Traditions!

Last night was the Teddy Bear Toss game for the Winterhawks. It's impossible to say why it's the greatest thing ever, but it really is. Something about all of those bears raining down out of the stands is just amazing. Even if you get pelted by more than a few of them! Expert tip, if you are going to take a picture or record any of it, TWO hands firmly on your phone or it will go flying. Also expect to lose any unfinished drink in your possession. We had glass seats one season and we thought they'd be fun for Teddy Bear Toss because we could actually get our bears right on to the ice instead of somewhere in the seats for someone else to finish their journey. But what we did not think of were the HUNDREDS of bears that don't quite make it over the glass and you get pelted from behind and from the front as they hit the glass and ricochet back. A little higher up is much nicer.

Anyway...it's the best game of the year. And it helps set up a great holiday mood. 

We missed it live last year and had to watch on TV because Brent had Covid. It was still fun on TV but not the same feeling as being in a hail of bears and stuffies. 

Traditions are very specific things, right?

I've talked before about how our traditions aren't they typical ones, but they are ours. We always watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation to start the season. Usually Thanksgiving night, but at least by Friday sometime. And we cap it off Christmas Eve with Scrooged. The movies in-between vary, though Elf seems to have become an every year standard as well. We recently added going to get soup dumplings at the mall a few days before Christmas. It morphed out of an older tradition that got put aside. There used to be a great candy store in the mall and we would go get candy for our stockings (yes, we picked our own stocking candy) when Din Tai Fun opened we grabbed reservations for dinner there on candy shopping night. The older candy store closed and a new one opened. It was bigger but somehow not as great. But the soup dumplings made up for it. Even if we don't get the candy, we get the dumplings. 

We stopped exchanging gifts a few years ago. Brent and I stopped almost 10 years ago and we stopped with Katie the year before the pandemic. We decided that the trips we take are more fun than any presents so football games, Disney, those became our presents. We're all adults and if we want something we just buy it ourselves. It works for us. 

So not a lot of big traditions or standard traditions around Christmas anymore. Every few years we try and get a Zoo Lights in. I try and find at least one Christmassy/Holiday themed event. This year it was Liberace and Liza: Holiday at the Mansion. Every year we say THIS is the year we make it to The Grotto and then don't. But those things are usually just me and Brent now since Katie lives in Bend. 

And this year, it will all just be me and Brent because Katie isn't coming home for Christmas. She came up for Thanksgiving with her girlfriend and roommate. That was the holiday we got. Her girlfriend doesn't celebrate Christmas so Katie decided that the better holiday for the family would be Thanksgiving. It's actually my favorite holiday so that worked for me.

I know it's a weird one to be a favorite, and Christmas for sure used to be when Katie was younger, but Thanksgiving is so much lower stress. Just a big meal. Then a few days to lounge around eating leftovers and watching football. I mean The Game is stressful but it's not like it's something we have to prepare for, we just watch on the edge of our seats. 

But anyway....

Katie isn't coming home for Christmas this year. 

I've talked about how we are lucky to have had her for all the holidays for as long as we did. That Brent and I stopped going home for all of them at 18. Christmas a few years, then we didn't do that after Katie was born. The first year because Brent was on watch Christmas week (we actually moved Christmas that year and celebrated on a different date, it was just us and it worked better, I felt so early Catholic church!) Then later because it was easier not to pack up Katie and try to travel during that stretch. The few years we lived back in New Mexico were crazy stressful for Christmas. One year we woke up early and had our family Christmas breakfast and gifts. Then packed up the car and went to my brother's house for lunch and gifts and games with my side of the family. Then bailed around 4:30 from that and went back to our house where Brent's parents were coming up from Las Cruces to celebrate so we had late Christmas dinner and gift exchange with them. Wiped out. 

But after we moved away from New Mexico again we just kept visits to off times of the year. The year after Jack died Ann tried to come up for Christmas, thinking that she might just start coming up here every year to celebrate with us. That was the year of the freak snow. Katie had over a month off for Christmas break that year because of the snow before and the snow after Christmas. Ann was supposed to come in a few days ahead of Christmas and ended up finally getting in Christmas night. Then she almost couldn't get back out again. She decided never again. 

