Christmas - How To Be Happy In Spite of One's Self

Christmas - How To Be Happy In Spite of One's Self,


Back when I worked at the Radio Ranch, I had a bright yellow poster in my
office. It was entitled, "How To Be Happy In Spite of One's Self."

Joyce Meyer gave a sermon about that a couple of years ago. She said as
long as the Devil can make you just walk around, staring at your own navel,
going, "What about me?! What about me?!" -- then he owns your butt.

So--

1. Go to your favorite local grocery store. Experiment around and see
what's the biggest bag of dry dog food you can lift. Seven pounds? 15? 50? 75? And then haul it out to the local humane society. Walk a couple of those big,
graybeard dogs while you're out there.

2. Go to your favorite discount store and buy six pairs of mittens. Take
them to the local homeless shelter. And my friend who runs the AIDS hospice
says people at the very lowest end of the socioeconomic food chain have
problems with Sock Management. He believes all God's children get clean,
dry socks. He has a desk drawer full of them. D.D., who has run a homeless
women's and children's center, got corporate yuppies to buy plus size underpants, 30 pairs at a time, and donate them.

3. If you have a weekend, cover your oldest bedspread in flannelette. Find
some grade school kids to help you tack it with yarn and tie double bows.
Then take it down to the fire department. They'll give it to someone who's
lost everything in a house fire.

4. Hitch up the dog and go on a dusky, full-moon walk. Admire all those
Christmas lights. It takes a certain amount of brave maudlinism to spend $800 on exterior lights and what a way to love Christmas.

5. Go to Target and buy some half-price Christmas mugs. Fill them with
individually wrapped teabags and take them to your favorite librarians. Say,
"Thanks."

6. Take the loaf of bread you bought last week and tear it up outside, on
the lawn. The birds will have Christmas Dinner on you.

Last Christmas, I took Meals on Wheels to one woman who had two weeks to
live. When I asked her what I could pray for, she said, "Pray I don't see
New Year's." She was speaking from a zilcho quality of life situation.
But, us guys, us'uns, we have an embarrassment of riches. And we desperately need to,
in this woulda-coulda-shoulda, mass consumerism explosion of
gimme-gimme-gimme Commercial Christmas, center ourselves and think
outward-outward-outward.

It'll be swell.


Janelle

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Why, oh, why does it hurt so much to end a relationship? The short answer is that we are socio-enculturated to believe in Big Love. "Love is the answer to everything." "Love is all you need." "Don’t you want somebody to love you?" It’s tough to buck the system, but it can be done.

There’s emotional work to do when you end a relationship, whether you’re the dumper or the dumpee. If you don’t do your homework, then you will repeat the situation over and over again until you do. There’s a lot of F.O.G. (Fear, Obligation, Guilt) in almost every relationship and F.O.G., even when it ends, takes a long time to work through.

My friend Karen, who counsels young women who are often in the turmoil of relationship woes, says that many young women work at Trying To Date Someone as hard as if they were working a second job. And here’s the news flash—it shouldn’t be that hard. If you have to work-work-work at the relationship, then maybe (gasp) it is not the best relationship for you.

And in the world according to “Designing Women’s” Suzanne Sugarbaker, “The answer to every problem a woman has is not ‘You need a date.’” There’s a lot of women that cringe when their friends say, “Maybe you’ll meet a man.”

AARP did a landmark study on older women and re-marriage and they found that older women don’t feel that they HAVE to remarry, or even date. Just about two years ago, the statistics on single households beat out the Ozzie-and-Harriet households. Women are on to a great and wonderful secret – We can make it without Prince Not-So-Charming.

And as my friend Alan says, “I’ve been unhappy and married and unhappy and single. And believe me, unhappy and single is much easier.”

Janelle

Knitting

Well, I'm knitting again. I found a skein of pretty, light-gray Wool-Ease at the Goodwill Store for 99 cents. It should be enough, with my stock of white wool, to make a nice wool beret for the bus stop this winter. I even know where my circular needles are, so it's Kismet.

If you haven't been to the Lion Brand website, you're missing a great deal. There's also a great knitting e-newsletter called "Knitting Daily."

Janelle

Black Friday

Black Friday, once again, went on without me. My idea of a good shopping day is a spare 20 dollar bill and a overly large thrift shop. I am, therefore, not one of the souls in line in front of the Circuit City, at 4 in the morning. For one thing, it's about 19 degrees above zero at 4 in the morning, here in The Frozen North (Motto: Why Get Warm When You Are Just Gonna Get Cold Again?).

