Resolutions Remix

New Year's Eve.

A time of thoughtful recollection and purposeful planning.

Whatever.

For us, 2009 was a mixed bag of tricks and we are looking forward to putting it behind us. Tonight, Dallas and I will join the geriatric crowd for dinner at 4:30pm at one of our favourite restaurants. Then, we will head out to see an early show so that we can be home before all of the crazies hit the streets. Really, what could be more frightening than New Year's Eve and a FULL MOON? I bet the emergency rooms will be busy tonight.

The other side of a traditional New Year's Eve is to assess one's life and commit to certain goals.

Resolutions are worthless.

I know this but I'm slightly superstitious and I feel like something bad will happen if I don't make the bloody list. So here goes:

LOSE WEIGHT
Blah de blah, stereotype, blah, broken record, blah. I'm not sure why I put this at the top of the list every year because clearly, it doesn't seem to matter. The only good thing that I have to say about it is that I'm not going to be one of those fair weather gym rats who slinks into the gym in January with brand new tennies and a firm resolve only to find himself couch-bound by February 1st. I'm already a regular attendee. They know my name. Droplets of my DNA are ground into the carpet. There are machines of torture that have the imprint of my ample ass firmly embedded in their seats. Nonetheless, by the end of the year, I am going to be at least 30 pounds lighter. Two pounds a month. I think that is a reasonable goal. I'd like to say that I was focused on being fit, no matter how much I weigh, but that is just a giant lie. If I can't fit into my skinny jeans, it doesn't matter that I can run a marathon because NOBODY CAN SEE MY CELLULITE-FREE HEART! This will be the year I make friends with my bathroom scale.

BEGIN MY NOVEL
Even the mere act of putting that in print makes the hair on the nape of my neck stand straight up. But I want this. There is a book inside me. Maybe several. I'm not even going to preface that with the usual self deprecating stuff, either. Sure, I may end up writing a novel that nobody reads but I think that is infinitely better than letting the story stay up in my head and fester like an infected hang nail. By the end of the year, I will have written at least six chapters. This is my promise to myself.

DITCH THE BITCH
I read this guy every day and he decided that this coming year, he would try to be less of an arse. That got me to thinking. I can be a real piece of work. Besides the perimenopausal nonsense, there is a segment of my personality that is impatient, unyielding, judgmental and negative. I don't like that person very much. So in 2010, I'm going to make an effort to change. I vow to be nice in spite of the fact that the mere thought makes me vomit a little in my mouth.

GOLF LIKE I MEAN IT
For some reason, I didn't golf this past year at all. I'm not even sure I took my driver out to hit a bucket of balls at the driving range. And I LOVE golf. There is nothing in the world that compares to the feeling I get when I hit a perfect shot. Granted, that doesn't happen all that often but when it does...well, let's just say that my vision of heaven includes fairways and greens.

RECEIPT JUNKIE NO MORE
This is another one of those things that I have on my list every year. I have ten junk drawers, one beat up file cabinet that no longer locks, four disorganized office desk drawers, a cardboard box full of receipts and a giant Rubbermaid bin teeming with paperwork that I haven't looked at in nearly a decade. This is the year that I shall declutter. I am so not kidding. First order of the day is to acquire a new, locking file cabinet. The second task is to switch all bills to electronic so as to eliminate the need for junk drawers. The third and final note is to clear the file pile at least once a week. I WILL BE A RECEIPT PRISONER NO MORE! Amen.

That's it for now because the reality is that I could write a resolution list a mile long. I am an imperfect woman. So, I will end this year with these last few thoughts.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for being the diary that talks me off the ledge back. I hope that the New Year 2010 brings you health, prosperity and unadulterated joy.

Violated

Okay, this one is going to be very brief.

Yesterday, we put my Mum on a plane back to Canada. She arrived into her home airport at about 11:30 pm after traveling for ten hours. Sadly, her luggage did not make it back with her which was stressful but not all that unusual in today's travel climate. After standing at the carousel for the better part of forty five minutes, she filed a report with the airline and wearily made her way home.

At 1:00 am, she opened the front door to her house to find that she had been robbed while on holiday in Arkansas. The thieves had broken a window over her kitchen sink and methodically proceeded to make their way through her home, opening every single drawer, cabinet and closet. They jimmied the locks on her desk and attempted to pry open her file cabinet. Her laptop, sitting out in the open, was untouched. So was her old Palm. Weird. They found her jewelry though, and took every bit of it, which was upsetting considering there were pieces missing that had once belonged to my grandparents and thus were of sentimental value. They also took a "Rolex" that I brought back from one of my trips to China. We giggled a bit over that loss.

I spoke to her early this afternoon. She was waiting on the window people to install a new one over the kitchen sink, the door people who had already been scheduled weeks ago to replace her doors, the police, the insurance agent and a representative from a security firm that she called. Understandably, she hadn't been to bed yet.

I asked her if she was okay and she is of course, because my mum just doesn't ruffle. She did mention that she was "as mad as a hatter".

All I can say is that I'm ready for this crap year to be done.

That and God help the airline if they don't locate her luggage.

Puzzled

During the weekend following the Thanksgiving holiday, we put up our Christmas tree and assorted knick knacks associated with the season. For the first time in a long time, I was really looking forward to Christmas so finding a home for all of the cheesy decorations was not a chore like it had been in years past. I think my change in attitude was directly attributable to the excited anticipation of having my mum come to visit.

