Tag Archives: Life

Best Christmas Gift Ever

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Before you get all jealous over my Christmas gift, let me tell you about Christmases past. The memorable gifts were from my mother. There was the bathrobe with delicate silver thread that had matching slippers bedecked with froufrou and the slightest heel that made my seven-year old self think she was a princess. The gold peasant blouse that made my tween self think she looked just like the cool rock star. The best-mittens-ever-made that I still wear today, 50 years later, because I hate when my hands are cold. The novels that I still have to this day because they were the first books I owned and were gifted to me by my mother.  If I coveted it or dog-eared the page in the Sears catalog, she took notice. She was a thoughtful giver of gifts.

On my first holiday as a married couple, my sweet mother-in-law gave me a serving platter while my husband, Great Guy, received articles of clothing. When we got home, I told Great Guy that we would be going out to buy something for me, since I was not a house to be filled but a person to be spoiled. He told his mother. She bought me pearls. I told you she was the best mother-in-law.

Then there is the Great Guy. Great Guy has missed the mark when it was right in front of him. One year I made it really easy for my family to give me a Christmas gift. I asked them to write me a letter telling me how much I mean to them, or some fond memories. Why wait for my funeral, I thought. My children wrote notes. Great Guy bought me every CD made by Dan Fogelberg. We’ll be passing them out at my funeral.

Another year, he re-gifted a $250 Visa gift card he received through work, pawning it off as his gift to me, saying,  “I didn’t know what you wanted, so here’s a gift card.” Whatever. I’ll use it. When I was at a register four months later, it had $1.78 on it. Someone had skimmed off the entire value. I had to call the credit card company who told me they couldn’t help and to call all the actual merchants who received those funds. After spending hours over months calling and filing claims, I still have no idea if those funds were returned to the gift card. It sits on my desk, exhausting me mentally, as a reminder to give cash and not gift cards. 

Now to this Christmas. 

Great Guy was very excited and couldn’t wait for me to see my big Christmas surprise. Said I’d been wanting this for a long time. 

Finally, a ruby ring! 

He feared it wouldn’t be delivered before Christmas. 

I got a manicure.  

It needed two people to help bring it inside.

Oh my! It came with a security detail! 

There had been off-handed remarks about buying a freezer for months, years really, before it arrived on Christmas Eve. Like every time Great Guy would get an Omaha Steak flier and wanted to buy it all, but couldn’t because we don’t have a big freezer. Or when he does buy boxes of Omaha Steaks and we have to toss old chicken and frozen bagels to make room. On rare occasions if we were in the grocery store together, I’d say out loud “I wish I could buy that big box of frozen pretzels or ice cream but can’t because we don’t have room in the freezer.”

Now, lucky me, my Christmas freezer is in the garage, probably frosting over as I write. You might assume that I am an enthusiastic cook who is going to love all this new freezer space. Nope. I make, at most, one actual meal a month. I eat dry cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and take-out sushi. None of those things require a freezer. If I lived alone, my refrigerator would contain: milk, chocolate syrup, eggs, mexican cheese, jelly, and hummus. I could live out of a cooler bag with an ice pack. I don’t need cubic-feet freezers.  

Great Guy promptly filled my freezer with every meat on sale and some that weren’t on sale. The box of pretzels I bought had to be taken out. 

So he bought a second freezer

And filled that up too. 

But he left room for my box of pretzels. How thoughtful.

I’m taping pictures of ruby rings to the freezers, hoping he’ll get the hint for next year.

Stepping into Middle Age

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It was the socks.

I was spending the day driving around the region visiting clients, with a nice young gentleman – see there it is again.  Who speaks like that? I’ll tell you who. My mother-in-law.  When did I start talking like my mother-in-law?  When did I age out of “watch your language” and into “what a nice young man?”

Back to the socks. I was visiting my mother the night before the road trip. I forgot to pack stockings or trouser socks. (If I’m being totally truthful with you, I had actually forgotten my entire suitcase the day before and realized twenty minutes into the trip and had to turn back and go home.) I’m getting dressed and don’t have any socks. So my mother gives me a pair of beige knee-highs, and I figure, fine, I’m wearing ankle boots, no one will notice the beige socks with my black pants.

So I get into his car and glance down and see my feet.  Those socks are screaming “old lady.”  They make my ankle boots, which are comfortable (interpret: low heel) look like orthopedic shoes. I’m trying every which way to hide these socks. Oh, did I mention they are compression socks. Comfortable, let me tell you.  But they don’t scream sexy.

Those socks make me think about the whole package. What image am I projecting to the world? Sensible black shoes.  Compression socks (granted, not my normal hosiery, but the world doesn’t know that). Elastic waistband (even if I’m cheating by having it only in the back half, hidden by my jacket). Gloves and scarf because there’s a nip in the air.

Did I mention the tissues? I don’t even have a cold, but I have tissues everywhere. In my coat pocket; in the outside pocket of my many-pockets pocketbook; in a dedicated pocket inside the many-pockets pocketbook. My car has a napkin compartment. The only place I haven’t put them yet is in the cuff of my blouse. Oh please, if you see me start to slip one there, slap my hand.

Now, this nice young gentleman, who is only ten years my junior (young enough for me to have been his babysitter, but too old for me to be his mother) starts driving and we don’t have directions. Sensible, older me is a bit annoyed that young gentleman is totally reliant on portable technology to solve this problem. Problem being, I can’t find my reading glasses in my many-pockets pocketbook. So he’s counting on his hyperopia passenger to direct us, and I am totally useless. I can only look out the window and enjoy the scenery. Except when I’m telling him the exit is coming up, or to watch out for the car in front of him. (I can see in the distance.)  Maybe if he didn’t have to read his phone GPS while driving, I wouldn’t have to keep my eyes on the road. If only I could remember where I put my reading glasses.

And then, and then…I still can’t believe I did this…compression-socked Eileen actually looked for a restroom when we stopped for gas …. just in case!  I didn’t even have to use the restroom, but hey, you never know when the next one will come along.

It was a long day in the car, and we were late heading home. By 9pm, which is a sensible bedtime, I was yawning in the car. I wanted to take off my orthopedic shoes, adjust my compression socks and give my elastic waistband a real stretching. When we finally ended our day, I had to unfold myself out of the car and listen to joints crack. I couldn’t wait to get into my flannels and go to bed.

So, somewhere along the way, I’ve morphed into a sensible middle-aged woman. I now need to budget extra travel time to return home for forgotten items. I need to keep a bag of unmentionables (like compression socks and granny panties) in my suitcase so I don’t have to borrow from my hostess. My midriff has become too fond of elastic. Curses are just wrong coming from a woman who has to dye her hair every three weeks. I am forever on the hunt for stylish but comfortable shoes. And there are so many nice young gentlemen who call me Ma’am.

Oh, post-script about those reading glasses. The next morning I remembered I carry this really cool magnify glass in my many-pocketed pocketbook for times when I can’t find my reading glasses. If only I’d remembered I had them.