But earlier, in my "I want to make everybody happy" days, I got talked into two Black Fridays with friends. I can still hear those women saying, "Oh, come on! It'll be fun."

The first Black Friday was at a big mall, and my shopping companion mainly wanted to eat her way through the food court. At some point, they just about ran out of food, and I got to go home.

The second Black Friday was at an even larger mall, and it became apparent that my shopping companion just wanted to window shop. And the logical, little nerdy Girl Scout part of me blurted out, "But if you aren't going to buy anything, why can't we just go home?" Then I was in for it.

I do like to shop. I just don't consider it a competitive sport.

Clare's Turkey

Happy Thanksgiving

Clare's Turkey

This is my most memorable Thanksgiving story.

I need to tell you that I had one of the original, full-sized Radar Range microwave ovens years before any of my friends. This had to do with a manic consumer spending contest my ex-husband Gruesome had for years with a guy named Chuck, to see who could buy the most newest and most expensive consumer goods first. And one of these purchases was the very second Radar-Range in our county, in my kitchen.

So Thanksgiving Day 1979, my pal Clare rang my doorbell, at six in the morning. She was exactly nine months pregnant, crying and holding a huge, solidly frozen turkey. She sobbed out, "Will this fit in your microwave?"

She was pregnant in the rotund way that only a five-foot-two-inch woman can be. From her chin to her knees. And she would not stop crying. I unwrapped the turkey, pryed out the gizzard packs with a steak knife, and set the microwave to "99 minutes," the maximum.

"I just forgot," she told me. "I was so tired yesterday, and I laid down on the bed for just ten minutes. And I slept all night instead." She put her head in her hands. "My mother-in-law is gonna kill me."

I made her cup after cup of chamomile tea, told her funny stories, put the oven on another 99 minutes. We were getting nowhere fast with that bird. "Just have Scott call his mother and explain. Tell her that you'll pickup a nice big canned ham.

""No-o-o-o! The last thing Ardele told me last Sunday was that the newest daughter-in-law always does the turkey. No matter what."

"But she can't expect you to do a great big ol' turkey on your due date. You could be at the hospital right now, giving birth."

She shot me one of those "you poor ignorant fool" looks that Oklahomans do so well. "You don't know Ardele."

In the end we call next door to my wonderful neighbor Suzanne. She traded
out turkeys with us. Because she had a thawed one the same size as Clare's and didn't need it till the next day. Then we got out my sleek "Litton's Guide to Microwave Cookery" cookbook, slathered the thawed turkey in an entire bottle of Kitchen Bouquet browning agent, and nuked that baby. Then Clare called her husband Scott, who was already at Ardele's house, and told him that she was on her way to Cooked Turkey.

And two hours later, Clare, in her very best and largest maternity top, carried that turkey in through her MIL Ardele's kitchen door. "What's that?"Ardele asked her.

"Your turkey."

"No." Ardele opened her two oven doors. "These are my turkeys. I was only kidding, Clare. Nobody expects you to cook this year."

Clare went out and opened Ardele's car door, dumped the turkey upside-down on the front seat, took her husband Scott's VW camper bus, and drove herself to the hospital, and had a baby boy named Nathan.

So, you see, she trumped Ardele after all. An eight pound baby boy beats a practical joke any day. And I found out that you CAN cook a whole turkey in the microwave oven. And Ardele discovered that a pregnant woman is nothing to trifle with.

Janelle

Another Thing to Be Thankful For (And To Tell Your Boss Immediately)

This just fresh from PBS:

Employees over age 50 have SIX TIMES less turnover than younger employees.

We rock. Yes, we do.

Two Great Salads

Simple 7 Layer Salad

Start at the bottom with torn lettuce, layering your favorites of chopped egg, peas, onions, bacon bits, shredded cheese, etc. Keep the salad dressing toward the top, with cheese and bacon bits on top!

St. Louis Salad

Mixed greens
Provel rope cheese (Provel is a St. Louis specialty cheese, similar to provelone)
Black olives
Tomatoes
Shaved red sweet onion slices
Zia's sweet Italian salad dressing (sweet vinaigrette made with red wine vinegar)

Toss with just enough dressing to coat.

The Perfect Sides - Hasselback Potatoes & Carrots All Jazzed Up

Hasselback Potatoes

Place a peeled medium potato in the hollow of a large wooden spoon, and began to slice it in 1/8 inch slices 'till about 1/2 inch from the end. The spoon prevents the knife from slicing all the way through the potato

Preheat oven to 425°F Butter an oven-proof dish. Place the potatoes side by side, cut side up, fanned open. Brush the potatoes with melted butter and sprinkle with salt and pepper. You can also add chopped onion and garlic if you like to the butter. If needed, brush again with melted butter after 30 minutes.