So it was just the three of us. 

And now it will be just the two of us. 

And if I keep telling myself it is fine and we have been lucky to have had her for as long as we did I might just make it through without any tears. 

Wish me luck! 

So Attached!

At lunch earlier this week I was talking with my friend about attachment styles. She asked if I knew mine, and I don't. It reminded me of when one of those quizzes was going around to find your attachment style and Brent said he didn't want me to take it because it would just come back as Not. 

Which is hilarious. And also a little true. I'm fine on my own. I love him, he's also my best friend, if something were to happen to him I would devastated. But then I'd be fine. I'm wired like that. 

Or that's what we say. But I haven't always been like that. 

When we first got together my style would be (and I don't know the actual styles so I'm using my own terms here) insecure. Same reason why it's in the "not" category now too, which is interesting. I learned very early on that the people that are supposed to take care of you and protect you sometimes don't. And because of that I didn't let myself really get attached to anyone, and a big part of that was because I didn't feel like I was worth getting attached to myself. Like as soon as someone got to know me, the real me, they would bail so better to not get too attached. 

So when Brent and I were first dating and then when we got married I was always worried that THIS would be the day he would realize what a terrible mistake he had made and how I was actually not loveable at all and he would leave. If he was out with friends I was sure he was going to find someone else and leave me. It was a constant drumbeat. I am not worthy of actual love. 

I've talked about the anger I had when I was younger and how Brent was a saint for sticking by me those first few years of marriage as I figured it all out and worked through it. But this was probably the part that was hardest for him. The part of me that was jealous of EVERYONE and EVERYTHING all the time. Because I was sure he was always on the verge of realizing how awful I was. Because when you are abused as a child part of you grows up thinking you must have deserved it. Which is, of course, not at all true. But until you work through that you have a mess on your hands. 

One of the biggest breakthroughs I had was his first cruise. Six months out to sea. Pulling in to ports where there was a LOT of prostitution in the areas they went drinking. I mean, hunt where there's bears to be hunt, right? So this should have just pushed me right over the crazy edge, but it didn't. Talking to a friend about it, her husband was on the same ship, and she was really spun up about it. Worried that he would stray. And I just wasn't. She asked why and I said, "One, I don't think he will. He said he wouldn't and he's never lied to me before. And two if he does there is nothing I can do to stop it. So why sit here and worry about it?"

And as the words were coming out of my mouth it was like...oh. He said he won't, so he won't. And if he does then he does. Neither of those outcomes actually has anything to do with me. That's all him. His choices. Not me or mine. And if he does and I never find out then does it matter? If a sailor is unfaithful in the woods does it make a sound? Or something like that. But it did get me thinking about it. And a few years later I revised my if you ever cheat I will make your life a hell like you have never known to if you ever cheat please don't do it in such a way as I find out. I don't want to know. I don't want to change the way I feel about you and us. 

His response was, how about I just don't? Which is also good.

But now years and years after that I have to admit my attachment style went from really insecure to really healthy. I love him. I love spending time with him. He's my best friend. I trust him as much as I have ever trusted anyone (also an abused kid thing, we don't really trust anyone, I trust him and I trust Katie the most of anyone ever and that's about it). But if he were to leave me I would pack up those emotions in a box and put them away and move on with my life. I mean I'd be sad, and probably a little angry for awhile, because I would be so shocked, but he's not me. I'm not him. We are seperate. 

And we choose to be together. 

He's my best friend. If I have the choice of doing something with anyone I am always going to choose him. He's the same way. When we first got tickets for the Timbers games I told him and told him that he could just get one and go with Joe; he had gone to a few games with just Joe in the past and had fun. I told him that I was fine watching from my toasty warm and dry couch and he could go have fun at the games. He finally said that he has a better time if I'm there. Aww...so we got two tickets (which we've now given up, another blog for another day). 

If we are doing something WE are doing something. People give us a hard time all the time about it. But it works for us. It's the choice we make. Because it's what we prefer. 

