The Complaint Department

Assisted Suicide

Dear Holiday Poinsettia,

I have known for some weeks now that you have been suffering.  You look thinner than ever, and your once-full foliage has been falling away, like the dry skin from my heels.

Every morning, I sense your silent pleas to help you end the misery.  Still, I have been unable to let you go.  The notion of putting you out in the trash has just been too difficult . . . too painful . . . even though your suffering is so very evident.

Now, beloved Poinsettia, the time has finally come, with the imminent arrival of the possibility of a painless and beautiful death.  I can only let you go in this way.

After a last meal of two quarts of water, I will place you outside, where, in short order, your frail body, with its last remaining scarlet blooms, will succumb to plant-hypothermia, while being covered with a blanket of pure, white snow.

It is a fitting end for you, dear Poinsettia, who served so brilliantly and valiantly this Winter holiday season.  I thank you for your beautiful and cheerful aspect (though not for the leaves, which I had to clean up endlessly), and I hope that--through the miracle of reincarnation--I will see you, again, in the dogwood blossoms this Spring.

Farewell, my lovely Poinsettia!

 

 

 

Rest in Peace.

 

 

Ahead of Schedule

A few days ago, I took down all the Christmas decorations.  It's a good start to 2009, because I usually let this unpleasant job linger for, at least, a couple of weeks into the New Year.

Everything was disassembled and packed away for another year, except for a few paintings my father did, oh, 40-some years ago.

 

 

This painting sat on the mantle every Christmas during my childhood since the 1960's.  It, as well as the others, are Swedish in design, and were copied from a magazine article, which I discovered while cleaning out my parents' house.  It's large--about 14" high and 64" long.

I'll be handing it over to a**hole family member this year, but not before making a copy of it for myself.

 

 

These two, smaller, paintings I'll keep for myself, for the time being.  They measure about 18" x 22".  Aren't they sweet?  Dad was half Swedish and half Norwegian, so I'm sure he felt the pictures compelling.

 

 

And, look!  Here's the old, tattered article from which Dad copied the designs.  It's kind of cool that it's still around.  I'll pop it into the book with the other family papers.

 

 

Are your decorations still up?  Yes?  Well, you'd better get busy!  Ha ha ha!

 

 

So long, 2008. You sucked!

 I've never been happier to ring in a new year.  Two thousand eight was my own personal annus horribilis.

Tony and I spent New Year's Eve at our neighbors' house, where we enjoyed good food and conversation.  They are communist-era Romanians who found a way out of that country some years back.  As such, their spin on all things American can be very interesting.

Mrs. Romania put on her usual, amazing spread of food, all arranged with over-the-top artistic flair.  I brought a potato salad, decorated with pickles and olives in the second-grade-art-class style.  Her delectables were arranged on delicately-designed fine china.  My potato salad was nestled in a clunky, rustic bowl from Annapolis Pottery.

Mr. and Mrs. Romania are both in medicine.  Mr. Romania is an operating room nurse, and Mrs. Romania, after working for many years as an operating room nurse, as well, is just finishing her course work to become a licensed nurse anesthetist.

They are the parents of two teenagers, one in her first year of college.

"So, Miss Romania, how are you finding college?"

"I have too much spare time.  I'll be taking more courses next year, since I have a triple major."

"!!!"

 Miss Romania was there with her boyfriend, who commutes to college--2.5 hours away--every day of the week.  He studies music.  Specifically . . . the tuba.  I learned a lot about the tuba and the cut-throat world of the tuba-playing professional.

The other child, Master Romania, is a thoroughly delightful and outgoing guy.  Tony recently gave him his Italian bicycle, along with a racing jacket, and we now see Master Romania cruising on the bike, wearing the jacket, around the neighborhood.  When Master Romania was younger, he came over to our house quite often and hung out with Tony.  We don't see him too much these days because his attention has turned to girls, friends and text messaging.

Anyway, it was a nice New Year's Eve, even though I drank too much Cognac.

Happy New Year!

Oh, yeah. I have a blog.

A couple of days ago, I was on the phone with Peanut.  She suggested that I do a post about Stuffed Ham, a dish found only here in Southern Maryland.

"Oh, yeah.  I have a blog."

Well, ya know, I've been crazy busy with all these Christmas preparations, and what not.

Tony's sister and her husband are coming for a few days, so a hard-core cleaning has been going on here.  I'm more of a lick-and-a-promise kind of gal, but J., the family matriarch, is a white-glove type.

 

 

 

Don't get me wrong.  She's the best, and really looks out for the Family.  But, I have found it difficult to meet her standards, as they've been expressed to me by my husband.

 

 

 

There's been scrubbing of floors, vacuuming of furniture, washing of windows, dusting of surfaces, cleaning of bathrooms, watering of plants, shopping of groceries, decorating of rooms, planning of meals . . .

 

  

 

I'm one of those people who suffers from the winter holiday blues.  Come on January 1!

 

 

 

Don't I look sad?  And old?  Check out my hair.  It's almost white!  It offsets the black circles under my eyes, don't you think?

 

 

 

Well, Merry Christmas.  I'm off to have a glass of wine.

 

 

This and That

How was everybody's Thanksgiving?

I worked like a dog on Thursday, preparing a traditional meal for just three of us.  I was unconscious by 6 p.m.

Friday, I took Mom out to do a little shopping at our local department store, over in the next county.