About 15 minutes before they are baked, sprinkle with grated cheese and paprika. Total baking time--50 minutes or until tender.

I have also substituted Parmesan cheese.

%%^%%^

Carrots All Jazzed Up

Slice 2 pounds of carrots Place in sauté pan and add ½ inch water. Bring to a boil and add 1 tsp chicken flavored "better than bullion," 1/2 stick (1/4 cup) of butter, 1 T. honey. Cook until tender and all the water is nearly evaporated.

Perfect Pumpkin Pie

Perfect Pumpkin Pie

1 prepared pie shell
1 - 1-ound can solid-pack pumpkin puree
1/2 cup light corn syrup
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
3 large eggs
1-1/2 cups heavy cream or canned evaporated milk
2 Tbl. dark rum
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 Tbl. pumpkin pie spice
1/4 tsp. salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. With an electric mixer, combine all ingredients and beat until mixed well. Fill pie shell (bake any leftover filling in ovenproof custard dishes). Bake 45 minutes to 1 hour. Done when a butter knife inserted in the center comes out clean.

Enjoy.

(Adapted from "The Beat That! Cookbook," by Add Hodgman (Chapters Publishing)

Better Off Without a Wife

Better Off Without a Wife

all my friends are married
every Tom and Dick and Harry
you must be strong
to go it alone

here's to the bachelors
and the bowery bums
and those who feel that they're the ones
who are better off without a wife

I like to sleep until the crack of noon
midnight howlin' at the moon
goin' out when I want to,
comin' home when I please

I don't have to ask permission
if I want to go out fishing
and I never have to ask for the keys

never been no Valentino
had a girl who lived in Reno
left me for a trumpet player
didn't get me down

he was wanted for assault
though he said it weren't his fault
well the coppers rode him right
out of town

(chorus)

selfish about my privacy
as long as I can be with me
we get along so well I can't believe

I love to chew the fat with folks
and listen to all your dirty jokes
I'm so thankful for these friends
I do receive

(chorus)


Tom Waits
Nighthawks At The Diner (1975)
Elektra

Happy 80th Birthday, "Show Boat"

When I lived in California, I managed to flip my days and nights. This was helped considerably by the all-night "late show" movies on the local TV channel. There was The Late Show, The Late Late Show, The Cat's Pajamas, The Early Early Show, and The Early Show. It was on The Late Late Show that I first encountered the second movie version of "Show Boat." The one with Kathryn Grayson and Howard Keel. I was thrilled.

This is from American Public Media's "Composer's Datebook":

Kern's "Showboat" is launched in D.C.Today's date marks the anniversary of the first performance of Jerome Kern's "Show Boat," produced in 1927 at the National Theater in Washington, D.C. by Florenz Ziegfeld.

"Show Boat's" book and lyrics were by Oscar Hammerstein II, adapted from Edna Ferber's novel, which had been published only the year before. It was a most unusual story for a musical, and dealt frankly with alcoholism and interracial marriage. Mixing tragic and comic elements was something simply unheard of in American musical theater of that time.

Ziegfeld's secretary recalled that before the Washington premiere the great producer fretted that audiences would be disappointed that the girls on stage were wearing much too much clothing for a typical Ziegfeld show. There was little or no applause following the November 15th premiere, and Ziegfeld assumed that "Show Boat" was a flop. But the Washington audiences were simply too stunned to react.

When Ziegfeld's secretary called to tell his boss that there were long lines waiting to buy tickets for subsequent performances, at first Ziegfeld didn't believe him. But by the time "Show Boat" opened on Broadway the following month, even the Great Ziegfeld knew he had a hit on his hands -- and one based on great music and a powerful book, with nary a scantily-clad show girl in sight!

After "Show Boat," the American musical theater would never be the same . . .

The New Consumerism

http://marketplace.publicradio.org/

It was when Tess Vigeland couldn’t figure out the chicken bones; that’s when it got me thinking too.

"Marketplace" is one of the most enjoyable parts of public radio. And they are doing a special series called “Consumed.” It’s about how consumer goods—and our consumption of them—have changed since you and I were kids. How things, like DVD players or computers or thousands of other things are cheaper to just replace than to repair. Why our ground beef is mixed with meat from South America. Why Tess Vigeland hauled every bit of non-recyclable garbage she made around with her. And she figured out how to recycle just about everything except the chicken bones. And then some dauntless listener wrote in and told her that pet rats eat chicken bones. So Bob’s Your Uncle.

