I've posted about this period of time before – the last 24 hours or so before my family comes home from visiting family. Usually, I've got a list of projects and honey-do's to keep me busy while they're gone. This time was no exception.
Here's part of the list:
I had a great Thanksgiving with my parents. It was just like the good ol’ days, pre-1978, when I was an only child and life was simpler. I missed the Petite Filet and Cutlet, but it was a good miss ... sometimes it’s best to have a few days apart to appreciate more what one has. I am reminded again that I have a lot.
If we don’t learn from our mistakes, we are doomed to repeat them. That phrase could also say, “If we don’t learn from past holidays, we are doomed to repeat them.” With the holiday season upon us, it’s only a matter of time before something we do is going to bite us in the butt.
Here are 15 holiday survival tips I have learned firsthand, read somewhere or heard from acquaintances. Used properly, you will make it through to the other side mostly unscathed:
There's an undeniable rhythm of life in the cycle of birth and death, the changing seasons, the stages of life as we grow older. The cadence is different for all of us, a unique pattern dependent on nurture and nature and the things we choose to put around us.
My experience, just like yours, is uniquely mine. It is born from who I am, where I've been and what I think, among myriad other factors. The American experience, our culture ever more consumer- and technology-driven, is one of holiday shopping sprees, climbing corporate ladders, fitting into neat little categories, compartmentalizing our lives into bundles of work, play, faith, hopes, dreams and desires. It's living for the moment, yet the moment quickly disappears.
The beat goes on no matter what, but the hustle and bustle of this coming holiday season is entirely manmade. We do this to ourselves, and here's how:
A big empty bed
Plenty of room to stretch out and sleep diagonally if I wanted
I wish you were here
Just me, the dog, and a blog
It’s like living the single life again, only worse because you’re mine but gone
I wish you were here
Peace and quiet
No toys in the middle of the floor to trip over
I wish you were here
House not as liveable
I feel cold drafts despite the furnace that keeps coming on
I wish you were here
Missing those stolen kisses, or were they borrowed?
Cliches can ring so true: “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.”
I wish you were here
The king has his castle
And as much time in the bathroom as he wants
I wish you were here
Thanksgiving is about family
It’s not just my family that is gone, it’s a big part of me
I wish you were here
My parents’ eating habits are weird
My dad can’t eat turkey; once we ordered pizza
I wish I was there
I can’t complain
The blessings I have are many, but the best of them are 300 miles away
I wish you were here
Cutlet grows so much every day
Miss him so much it kind of hurts, but it’s OK I guess
I wish you were here
Early flight home Sunday
I’ll be waiting at the baggage claim, more than ready
So glad that you'll be here
*Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!*
I didn't earn a journalism degree to make the big bucks. My college professors let us news-editorial majors know we would often flirt with the poverty line. The curriculum put us through an additional ringer that taught us what a job in the real world entailed.
My new job will pay me nearly four times the amount I started making eight years ago, but that's only possible because my introduction to reporting featured a salary comparable to the fry cook trainee at McDonald's. It's never been about money for me. I took that first news job to learn the craft, and learn I did.
I got the job.
Those of you who've been facing cold air for the past few months will have little sympathy for us Texans. We got our first freeze of the season last night/this morning, and it was shocking. Especially compared to the breezey 80-degree Saturday this weekend.
Thanks to all the well-wishers. My little appointment Friday night (mentioned in the post below) went very well. I should hear something early this week. If it's good news, I'll spill all the beans in this very spot.
Today, my current job will keep me buried beneath the onslaught of Thanksgiving advertising. I don't like how retail companies use every holiday to draw out open wallets, but it's job security while I'm here so I won't complain too much about it.
In other news, the Petite Filet and Cutlet will board a plane tomorrow morning to visit grandma and grandpa's house. Because of my job and its bizarre* rules, I've got to work Friday and can't join them. I'll be spending part of Thanksgiving Day at my parents' house near Dallas, though, so it's not a total loss. But it will be just me and the dog for most of the week until Sunday morning. I have a lot to be thankful for, but spending a family holiday apart from my family isn't one of them.