She pooped out on me before we were even in the door.  Nevertheless, we managed to find her a couple of nightgowns, a "jogging" suit for her to wear at "Antique Village," a pair of shoes to replace the 15-year-old ones I had to pry off her feet with a crowbar, and a winter jacket.  I did most (read "all") of the shopping, after I had propped Mom against a wall or hung her up on a rack in each of the various departments.

In between times, there were many other meals to be prepared and served, baths to be given, medications to dole out, laundry to wash, Scrabble games to be played, family pictures to sort through, and questions to be answered and stories to be heard, over and over, again.

Saturday, I drove her back to the "Village," where I collected all of her summer clothes and arranged her winter clothes in her drawers and closet.  Then I drove home.

Sunday I spent in a stupor, gazing into space and twirling my hair.

 

 

 

Before Thanksgiving preparations got underway earlier in the week, I got to have a nice visit with a friend who came over on Monday morning.  We'll just call her Lizzie Dear for now, until I can get her permission to out her on God Bless Y'all.

We had planned to have coffee, but wound up walking on the beach with her dogs the whole time she was here.  I hope she didn't think I was a rude hostess, getting her over here with promises of refreshments and not following through.

After bragging in an earlier post that I take my camera with me everywhere these days, I forgot to bring it on our walk.  While it was a crystal-clear day and we saw some cool icicles to photograph, I'm really more disappointed that I didn't get to take a picture of Lizzie Dear, who is stunningly gorgeous.

She's an interesting, multi-talented gal, too!

I'll tell you more about her later on, if she'll let me.

 

 

 

Last night I had a super-satisfying gab on the phone with my good friend, Peanut, out in New Mexico.  Peanut is one of my oldest and dearest friends, whom I follow around the country, visiting, any chance I get.  She can't seem to stay put in any one place for too long, which is a good thing for me!

Peanut's originally from Baltimore, hon, and I met her when I went back to college in my 30's.  Even though Peanut was only just out of her teens when we met, she never held my advanced age against me and treated me just like any other college coed.  Sniff.  Sniff.  We've been fast friends ever since.

After college, while I continued to languish here, she moved here and there and did this and that, and ultimately became "Peanut, B.A., M.L.S., J.D."

She still needs to earn her M.D. and Ph.D., but it's just a matter of time, really, and a few more college loans.

(Peanut, the ornaments will be in the mail Tuesday.)

 

 

 

I need to introduce you, too, to Miss Madagascar, whom I've known the longest of my friends.  Miss Madagascar might know things about me that even I don't know, 'cause she might have been a tad more lucid during some of those youthful indiscretions that we shared.  Or maybe not.

I met Miss Madagascar in what used to be called Junior High School.  I don't think either of us thought so at the time, but we really became friends when we were still just children!  We've been friends for a long, long time, now.

Most recently, a week after the election, Miss Madagascar and I got together at her place and went to a local deli to grab a bite.  I love to visit her house.  She has cool treasures, like the parrot lamp and the pink glass ashtray.  She has a green, baby grand piano in her living room, and a picture of a line of naked, dancing ladies in her bathroom.  Everything has a story, and nothing comes from Crate and Barrel.  I always tell her that visiting her home is like visiting a museum, but that's not quite true.  It's more like a curiosity shop.  Nothing is ordinary.  Everything is intriguing.

 

 

So, are you ready for Christmas?

 

 

Let the Madness Commence!

Hello, loyal readers!  Have you missed me?

It's that time of year, again.  Time to shake down the house with a good clean, and plan and execute paralyzing meals.

Holiday martyr, at your service!

I don't have kids, so Tony and I often have been required to travel here and there over the holidays to visit relatives.  We're viewed, I guess, as the branch (really just a twig) of the family with the fewest encumbrances (never mind the two dogs and four cats).

Oh, I appreciate the wonderful meals and fine hospitality we've enjoyed, but I'm always glad when it's over and I can go back to being my scowling, cynical self.  I find it exhausting to be on my best behavior. 

This year, both Thanksgiving and Christmas will be here at home, with company coming in.

I don't know which is worse.  They're two sides of the same coin.

There's back-breaking cleaning to do and seven-item meals to prepare.  I'll never master the art of having each dish ready at the same time.  Wouldn't it be great to serve each item as it became ready?

My sweet potatoes are already done, so maybe we'll have those for breakfast.  I plan to whip up a pineapple upside-down cake in the morning, before I pop the turkey in the oven.  Maybe that'll do for lunch.  (I've never made a pie in my life, okay?  Do not judge me.)  Turkey and stuffing for the main afternoon meal, followed by mashed potatoes and gravy later in the evening.  We'll round it all out with a big ol' bowl of green beans just before bed.  Done!

My mother is here for the next 3-4 days.

Loyal readers, you know where I'm coming from.

I'm not sure why I'm even bothering with all this stuff.  Mom doesn't notice my shiny, glimmering house, nor does she care what we have for dinner.  Thanksgiving is not on her radar.

Our visit started with a little accident of the Number 1-kind on the sofa.  As I type this, I can hear her rummaging and moving about in the bedroom above me.  What mischief is she getting into up there?  The last time she visited, she opened the door and wandered into our bedroom during the night.

I must strive to ramp up my capacity for listening to "chatter" during these next few days.  Conversation is inconsequential and circular.  Conversation is inconsequential and circular.  Conversation is inconsequential and circular.  And repetitive.

Happy Thanksgiving!  What day is it?

Feliz Dia de Los Muertos

 

I lifted the photo from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Day_of_the_Dead

 

May I Just Say . . .

 

 

Happy Halloween!

 

Now don't come to our house, 'cause there's nothin' for you here, hear?