother in law lost in her own demented world where holidays no longer exist - the holiday season is fraught with too many unvoiced obligations and expectations. They weigh on my mind and heart, collecting steam like an avalanche, as the days of the month roll by. In recent years, I've been distancing myself from December, backing up to the periphery of the month and peering in at all the hype and hoopla. I procrastinate all the December duties as long as I can, somehow hoping that the spirit will strike me before the stores have sold all the good gifts, and I've let all the postal deadlines pass. I would like to be able to throw myself into the preparations for this season, to have high hopes and glorious expectations. I want more than anything to have one shining moment during these December days when I feel at peace. But, I can't bring myself to step closer, to bridge that distance between me and December. So here I am, on the outside looking in, a wallflower at the December dance. Biding my time 'til it's over.