So extremely attached. Maybe that's our style? 

I still don't know what the actual styles are, but I do know that mine has shifted. And I'm super thankful for that. Because I wouldn't have wanted to live with that level of constant fear for the past 35 years or so. 

Yeah, we are heading toward our 37th anniversary in a few weeks. How crazy is that?

Oh there you go...that's my attachment style...Long term. 

Nerves...

I'm starting to get a little nervous about the PRP therapy for my elbow. 

When I first posted about the possibility of getting it done I got a ton of feedback from friends who have had it for various soft tissue injuries and had great results. And I was really looking forward to it last month. But with the delay in treatment the reality of it has started to set in a little more. And the fact that I've gotten very used to the wonky elbow.

So part of me is like...well should I? Or should I just deal with it?

When the doctor first told me about it he was very upfront and said that it's going to hurt. That the first few days after the treatment it will hurt more than it hurts right now. But that after a few weeks it will feel great. I have a really high pain tolerance so I was feeling fairly cocky about it. Oh I can deal with a little pain for a few days no sweat. 

Then I talked to the nurse when I was rescheduling and she reiterated that it would hurt. And then added that they would send me home with a few pain pills to get me over the hump. Wait, what? This is pain pill level hurts? Oh well...that's different. 

And then I got the aftercare paperwork and I'm not supposed to do any exercise at all for two weeks and no vigorous work for six. 

For an elbow?

I can't walk the treadmill for two weeks for an elbow?

I can't keep my slow jogging up for six weeks?

What?

I haven't been able to lift heavy things for over two months and now you want me to not even be able to get my heart rate up at all? 

I am going to double check on that on Wednesday because that seems a little odd. But I will follow whatever the instructions are because I want to give it the best possible chance at success. I just will whine about it if it really is no walking for two weeks and no jogging for six. 

So right now I'm not feeling super confident about getting the procedure done. If it weren't my left arm. If it weren't for the fact that I am losing my grip, I mean literally, not just about getting the procedure done. If it weren't for the fact that I can't stretch it out or bend it too far in. If I weren't for all of the things that drove me to going to the doctor in the first place I would absolutely cancel the appointment. 

But all of those things are true. So I will get it done. Just a few more days of thinking about it and dreading it to go. 

yay...

Well That's Embarrassing...

Or I mean it would have been if I were wired that way.

I just went out to run a couple of errands. When I got home and was pulling into the garage the door seemed to be going up a little slowly. Tap the brakes to make sure I don't hit the door...except my foot was on the gas so I gave the gas a tap instead of the brakes. Whoops! Now for sure I'm going too fast and the door is going too slow! Slam on the brakes to make sure I don't hit it and...look over and see Brent on the treadmill watching the whole thing. 

Of course.

I mean why even look like I can't drive anymore and need my keys taken away from me if nobody is watching? 

When he's done working out I will have to explain "what the hell was that?" and that's where most people would get embarrassed. And I guess I kind of am, just in that I would rather he hadn't seen it so I didn't have to talk about it with him at all way. Because, clearly, I know how to drive and that was just a blip of thing that happens to people. And thank goodness it wasn't me crashing through the wall of a restaurant or anything like that. I mean, that might have been embarrassing. Except, you know, I'm not really wired like that. 

I just don't embarrass easily. I have moments where I think, well that sucks, or I wish that hadn't happened. But I can only remember a small handful of times in my adult life where I've been truly embarrassed. I just don't do it. It's packed away with guilt for me. 

I don't feel guilty about things for any length of time because guilt is an action emotion. If I'm feeling guilty it means I need to change something. If there is nothing I can change, then there is no reason for guilt. Embarrassament sort of falls into that the same way for me. 

Why do you get embarrassed? Because you feel like you did something foolish, or silly, or stupid in someone else's eyes. Well, I can't control what you think is foolish, or silly, or stupid, so why should I be embarrassed over your emotions? It just doesn't work for me. Embarrassment is a way of throwing shame onto others and making it their fault for how you feel. Or you doing it to yourself. Feeling shame about something that you think other people feel. 

