Little Artist

Today I played with my childhood crayons for the last time. I know what you're thinking -- it's crazy that a person my age still has their childhood crayons. But when I emptied my mom's house I assumed that this pungent and evocative box of crayons would be something that everyone would want, so I saved them. I miscalculated by a longshot. Even I don't want them, but their power to plunge me into childhood is so awful and strong that I haven't been able to break the spell. Like the objects in the series Woke, this box of crayons taunts me from a shelf in the garage.

I decided that this is the day and that the only way I could divest of the crayons and keep the box was to pour them all out and review as a farewell. Ever the archivist.

What I learned:

• Crayola were considered the boss crayons for a reason.
• If you asked me in advance "What's your least favorite color of Crayola crayon?" the answer would have been Goldenrod. This is a) still true and b) you can tell that it was always the case because some of the longest crayons were Goldenrod, and there were a lot of them.
• Maize looks so much like Goldenrod that I question its purpose. 
• I remembered correctly that most of the crayons in the ancestral box were a non-Crayola brand that had little color to offer. Blech.
• I did not recall that one brand of crayon was called "Little Artist', a name that I find sooooper patronizing.
• Guitar brand oil pastels are every bit as pleasing to use as I recall. They glide across paper in the most fluid and satisfying way.
• The Time Magazine pencil would have come from the inside of the magazine itself, I'm guessing. But we didn't subscribe to news magazines, so I'm not sure how it got in my crayon box.
• The name Prang, by Crayonex, gets points just for existing. But this solo, sturdy example in green was a nice crayon with lots of pigment to offer.

That's it. Bye crayons!

I Would Wear This

Yes I would.

Merry Christmas To Those Who Partake

A condensed version of a Facebook exchange with a beloved cousin from Texas who was lamenting her lack of Christmas decorating, which was a single 6" tree:

Cousin: This is the extent of my indoor decorations.

Me: What more do you need? That's kinda been the question all year.

Cousin: Isn’t that the truth? You really reassess what’s important to you. You just go from moment to moment treasuring the gems you find along the way.

Me: Or you close the front door, put down your mask and say "f*** you!", as I did this morning.

[then I deleted that comment]

Yes, today is a day of deleted comments. Like many other folks, I have been so exhausted by its many jobs, and Christmas is a day that is definitely for other people. This morning I woke up, thought it was Monday and that I was going to work, and I was sad when I realized instead that it was Christmas. Anyhoo

After going to mom's yesterday, delivering Christmas dinner, presents for the caregivers, cards for the wellness team, some groceries and a smile, I was met with a grumbling ungrateful crone who wanted to come home with me even though she knows that can't happen. Oh well. At least she didn't really want to see me for long, so I was back on my way having spent the entire day for this excellent moment with cranky mom.

Back at home, mrguy had developed a migraine, and he was in bed when I back. I made us some freezer macaroni and cheese and frozen peas. Fell asleep on the sofa, then went to bed.

This morning we planned a reset. We'd drink coffee together in the living room and enjoy our mostly tree-less view, then have pancakes I'd made with our leftover pumpkin pie filling from Thanksgiving. 

9:40: I get a call that Mom is upset and needs nephew's phone number

Then I turned off my ringer, which was a privilege I felt I'd earned

11:30, 11:32: I missed two calls and two voicemails warning me that mom wants to visit. They're on their way.

We sit down to breakfast. They pull up outside as we finish the last of our pancakes. I go out to head them off at the pass.

"Are you telling me that you're not letting us in?"

"That's right. Sorry." I laugh it off. 

"It's not funny. You may think it's funny, but I don't think it's funny. I don't have anything [by which she means COVID]."

At this point the conversation is much like every other recent one and I try to stay jovial and kind but I'm not really listening. She's ticked off and it's mainly a string of barbs and her own greatest hits of disgruntlement, delivered in a tone of voice that is intended to wound me. Her caregiver kindly told her that she'd already explained beforehand that I wasn't going to let her in my house. Mom says that she's leaving. Oh darn.

So we go back in the house and recap the fact that my mom is an endless black hole of need. True dat, mrguy!

2:10: Mom calls again, twice. I don't pick up. 

2:52: Caregiver sends me a text and asks me to call. Mom wants to apologize. We talk.

A condensed version of this morning lets me put a bright face on it for those who enjoy Christmas. Responding to their cheery holiday thread, I send the family a photo of our Covid tree and the rainy window.