And Then The Three Fire Trucks Came...

I had a delightful dinner last night with my pal Marie. She's my friend that got herself divorced as a 70th birthday present to herself.

Marie's oldest daughter, Colleen, is the original Earth Mother. She and her gourmet-cook husband Jeff have five kids, two dogs, a beautiful Victorian full of comfy couches and house plants and original art. And the Thanksgiving table that can seat 16 people. And it all caught fire two days ago.

Colleen was cleaning the kitchen, tidying things up, putting things away. And she picked up her candle-making supplies and chucked them into the empty oven, just to get them off the kitchen counter.

A couple of hours later, Colleen's out in the back yard with the kids, and Jeff comes home. He decides to surprise the kids with home baked chocolate chip cookies. And he turns on the oven, up high, to preheat.

The next bit of excitement was the candle wax (twenty pounds of it) exploding in a fireball out the BACK of the oven. And through the wall. And set the dining room drapes on fire. Ka-Boom!

So everybody in the back yard comes running in the house. Just as the dining room chairs are igniting. Colleen picks up the two smallest kids, one under each arm, and says, "Out the front door, Kids! Now!"

And then she looks back and sees Jeff just standing there, fixated, with a big oven mitt on each hand. Colleen tells him, "Come on! We all have to get out!" And, in a supreme "guy" moment, Jeff says, "No, you and the kids go on ahead. I think I can fix this."

So then three fire trucks came. And the insurance adjuster came. And declared $12,000 damage and that Colleen gets to pick out a whole new kitchen and dining room. And the adjuster sent Steamtronic Cleaners over the next day.

And the whole time Marie is telling me this, over our enchiladas, I am thinking is how this would have played out with my Ex. The ultimate concern would be B-L-A-M-E. And the crapola afterwards, on and on and on. And all the extra heaping helpings of S-H-A-M-E transference.

And this post, Dear Hearts, is about how, you know, even house fires are easier with nice, normal, functional spouses.

Janelle

The Gray And The Gold

There was a lamasery way up in the Himalayan Mountains. It was famous for its huge gold Buddha. it was very beloved and famous and just the joy of their lives.

Well, they got word that the Chinese Army was on the way, to take the gold Buddha and melt it down for gold bouillon. And the Buddhist monks, being Buddhist, thought long and hard about this. What they ended up doing, in a very Buddhist way, was covering the entire Buddha with a thick layer of plain old mud clay.

Then, when the greedy soldiers got there, the monks said, "You want to see the Buddha? Sure you do. Come this way."

And the soldiers looked up and saw a great big old, dirty, gray clay Buddha. And said to each other, "Aw, Jeesh, must not be the right lamasery." And they left.

The Buddhists left the Gold Buddha covered up for years and years and years. There was a big news story when they finally stripped away the clay and shined up all that wonderful, glinty gold. Until then, there were only whiffs of gold--where everybody had rubbed the Buddha’s belly and where the mountain wind and rain had kissed the head and the little, sticky-out fingers and toes. Just little glints, getting bigger and bigger over time. IMHO, grief is that clay, made up of all the abject misery and tears we cry. We just get packed over with this coating of grief. Then the gentle wind and the warm wind of The Land of Living wash over you and just ever so slowly erode away that clay.

When my sister Joyce died of Lou Gehrig's, I felt like a huge window of connectedness had closed for me. I was closest to Joyce, more than any of my other sisters and brothers or their children. And she was the one that had acted as a grandmother to Darling Daughter. I just couldn't seem to get past the fact that she was dead and I was still alive. I was just shell-shocked with grief. Somebody much older and wiser than me took me aside and lovingly said, "Kiddo, Life is for the Living."

I just looked at him. "I don't understand."

"What makes you happy?"

"Walking my dogs. Talking to my daughter. Music."

"Then you have to let those things wash over you. Until you get your center back."

And that's what happens. Life just makes you alive. And unless you get bogged down in loops of depression and grief and deep, dark thoughts, you can pull through.

Janelle

Hello

Welcome to this blog. Look into these old blue eyes and believe this: it will calm down, no, really, it will. There are things that Time can help and this is one of them. It will get calmer and quieter and blissfully dull and peaceful.

I know. I got divorced at age 49 and, suddenly in a very bright and peaceful little apartment, thought my life was over. Boy, was I ever wrong. It's been a blast. And did I mention calm?