When I was younger I was extremely embarrassed about being poor. I had real shame around it. Now, that's the American way, so I came about it naturally. We shame the poor all the time. We act like being poor is a crime, or at least a reflection of bad character. And I knew that my parents worked really hard. That everyone in my family actually worked really hard. As soon as you could legally get a job, you had a job. At least one. But the working poor is a thing in America. Multiple jobs, still not getting anywhere. Repo man in the kitchen. 

I was embarrassed. I was ashamed to bring most people to my house. We lived in a trailer, not a "real" house. I bought my clothes at the DAV. Super rare to get something new. Everything was old, worn, we reduced and reused long before it was trendy. And it made me feel like I was less than my friends who had more. 

Which is insane. The people who should be embarrassed are the ones hoarding more and more money while people in the world are starving or freezing or lacking health care. That's something to feel shame about. Not working hard and still not making ends meet. That's a flaw in our system, not in you.

But anyway...once I realized that feeling ashamed of the fact that I grew up poor was silly I stopped. And then I thought about being embarrassed in general. 

Like often people will tell you that you should be embarrassed for...Fill in whatever they think you should be embarrassed about. And often people will tell you things like Oh I would be so embarrassed if I were you! about, again, fill in whatever behavior they'd like you to change. I'm not embarrassed and you aren't me so no worries. 

We use embarrassing people to try to shame them into behaving in a different way. A way we are more comfortable with. 

I'm not about that. 

I sing in public. I dance in my car. I make mistakes. I fall down sometimes because I'm not super graceful. I say things that pop into my head without always thinking them through. And I'm rarely, if ever, embarrassed by any of it. 

Even when Brent sees me almost crash through the garage door. 

In fact, I'm sort of impressed how quickly I realized my foot was on the wrong pedal and I got woahed up instead of crashing into the door. Even if it was a problem of my own creation I got out of it pretty quickly. 

Nothing to be embarrassed about at all. 

That Darn Elf...

She didn't want to open her eyes just yet.

It was the best time of the day, in her opinion, when you were toasty and warm snuggled down in your bed. Still dark but you could feel dawn was starting. The whole day ahead of you. New adventures on the horizon.

Maybe it had snowed overnight and everything would be canceled for the day. You could choose to go out and sled, or build a snowman, or stay inside under a blanket with a cup of hot cocoa. 

Since it was December there would also be finding the elf. What had it gotten up to in the night?

Maybe playing in the little marshmallows again.

Spreading them out on the counter so they spelled out a message.

Maybe taking some of the decorations off the tree and hanging them from the ceiling fan. 

Maybe moving one of the porcelain Lladro figurines and taking its place in the curio cabinet. 

There had been so many different things in the past. 

But she didn't want to open her eyes just yet to see. 

For now she was warm and cozy and snug.

The day was ahead of her. Waiting. 

Like the elf. 

That she could feel staring at her. 

So it was the shelf by the bed again. 

Its favorite place to perch.

And stare.

Its hands under its chin. Legs spread in the splits. The maniacal grin painted on its face. 

She really didn't like that elf. 

Always watching. 

Judging her. 

It might not be as bad if she knew how it had gotten into her house in the first place and how the fuck it moved around on its own. 

Only 18 more days until Christmas Eve when she could go back to living alone. 

So for now she kept her eyes closed. 

Snug and warm and safe.

Empty Presents...

The box was wrapped in gold paper with a silver bow. No card attached. Just this gorgeous present. It had been part of her family’s Christmas decorations for as long as she could remember. There were five “presents” like this. All different colors. But the gold one with the silver bow was her favorite.

When she was little, she wanted to unwrap them. To get the gifts inside. But her mother told her there was nothing inside the boxes, they were empty. They were just for show, decorations to make the tree look more finished before the real presents were placed there. Once the real presents started being placed under the tree the empty boxes got pushed further and further back. Hidden away under the crush of multicolored boxes and bags.

But Christmas morning after the rush of tearing paper and oohing and aahing over new gifts those empty boxes would come back to the front of the tree making it look like Christmas was just starting. Even though it was over.

She could remember lying under the tree watching the lights reflecting in the gold paper. The years they had multicolor lights, the year her mother switched to just clear lights, then the year she went back to the multicolor lights “Who cares what’s in style? Christmas is about tradition, not style!”

And those five empty packages were tradition.

She could remember daydreaming about what could be in the boxes. That maybe they weren’t empty at all but filled with… and that changed every year. Barbie clothes. Books. New clothes. The shoes she really wanted but her mother said were too expensive for feet that grew a half size every month. Makeup that her father said she was too young to wear even though Jenny had been wearing colored lip gloss for months. In her dreams her golden box always held just exactly what she wanted most.

When she was old enough to help decorate, she was the one who started placing the packages under the fully decorated tree. Always putting her favorite box front and center. Turning it to just exactly at the right angle to hide the spots where a 5-year-old her had tried to pick the tape off to just get a peek at what was inside. Not fully believing her mother that she would put an empty box under the tree year after year.

Her first year away at college she had been disappointed to find the tree already filled with the real presents by the time she got home. Her mother hadn’t even bothered to put the five empty gifts under the tree that year since all of the kids were out of the house until mid-December, so there had been no rediscovery of them hidden in the back after unwrapping the real gifts. She had tried not to show too much disappointment but apparently had failed since they were back the next year. Just those five the first day she came home, then the real presents came out from wherever her mother had been storing them.

After she and her siblings had all moved out and started families of their own the boxes became objects of fascination for a new generation. The green one with the red plaid bow had not survived the twins’ first Christmas at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house. They had all laughed as they tore open the empty box and played with it more than their “real presents.” She had laughed and also had moved her gold box out of reach.

Then she and her husband moved far enough away that Christmas visits were made by phone. Traveling with the kids around the holiday was just too much. It was easier to visit during the summer when they had time off of school and no other distractions. Her mother would send her pictures of the festivities, but they hadn’t been home for the holiday in at least ten years.

A decade since she had seen the gold box with the silver bow. She could see it peeking out of the top of a box of Christmas decorations. The shelves in her parents’ garage organized and tidy, just like the rest of the house. Those two rows were Halloween decorations, those three were Christmas.

“We can sort all of them and if you want something you put it in your keep pile, anything left over the auction house can donate or…”

Her oldest brother had been directing the clean-up. But even he had a hard time saying that they would just throw away those things.

But it was time. The house was going on the market, and they needed to get it ready to sell. Something that sounds easy when someone else is talking about doing it but when it is your turn? When it’s your childhood that is on the block? Then it’s a very different feeling.

They had finished the inside of the house. Tagging all of the things they wanted to keep, finding that they all have very different attitudes about it. Her sister had wanted a few of the older heavier pieces of furniture, the ones that had come from their grandparents’ house. Her brother had wanted some of the art pieces. She had only wanted the coffee set. The creamer and sugar dish. She could still envision her father making her mother’s coffee for her. Dropping a cube of sugar and just the right dash of cream into a cup BEFORE pouring the coffee. He said that was the real trick. Put it in first and the pouring of the coffee would mix it perfectly. The set would be a memory of both of her parents that she could touch.

The auction house would take care of the rest of the things. Selling, donating or…

But first they had to sort the boxes.

Her brother pulled the Christmas decorations off the shelf and…

“Hunh…”

“What?”

“It has your name on it.”

He picked up the gold box with the silver bow and sure enough there was a tag on it now. There were two more wrapped boxes now. All that was left of the original five. One had her sister’s name, and one her brother’s.  The boxes were theirs now. One for each of them. 

She was already trying to decide how to carry it home without wrecking it, where it would go under her tree when her sister said, “They aren’t empty.”

She shook her box and could feel something inside shift.

“Should we open them?”

“I think we are supposed to.”

She sat on the garage floor. Boxes of Christmas decorations all around her and held her gold box. 

“On three?”

“On three.”