Happy Monday, folks. I won't be around the blogisphere much today, but I'll make up for it this week when I get lonely in the evenings. That should be pretty often, I imagine.
What are you doing in observance of Thanksgiving?
*bizarre=evil.
I work in a white-collar office that sits on top of a blue-collar warehouse. The parking lot is huge, and I usually park near the back. On any particular day there are $500 clunkers parked next to $80,000 German luxury sedans. Every make, model, condition and price range are covered, as are most of the years between 1967 and 2003.
How clean people keep their cars seems to depend most on what type of personality they have and what type of lifestyle. No matter a person's economic status, if he or she virtually "lives in" the car, that car is going to be a rolling junk pit. If someone's a neat freak, you can rest assured the seats have been recently steam-cleaned. I've seen a fairly new Mercedes totally junked out, and a mid-80s model Honda Accord with a minty fresh interior.
I don't snoop intentionally, I just notice things in cars as I pass by. Here are the most common things I see:
I've got tons more ideas, but this week is wearing me out. I hereby declare an end to Fiction Week with this final entry. Posted below are my hurriedly written, misedited attempts at entertainment:
1. Assisted Living
2. Last Call at the Broken Boot
3. Thomas
4. And this ...
Rhyming Couplet
[Fiction by Texas T-Bone]
Jenny and Jason were married on a warm summer day. It was that time of year when the sun is aggressive, the air is thick, the moon is full, fireflies frantically dance in the darkness, children run around in the falling dusk, get bitten by mosquitoes and itchy from rolling in the grass, and the cows are too lazy to moo. It is the perfect setting to incubate a new love.
After the afternoon ceremony and light-snack reception, the newlywed lovebirds were driving through the countryside in their shiny red convertible, top down, full throttle, wind in their hair.
Jenny felt moved to speak:
“I could not have imagined a more perfect wedding day.
My love for you is real in every possible way.”
Jason responded:
“I’m just glad your father was able to pay,
So now we can honeymoon and have a roll in the hay.”
Thomas
[fiction by Texas T-Bone]
Thomas didn’t mind taking out the garbage. It took him away from the fray of beeping timers and the heat emanating from the fry vats, the large steel oven and the flat, open grill. He knew he could spend 15 minutes cramming cardboard boxes and over-filled garbage sacks into the compactor without getting into trouble. He relished every minute of his respite.
Rats scurried as he approached. Thomas emptied the cart, inserted the key and hit the green button. The compactor groaned to life, and he heard boxes being crushed and trash bags popping from the pressure. He pushed the reverse button, let the machine open up its hard, rusty jaws to be ready for more refuse, and took out the key.
Ballad of the Beleagured Silhouette Artist
My name is Suzie Jones and I’m an artist
I create art you’ll want to put on your list
Uniquely suited for gift-giving pleasure
My handiwork is something anyone would treasure
Last Call at the Broken Boot
[fiction by Texas T-Bone]
I didn’t really think about the consequences before I picked up that beer bottle and smashed it over Lester’s head. I remember feeling provoked, but I don’t know if it was something Lester said or did that made me feel that way. Maybe it was a long time coming.
It happened one night between our 9 p.m. and 11 p.m. sets at the Broken Boot Saloon. We had a weekly gig Fridays and Saturdays with our band, the Holstein Tumbleweeds. Lester “Lucky Man” Lawrence was on guitar and lead vocals, I was on bass, Jimmy “Jar Jar” Prickett was on drums, Bill “Bubba” Persimmons was on piano, and Lester’s lesbian sister Lucinda was on the tambourine. That is, when Bill showed up sober. Sometimes we just propped him up at one of the corner tables and went to playing without him. Mainly Top 40 Country & Western covers, but we also played old Texas Swing when the mood struck.
Yeah, so it's Tuesday, but I figured it's time to do some sort of theme week here. So from now until Friday, it's FICTION WEEK! I'll have a new short story today and the three days following. Yikes! Here we go ...
Assisted Living
[fiction by Texas T-Bone]
I’ve got to pee so bad I’m about to explode.
