Posted on

Our Family Christmas Letter — Volume 8

I don’t really suffer from OCD, but the fact that I mislabeled my Christmas letters somewhere along the way is making me twitch. I was going to give you a long, drawn out story about how it happened but the details don’t matter. I’m making the executive decision to label this #8 although it probably should be #9.

I’m not very good at keeping a journal, so I have probably forgotten some details of the year. But like the way I live, I am going to fly by the seat of my pants. Enjoy.

2021 brought the second year of this pandemic. That meant more working from home, more online schooling, more gathering outside to see friends even when it was 27 degrees, and my favorite: fighting complete strangers for the last Covid-19 Vaccination appointment.

I truly believe we are going to be the new “Great Depression” survivors. I have become somewhat of a hoarder and I’m not embarrassed about it. Except depression glass has been replaced by toilet paper and gold has been replaced by paper towels.

The Kid graduated from nursing school in May. Aside from the fact that I couldn’t sit next to DH because we had to social distance with even each other and we sat so far away from the stage that we were in a different time zone, we got to have an in-person graduation.

I still cried and my heart still swelled with pride. Pandemic or not, that kid persevered and accomplished what she wanted even in the midst of a global shitshow.

DH bought a fancy blue sports car. Not just any car. A car that I lovingly refer to as “The Lost Lobster.” Maybe it means it should be red. Maybe it means it should be a 900-square foot cottage by the sea.

As for me, I’ve become so accustomed to online shopping that there is a delivery truck in my driveway approximately every eight minutes on any given day. I would invite the drivers in for dinner, but at this rate I would be feeding an army and I can hardly handle feeding the people who already live here.

I’m still not in the office. It has been twenty-one months since I’ve seen my co-workers. I mean, I’ve seen them over video. But it’s not the same. Somehow I forget and end up doing something stupid, like picking my nose or failing to brush my hair.

Although, putting yourself on mute so you can yell expletives is a nice perk. Until the time comes when you neglect to put yourself on mute to yell expletives. That was fun.

Another perk about not being in the office is not having accessibility to the office cafeteria eight hours a day/five days a week to get in the way of my diet.

The good news is I lost seventeen pounds while working from home. The bad news is I gained nineteen. Not sure how that happened, but thank god a new year is coming. I was worried I wouldn’t have a resolution to break.

This year we celebrated Christmas four days early because The Kid has to work. We have dubbed our new holiday “The Winter Equinox Fakemas” and it will probably make an appearance many times over the next several years.

The problem with hospitals is they don’t get to close on Christmas Day like the mall does. I would like to say I liked it better when she worked at Aerie, but that would make me sound selfish.

Overall, the year was pretty good in spite of Covid. Everyone stayed healthy and I’m hoping it stays that way. In the meantime, like toilet paper, I have stocked up on those at-home rapid tests.

I’ve always wanted to be a collector of something, but who would have thought it would consist of nasal swabs and paper goods?

Anyway, I wish you all a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Here’s to hoping Covid-19 finally takes a hint and skips town. It sure does bring a whole new meaning to the phrase, “overstay your welcome” though, doesn’t it?

Posted on

The Accidental “Natural” Movement

It was a Saturday afternoon. Yesterday to be exact. I was sitting on my couch writing while listening to classical music. The classical music is good for me while I write so I don’t get distracted and break out into song. It’s kind of hard to put words to Mozart. Besides, I don’t think he’d appreciate it much. Dead or not.

I was just sitting there being productive and feeling good about myself when the dog started to lose it. It wasn’t his usual dispassionate bark at a passing squirrel. It was the “DANGER WILL ROBINSON!” type of bark that he does when someone is in our driveway.

After I peeled myself off the ceiling because I will never grow accustomed to the bark of a pissed-off German Shepherd, I looked toward the door and saw a man talking to Wolfgang (our dog, not Mozart) through the window.

It was a good friend who we haven’t been in close contact with in, dare I say, months. I was exceptionally excited. Aside from the hubs and strangers at the grocery store who may not be strangers because who the heck knows who anyone is these days, I haven’t seen people.

I am a social creature by nature and this pandemic is slowly killing my mojo. Any sign of life gives me a shot of adrenaline that could get me through another week.

What is important to note is that it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon. I was in the same leggings and sweatshirt I wore on my walk that morning. I hadn’t showered, let alone refreshed my armpits with deodorant. My head hadn’t seen the working side of a brush in three days, and I’m not even confident my teeth had either.

Thank God for the small miracle called a mask, of which our friend respectfully donned.

Typically, I would have ninja’ed myself behind the couch — a move I execute when there is a Jehovah’s Witness sighting — where I would have stayed until either DH answered the door or our friend just gave up and went away. But these days I don’t care.

I did chase our mailman halfway down the driveway in a robe and not much else last year to give him his Christmas card. But he’s the mailman. Like my doctor, if he’s seen one crazed middle-aged woman, he’s seen them all.

These days when I try to apply make-up I come away looking more like John Wayne Gacy in full costume instead of, well, me. I neglect to brush my teeth every now and then, and I’m not even sure I recall how to use a hairbrush anymore. Forget about shaving my legs. I may as well move to a hippie commune. I would probably fit in quite well.

It is what it is. This is me now. Although, I was never one to be defined by beauty — or lack thereof — I at least had the decency to do one or all of the above before I went out in public.

Let’s just say that was how I gave back to my community. No need to thank me.

Our friend didn’t flinch. I don’t know if it was out of courtesy, or he just has gotten so used to this new world, he didn’t notice. I think we’re all so conditioned to the continued foul “smell” of 2020, it doesn’t even register on the radar anymore. It’s like being nose blind, but for the eyes.

I know I’m not alone. It may take some time, but hopefully we can all put our hippie days behind us at some point and go about our business as usual, and not like a deranged serial killer who dresses like a clown.

Although hippies are on to something, don’t you think?