“One, two, three…”

They all opened their boxes. Her brother tearing his open with abandon like he had always done. Her sister carefully placing the bow to the side before ripping her paper as well. She looked for the edge of tape she had started peeling at five years old but found all of the old tape had been split and then covered with new. She took the small pocketknife from her father’s toolbox and split the seams again. Carefully unwrapping the gift without ruining her precious gold paper.

Inside the box was an envelope. Her parents had written each of them a letter and packaged them with favorite photographs of their childhood. Awards, pool parties, beach days. Each photo had a few sentences marked in the letter. Memories their parents had of them.

She looked at her brother and at her sister. Tears streaming down each of their faces as they looked at what their parents had held most dear about them and them alone. Another moment with their parents. Another few minutes being held in their embrace and being shown their love.

In her mind her gold box had always held what she wanted most. She had been right.

A November to Remember...

Or not. 

I guess I could have called this one a Tale of Two Novembers. It was the best of times...it was the worst of times...

Covid finally came for me. And it has been so weird. Like I've been much sicker in my life. I've had much worse colds. I've had deeper coughs. I've had congestion that was worse. I've had higher fevers. But I'm still not 100% recovered from this even though I tested negative weeks ago and haven't had any big symptoms for ages. It has been the longest recovery from the mildest cold. 

I mean, I'm recovered...mostly...but left with a lingering tiredness that I just can't shake. And if I try and power through my body says, "nah, bitch, nah." and BAM! I'm on the couch wondering how moving even works. 

Now I wonder if part of it is related to my elbow issues. Chronic pain can wipe you out pretty quickly too, without you really being aware of how much it's zapping your energy. So maybe it's not all Covid, but it peaked with Covid and has not yet gone away. I guess we will see when I get the treatment for my elbow, and pass the "not kidding, this is going to hurt" phase of the recovery. 

So how did I do otherwise?

Writing: if I get a fiction piece in by tomorrow I will hit my spaced goals, even if I didn't exactly hit them each week. I know it's December but because MOST of this week was November it counts on my chart as November. I also hit all of Dana's extra pieces even if one was a fever dream and one will never ever see a published page. They still count. 

Reading: when I finished a book yesterday I hit my fourth reset Goodreads goal, I'm just not going to bother increasing it again. Clearly I've hit that goal, and how. 

I wrote about the self help book and it was a good one. Whew! The bio was Sir Patrick Stewart's. You needed to be a major fan of his, like made sure you listened to him reading the Shakespeare sonnet of the day during the pandemic lockdown, level of fan to appreciate the book. I am that level of fan. He was brutally honest about what a shit he was when he was younger and I actually found that refreshing. It's nice when they don't try and pretend that having an affair is just fine because reasons we will gloss over. (ahem, Barbra, I'm looking at you right now)

I read the Stranglings October book for November which really ended up working out because the November book still hasn't come available. Anway...that was Shoot the Moon by Isa Arsen. It was interesting. A magical realism around the space program. Different, not something I would have picked up on my own, which is the point of following her book clubs. 

Workouts: I talked last month about how the elbow injury meant no weightlifting and how I had actually started jogging. I stuck with that this month, until Covid. Then I took two weeks to sit on the couch and stare at the walls with the hardest workout being getting up to pee... But I got back on the treadmill and finished out not one but two iFit challenges for November even with two weeks off. Because I am a goddamn machine. Also because I like my digital rewards. Also because they were only 30-40 minutes long and I could manage that long without feeling like I wanted to fall down. BUT I did it. 

So what's left for December? I'll stick with trying to manage writing more than not. I'll keep up the jogging/walking interval workouts with the possibility of having to take some time off after my injection. I was going to do the combo self help bio but I'm reading Barbra Streisand's bio so that will count instead. And that's really about it. Healing from my procedure. Wrapping up the writing and reading. Getting ready for a new year without these little milestone markers. 

And honestly, probably another few days of sitting on the couch when I overdo it and my body rebels because I never know where that overdo it line is going to be. Is it one thing? Two things? Five things? It's a mystery!

Happy December! Almost done with 2023, can you believe it?