It’s been like this for about 20 minutes, but for some reason I can’t make my legs swing from my bed to the floor. Believe me, I’ve been trying. I can’t seem to shape the words that would call out for someone to help me. I don’t remember if there’s anyone to help me. Don’t know if anyone could hear me. Either way, I can’t talk. And I’m getting really frustrated. It’s going to come down to me pissing my pants at this rate, and that just makes me even madder. Where the hell am I? What is going on here?
Eric Sands would have a cow if he ever learns the truth about "The 5-Second Rule."
In the eighth grade, Eric would garner a lot of lunchroom attention by doing what he called “The French Fry Stomp.” He’d take a fry, step on it and then toss it up in the air and eat it to the giddy amusement of fellow students. He would also eat just about anything, including whatever you crammed into an empty milk carton (broccoli, pudding, pickle spears, etc.). Eric was tall, gangly and goofy. He was also highly intelligent, which made his antics tragic, ironic and a lot funnier.
I was late for work today and the reason made me nothing but happy.
The Cutlet was daddy-centered this morning for some reason. He followed me all over the house, kept wanting to play catch (his new use for his pacifier) and wanting to be held. He climbed up into my lap while I put on my shoes. It was cute, and effective. It made me slow down.
Slow is better because:
Hey, I don’t mind the colder weather so much. Change can be good, and it’s about time we Texans felt the icy fingers of Winter’s cold-blooded cousin Autumn on our bare skin.
However, there are some things I don’t like about cooler temperatures:
[THE PLOT THICKENS project is still going on ... if you fancy yourself a fiction writer but are too lazy to start a story, see the post below.]
The Cutlet will be 11 months old the day after Thanksgiving, and 1 year old the day after Christmas. All the clichés about time flying are so painfully true with a living, growing calendar in the house, starting to walk, talk and ask to borrow the car. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, even though it makes the world spin a lot faster. I still am not sure how he got a Cheerio on his nose.
Here’s when you know you’ve finally grown up:
Hey, let's write a story!
Our results will be better if many people participate.
Here are the rules:
1. Leave a comment with up to five sentences (and no more than five sentences in each comment) to continue the story. Your comment can be shorter than five sentences, too.
2. You can leave as many comments as you like, but someone else must comment in between each of your comments.
3. You cannot end the story.
Let's go! I'll start:
The Secret
Rose and Rita are twin sisters with a terrible secret, which they've sworn to never ever tell.
"I think I'm going to spill the beans, Rita," Rose declared.
"You'd better not!" Rita said. "It was 10 years ago on that cold, clear night that we promised to take the secret to our graves."
There was a knock at the door, and Rose rushed to answer it.
If you've had your fill of food posts, you may want to skip to T-BONE'S FREE GUIDE TO HEALTHY LIVING. It deals with food, but probably won't make you hungry.
Thanksgiving is merely weeks away. Here in the United States, that means a countdown to stuffing ourselves with food and reflecting on the things we are thankful for. Turkey & dressing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie is paired with family and friends. My parents are weird, so sometimes we'd have barbecue instead of turkey, but whatever.
My question for you today is, what is your favorite Thanksgiving meal? Favorite side dishes? What do you look forward to eating during the holidays? Got a favorite recipe? Feel free to answer only one question.
I want to take responsibility for my recent food talk here and offer up my philosophy on healthy living.
There are thousands of lifestyle and weight-loss programs out there, some that work, some that work for a certain period of time, and some that are designed to collect money faster than a bank. The following guidelines are my opinions and suggestions based on how I strive to eat, exercise and enjoy life. This is is no way meant to be a judgment of other people, their lifestyles or weight-loss programs.
The basics: eat better, exercise and enjoy.
I was halfway through my enchilada dinner when the tequila kicked in.
All the other people in the crowded restaurant started to shout at me, the table began to spin and bats started pouring from the light fixtures. One bat in particular swooped down and tried to steal the nacho I was eating, but I fought him off with a tennis racket. It was bizarre because I don’t even play tennis.
I made an amazing discovery today!