"mrguy and I are in the living room, and this is our current view. Enjoying the rain, which is delightful.

Had an unexpected visit from mom this morning. She was wearing an ADORABLE new Christmas sweater from her caregiver, and they were wearing matching light up necklaces with snowfolk and teensy Christmas lights.

That’s all from here!

Hope your day is cozy."

mrguy's sleeping away the rest of his migraine next to me on the sofa, with his special boy cat asleep on his legs. It's the 30th anniversary of our first kiss. Both parts of the day are what love looks like, but this part's better.

Gentle Lamb From Alabam

My office mate bites. I'm working on changing his behavior, because I love him like crazy, and he has to come to work with me so that he doesn't bother the other cats.

I go to "night school," which is what I call watching Jackson Galaxy episodes in the evening. My office is covered with kickers, fur mice, a turbo scratcher, and our nearly-deceased iPad that can play the apps Cat Alone and Cat Alone 2.

Beastie's furniture is part of the catification of the house that I hope will give him the stimulation he craves. We've put some friends on the cat ladder so that he can take out his aggression on someone besides me.

Feast your eyes on wee beastie v. Gentle Lamb. I think that Gentle Lamb from Alabam is one of the baby toys I got from the free table at work, in the before times.

See what a pretty picture this is? So sweet.

And then there's this. He'll bite the lamb, the ladder itself...I may have mentioned that he ate the veneer off of the door in the guest bedroom?

He's a busy boy.

Home Improvements

The Mona Lisa pillow has joined the others -- the poultry feed bags I got on auction, the needlepoint pillow I got on Buy Nothing, the medical prints I got on Buy Nothing...

And now the wee beastie has his own piece of furniture, too. While I'm working either here on the sofa or at the desk on the other side of the room, the beast has an official place to go.

Again, the home office gets homier.

Mona Lisa

800 million years ago, when leathery wings smote the sky, I bought this completed Mona Lisa embroidery somewhere (flea market? estate sale?). I never did anything with it.

And then on my Buy Nothing Facebook group someone recently mentioned that they were looking for someone to finish an embroidery piece. Someone else piped up that if nobody on the group could do it that there were people on Etsy who could.

The stars aligned, I found a vendor who could take this on as a project, and the completed pillow arrived a few weeks ago. I could not be happier.

My home office keeps getting better.

Holidaze 2020

Every year mrguy and I hold down the fort for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and the mama's birthday, making sure that it all happens for Mom.

This year will be different because of the pandemic. 

Thanksgiving itself was a trial, and we got through it. That's the short version.

My oldest sis started worrying about the holidays a few months ago. Then I did, and started seeing a counselor who deals with families of elders, so I could figure out how to talk about Mom caregiving and holiday stuff with my middle sister.

I could offer more detail, here, but that would be frustrating for all. Suffice to say that the pandemic will continue, I feel like our caregivers could use days off, and I do not want to risk my own life to give it to them. In May I reached out to my sister said that caring for Mom more than we care for our own lives and happiness seems unfair and (among other things) I suggested adding a caregiver to give days off to the others. The email was brushed off, and when it came time for the holidays I was asked if I could pitch in. When I reminded her of the unanswered email of 6 months ago, and suggested that we talk to a mediator to help us through the conversation before I agreed -- well there was anger and accusations and this is one of the reasons why I don't have much of a relationship with the person who used to be the center of my belief system.

My sister asked the caregivers to work the holidays. Eventually she agreed to an additional caregiver. I will now find one. And the counseling will happen (at least once) on Wednesday.

Thanksgiving came and went. Mrguy and I made an entire turkey dinner (plus one for our caregiver to take home to her husband). Brought it to the mama, and the next day when I went to see her she said "Will we be together for Thanksgiving?" I reminded her that it was yesterday and we'd made her dinner. Oh well! Caregiver and her husband really appreciated the dinner, and that made me happy.

The good news about her forgetfulness is that she doesn't know the difference between my car and hers. Her car is gone -- I gave it to charity (and did not tell her), so I'm glad that my car fills that need for her. However as we sat on a bench outside her building the other day talking about Thanksgiving, she looked at my license plate and got an angry look on her face. Then she said "When were you going to tell me?" I thought my goose was cooked, and that she figured out I've been pretending my car was hers. Nope, she noticed the scrapes in my front bumper and was mad that I put them there. I ended up apologizing for not taking better care of her car. You gotta laugh.

OMG.