And it has been fun. We managed to finish one jigsaw puzzle and nearly completed another but last night as we stared at the last hundred pieces of blue, one indistinguishable from the next, Mum looked up and suggested that we just wreck the damn thing. Otherwise, we'd be up all night, like a couple of obsessive ninnies. So, we did.

My mum and I have some of our very best conversations hunched over a puzzle and this year was no different. There was one discussion, though, that was somewhat unsettling.

I'm not sure how we got started but one night, my mum told us the story about how she had been at home and suddenly, her chest began to hurt. At the same time, she felt pain in her jaw and up the right side of her head. Being a former nurse, Mum thought her symptoms indicated a heart attack. She immediately pounded on her chest and began to cough. Then, she felt something "give" in her head and the pain completely disappeared. She was fine. I asked her if she had been terrified. She said no and that she wasn't the least bit frightened of death. While she was experiencing her little event, she thought, "This is it. This is how I'm going to go", but instead of fear or panic, she was very matter-of-fact and accepting.

My reaction was mixed. On the one hand, it was comforting to know that my mum is satisfied and grateful with the life that she has lived thus far. She stated that she is "ready to go" should that be her fate.

And that is where it got weird and uncomfortable for me.

I don't think of my mother as someone who is in the last third of her life. I can't begin to imagine a day when she might not be healthy. Just about anything that I have learned of any real life value has originated with her. My mum is timeless.

To me.

But the reality, something I've never allowed myself to ponder, is that our time together is no longer an infinite concept and when I imagine a world without my mum in it, I can hardly breathe. That's the circle of life, right? I know. It blows.

Today, I contemplated taking the card table down and stowing it back in the garage where it belongs but decided against it. I have another box full of different jigsaw puzzles and I thought I might just crack it open. Perhaps Olivia or Dylan or manchild will see fit to spend a few minutes occupying the other seat and with a cup of tea in hand, maybe we will find a little something to talk about.

A Little Slice of My Crazy

Tonight, my mother flies into town for the holidays.

I've been cleaning for two days.

Nothing frantic, mind you, but I'm taking special care to ensure that some of my junk drawers have been pruned and that my linen closets are neatly stacked with uniformly folded towels.

It's not that my mum is going to don a white glove and drag her finger along the furniture. As a matter of fact, she has explicitly told me not to go to any trouble preparing for her visit. It's me, this weirdness. Part of my definition of self includes "good housekeeper", which besides being an incredibly dated concept, is a throwback to years of managing under my father's dysfunctional roof.

I don't talk about my dad very often because we're estranged and he hasn't been a part of my daily existence for nearly fifteen years. He's never met either of my kids, which is especially sad, because I believe that he would have delighted in them. I often wonder, especially during the holidays, if he is happy. I wonder if he has surrounded himself with sycophants or with people who are genuinely invested in his well being. I wonder if he has felt the warmth of an embrace by someone who wants nothing from him. I wonder.

But I don't dwell because I'm finally at a place in my life where I can take that book down off the shelf, read a chapter and put it back without getting lost.

Occasionally though, like when I am preparing for company, I become the adolescent that lived in my father's home. Approval was a rare concept but it could be achieved upon the presentation of a clean house.

So I cleaned. Compulsively.

And I still do except that now, I understand that the world will not cease to exist if the kitchen floor has a few crumbs.

Regardless of my hard earned emotional awareness, I'm probably going to find myself on hands and knees today, cleaning baseboards. It's not that my mum would notice or even care but it matters to me.

And nothing screams "well-adjusted" like the scent of Pinesol in the air.

Give Me A Minute. I'll Remember.

I think I'm done Christmas shopping, which would be a really good thing considering I've been at it since July.

Yes, you read that right. I'm one of THOSE women.

But don't hate me because while it might look like I'm all organized with Martha Stewart blood running through my veins, it's an illusion.

I'm pretty sure that when things got stressful this summer, my penchant for retail therapy increased but I managed to justify it by telling myself that I was just being a good planner. As I stuffed presents into the saddlebags of my Harley, sun shining and sweat dripping down my back, I rationalized that I was taking every precaution necessary to avoid being sucked into the Black Friday feeding frenzy.

Whatever.

Buying stuff makes me feel as good as eating stuff.

Truth.

The end result of six months of picking up something here or there has left me with presents stashed around the house and an incomplete accounting in my head. Am I done? I think so but until I can lock the children outside for a few hours and methodically go through each one of my usual hiding spots, I can't be completely sure.

The trouble with purchasing Christmas goodies in July is:

a) you don't remember what you've bought or
b) you don't remember where you've hidden what you've bought or
c) what you bought is no longer appropriate six months later.

I have this uncomfortable feeling that I've forgotten something. It happens to me all of the time. Like when I go grocery shopping without a list (to prove to my husband that it can be done) and then come home, ready to bake and realize that I've left the flour behind. Or sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, surveying the bounty-laden table and trying to shake off THE FEELING only to open the oven a few days later and find the rolls, hard as ice balls, forgotten inside.

So, I've got that weirdness churning around in my belly this morning and I know that there is something that has escaped me but I can't for the life of me remember what it is. No matter. I'm going to take comfort in the fact that I can still set our bank account on fire for the next four days and at the very least, Wal-Mart will be open on Christmas.

It might be a nice way for the men in our family to bond.

Grumbling.

In the car.

On the way to Wal-Mart.

With an emergency grocery list in hand.