Gosh! You guys made it really hard to pick a winner! The recipes submitted as part of T-Bone's Dinner Project will all become part of a cookbook that will be offered to you, fine readers and gourmet bloggers, by the week of Thanksgiving.
I'd love to give everyone a special prize, or invite each one of you over for dinner, but the fact is there can only be one winner. As promised, I'm announcing the No. 1 recipe today ...
We’ve had a plant, Mr. Bendy, for about three years. Yes, we name our houseplants (Spike, Palmy, Fred, Leafy O’Conner and Juice Newton give you their regards). I’d tell you more about Señor Bendito, but he doesn’t say much. I only know how he entered our lives ...
After taking its sweet time chugging along the tracks, the Autumn Express has finally pulled into Texas. We’ve gone from warm and drought-like for about a month, to harsh, cold, damp and soggy virtually overnight. It’s like living inside a half-eaten sandwich that was left outside in the rain. That sandwich tasted so good yesterday!
Talking about the weather is a natural, especially when a conversation lulls. Cards, letters and phone calls from my grandparents always mention the current weather. Strangers often exchange pleasantries/unpleasantries based on the current climate (“How are ya doin’?” “Just fine. Lovin’ this weather!” OR “What’s up?” “Oh, nothing much. This snow sure is making my feet itch, though.”).
Here are a few reasons why weather is never too far from our minds:
Talk-show host David Letterman's son was born this past Monday. The little guy is named after Letterman's father, Harry Joseph. Early reports had suggested the baby was due in December. Thankfully, little Harry was spared the trauma of having a close-to-Christmas birthday like the Cutlet (sorry, dude) and a couple of occasional readers of this blog.
Today I had intended to share a little song about one of our houseplants, but I didn't have time this morning to e-mail the photo to myself. Guess you'll have to wait until tommorrow for that bit of potted poetry. I'm sure you can't wait.
In the meantime, here's a list of a few Things To Do If You Are Bored:
Alessandro Volta really got a charge out of life. Why? Because in 1800, he invented the precursor to today's electric batteries. [Find out more about batteries in general here].
All of us who are plugged in to modern technology rely on batteries in some form, whether in our cell phones, PDAs, personal musical devices, watches, laptops ... the list goes on and on. However, parents who have young children in this world keep the Duracells, Energizers, Rayovacs and other battery companies in business. I think Mr. Volta must have been a parent.
Powered toys are no substitute for love. Realistically, however, they can be surrogate babysitters whose only fee is a fresh set of four C cells and a flip of the "on" button. I find nothing wrong with this for short periods of time. It can help parents, particularly moms, stay a little bit saner. That kind of parenting becomes a problem if it's the toys giving love and attention all day long, but that's not my point here.
My point? We use a gazillion batteries each month. I blame:
I’ve now worked exactly half my life.
I started slinging McBurgers in late October 1988 as a newly minted 15-year-old. I’ve been gainfully employed – more or less – ever since. Since earning my journalism degree, my career path has been directly or indirectly related to journalism, too. While work sure does cut into my Fun Time, I realize it’s a blessing that I’ve never been without a job.
That alone doesn’t make me special, just fortunate so far. I’ve worked in industries not prone to layoffs and have never been caught doing something overtly stupid. Do I play it safe? You bet, especially now that I’ve got a family to support.
Last month, the Petite Filet didn’t earn any money in her freelancing work. Miraculously, we lived off my salary alone for all of October. That and by the grace of God went we. It was tight, but we made it!
My great-uncle Lawrence, who in his early life was a genuine Pirate of the Caribbean (spelled “smuggler”), told me once that because my birth in 1973 fell on Labor Day, I'd have labor all my life. He’s right, because life is work. No matter how good one part of my life is, there’s always something out of balance somewhere. It’s not supposed to be easy, and it’s not. Nobody is immune to that rule. It may seem like it from the outside, but there’s always something hinky – mentally, spiritually or physically – brewing below the surface.
I’ve shared some of this “wisdom” about my philosophy about work. Here’s why I might complain at times, but it’s really not so bad:
