The Handsome Man and I just returned from a chilly walk around the neighborhood with Chaco. It felt so much later in the evening than it really was. Two short months ago, Handsome and I were playing tennis on the park court at 7:55 PM. Tonight the streets were deserted and the air was cold even through three smart layers and a parka.
Beautiful night, all the same, with the stars on Orion's belt low in the dark eastern sky and twinkling like the Christmas lights everyone seems to have put up already.
For our part, I don't think Handsome and I will be going the route of outdoor Christmas lights, despite the abundant supply his mother keeps at the ready. Since we've been together, Handsome and I haven't ever done outdoor Christmas decor, period, so it's not like we'll be foregoing some tradition if we don't hang the rafters and windows and trees in the yard with lights. (For my money, I'd rather get a motion sensor light for the front porch.) I would adore some of those giant ornaments to hang on the tall pine by the front walkway -- so tasteful and old-fashioned and quietly cheery.
Meanwhile, I didn't bother to take down last year's indoor Christmas lights, at least the white lights ringing the dining room. Too sparkly wonderful to end. And I'm excited about bringing home a tree and hanging it with lights and with our growing collection of ornaments, including one or two new items that we'll make or buy this season. I'm looking forward to the fresh and wintry smell of spruce, and the Christmas tree's tall presence in the living room, positioned strategically near a window so that people driving by might see the sparkle and smile to themselves.
I'm looking forward to all the extra smiles of the season.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wild Goose-Chasing
Is it wrong that we let Chaco chase the flocks of geese at City Park yesterday? He really, really enjoyed it!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Um, No Soup Group This Week
Did that need saying?
It's a holiday tomorrow. We're taking the Holiday Week.
Oh, hadn't you heard of the Holiday Week?
It's what the busy and reasonable women of Soup Group do with their non-urgent volunteer activities on the day before a national holiday. Like, "Well, obviously we won't be having Soup Group during Thanksgiving week..."
Because we've all got a lot of other shit going on, what with it being the week of Thanksgiving and everything. They're a bunch of moms and grandmas, my Soup Group. Hello? They're busy during Thanksgiving week. And reasonable people such as these soup friends of mine are not going to pile one thing on top of the other. No. We're going to manage our lives intelligently and plan ahead: we cooked extra soup last week, the freezer is full.
No Soup Group this week.
But do have a happy Holiday Week. I hope you get things done.
It's a holiday tomorrow. We're taking the Holiday Week.
Oh, hadn't you heard of the Holiday Week?
It's what the busy and reasonable women of Soup Group do with their non-urgent volunteer activities on the day before a national holiday. Like, "Well, obviously we won't be having Soup Group during Thanksgiving week..."
Because we've all got a lot of other shit going on, what with it being the week of Thanksgiving and everything. They're a bunch of moms and grandmas, my Soup Group. Hello? They're busy during Thanksgiving week. And reasonable people such as these soup friends of mine are not going to pile one thing on top of the other. No. We're going to manage our lives intelligently and plan ahead: we cooked extra soup last week, the freezer is full.
No Soup Group this week.
But do have a happy Holiday Week. I hope you get things done.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thanksgiving Prep
There was a time in my adult life when I would spend Thanksgiving with my grandmother, Meemo, my mom's mom.
It was a tradition that began after the weakest Thanksgiving ever, Thanksgiving 1997. I had graduated from college, dropped out of grad school, and moved back to Denver. That year, my parents bailed out to the mountains for Thanksgiving with my uncle and aunt, leaving me and my brother stunned to find that we were on our own for Thanksgiving, being explicitly not invited to join the elders at elevation. Frere and I tried (a little belligerently) to rally. We'll have our own Thanksgiving, we said. We'll do it ourselves.
So with Frere, and my best pal, and Frere's young family, I celebrated Thanksgiving 1997 with a late and lousy meal at my parents' house, where I was living at the time. Some important things were overcooked, some important things were undercooked, and both cheer and ambience were noticeably absent from our proceedings. I vowed internally to have a better option next year, and with gritted teeth, started to craft a plan for a meaningful Thanksgiving tradition of my own.
And I was successful in that goal. Every year thereafter for Thanksgiving, I'd fly down to Meemo's house in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. For a few days, I would visit with family, watch cable, and be overfed. I'd spend hours cooking Creole specialties with Meemo in her pretty, yellow kitchen. I'd spend hours lolling on her bed with her watching tv after dark (we liked Emeril, Wheel of Fortune and the news). I relished the hours I got to spend hearing stories about her life and telling her stories about my life. And on Thanksgiving Day, Meemo and I would gather with the relatives at my aunt's house to celebrate with a decadent feast fit for kings, or Romans, or Southerners, I guess. Loved it, loved it, loved it. I went alone and basked in the attention. I went with my boyfriend in 2000, and came back subsequent years with that same handsome man, now playing the role of husband.
Then in 2005, three days before my 30th birthday, my grandmother passed away suddenly.
(And I still want to kick somebody.)
So, naturally, I spent Thanksgiving 2005 and Thanksgiving 2006 surly and isolated and drinking about it.
But in the last few years, I have come to understand that's not how Meemo would want me to play it. I never thought I was "honoring her memory" by acting that way, I just didn't know what else to do on Thanksgiving Day when I was supposed to have plans with her. Mom finally called me out, at some point, and I had to agree, Yeah, Meemo would want me to hold my head up. If she could weigh in on it, Meemo probably would want me to spend Thanksgiving with "Alta" -- my mom. Thanksgiving with Alta is something Meemo would love to do, if she could.
So in the last couple of years, I've been showing up for Thanksgiving dinner with my Mom & Dad, brother, nieces, and other local family and friends. I say "showing up" because while I typically aim to scintillate in social situations (youknowhowwedo), I'm nothing but a presence on Thanksgiving. I'll put on a dress, I'll bring mashed potatoes, I'll bow my head for prayer. But I'm waiting for it to be over.
Thanksgiving 2009? I'm not aiming for a lot more than showing up again this year. Frere's divorce has just become final, my uncle recently had to file for bankruptcy, the Handsome Man and I are entering another holiday season childless and not pregnant. Thanksgiving 2009 and I are hardly making eye contact at this point.
But here's one thing I plan to do this year to try and make the holiday a little special for me. I'm thinking maybe this year I'll have the heart to come home and watch the last and only video I took of Meemo, from Thanksgiving 2004 -- which was an awesome Thanksgiving, if it had to be the last one. It was great. And from it, I have my grandma on video, talking one-on-one with me about her visit to Denver the previous summer, and about her childhood in New Roads, and about her satisfaction with her life.
I haven't watched it since 2005, but I remember that in the video, Meemo talks about me. She talks about a conversation she had with my Baton Rouge aunt after the two of them visited us, the Denver clan, the summer before. And what Meemo said was that they agreed: "Alta's got a daughter, child."
I remember it word for word.
And it will be nice to hear it again.
Have a happy Thanksgiving.
It was a tradition that began after the weakest Thanksgiving ever, Thanksgiving 1997. I had graduated from college, dropped out of grad school, and moved back to Denver. That year, my parents bailed out to the mountains for Thanksgiving with my uncle and aunt, leaving me and my brother stunned to find that we were on our own for Thanksgiving, being explicitly not invited to join the elders at elevation. Frere and I tried (a little belligerently) to rally. We'll have our own Thanksgiving, we said. We'll do it ourselves.
So with Frere, and my best pal, and Frere's young family, I celebrated Thanksgiving 1997 with a late and lousy meal at my parents' house, where I was living at the time. Some important things were overcooked, some important things were undercooked, and both cheer and ambience were noticeably absent from our proceedings. I vowed internally to have a better option next year, and with gritted teeth, started to craft a plan for a meaningful Thanksgiving tradition of my own.
And I was successful in that goal. Every year thereafter for Thanksgiving, I'd fly down to Meemo's house in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. For a few days, I would visit with family, watch cable, and be overfed. I'd spend hours cooking Creole specialties with Meemo in her pretty, yellow kitchen. I'd spend hours lolling on her bed with her watching tv after dark (we liked Emeril, Wheel of Fortune and the news). I relished the hours I got to spend hearing stories about her life and telling her stories about my life. And on Thanksgiving Day, Meemo and I would gather with the relatives at my aunt's house to celebrate with a decadent feast fit for kings, or Romans, or Southerners, I guess. Loved it, loved it, loved it. I went alone and basked in the attention. I went with my boyfriend in 2000, and came back subsequent years with that same handsome man, now playing the role of husband.
Then in 2005, three days before my 30th birthday, my grandmother passed away suddenly.
(And I still want to kick somebody.)
So, naturally, I spent Thanksgiving 2005 and Thanksgiving 2006 surly and isolated and drinking about it.
But in the last few years, I have come to understand that's not how Meemo would want me to play it. I never thought I was "honoring her memory" by acting that way, I just didn't know what else to do on Thanksgiving Day when I was supposed to have plans with her. Mom finally called me out, at some point, and I had to agree, Yeah, Meemo would want me to hold my head up. If she could weigh in on it, Meemo probably would want me to spend Thanksgiving with "Alta" -- my mom. Thanksgiving with Alta is something Meemo would love to do, if she could.
So in the last couple of years, I've been showing up for Thanksgiving dinner with my Mom & Dad, brother, nieces, and other local family and friends. I say "showing up" because while I typically aim to scintillate in social situations (youknowhowwedo), I'm nothing but a presence on Thanksgiving. I'll put on a dress, I'll bring mashed potatoes, I'll bow my head for prayer. But I'm waiting for it to be over.
Thanksgiving 2009? I'm not aiming for a lot more than showing up again this year. Frere's divorce has just become final, my uncle recently had to file for bankruptcy, the Handsome Man and I are entering another holiday season childless and not pregnant. Thanksgiving 2009 and I are hardly making eye contact at this point.
But here's one thing I plan to do this year to try and make the holiday a little special for me. I'm thinking maybe this year I'll have the heart to come home and watch the last and only video I took of Meemo, from Thanksgiving 2004 -- which was an awesome Thanksgiving, if it had to be the last one. It was great. And from it, I have my grandma on video, talking one-on-one with me about her visit to Denver the previous summer, and about her childhood in New Roads, and about her satisfaction with her life.
I haven't watched it since 2005, but I remember that in the video, Meemo talks about me. She talks about a conversation she had with my Baton Rouge aunt after the two of them visited us, the Denver clan, the summer before. And what Meemo said was that they agreed: "Alta's got a daughter, child."
I remember it word for word.
And it will be nice to hear it again.
Have a happy Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Spot On
I think this e-card is hilarious.
I just can't believe that it exists.
But then I'm fairly surprised to find myself in a situation where that message is applicable.
Maybe I'm just having trouble with credulity.
(No, I didn't send anyone the card.)
I just can't believe that it exists.
But then I'm fairly surprised to find myself in a situation where that message is applicable.
Maybe I'm just having trouble with credulity.
(No, I didn't send anyone the card.)
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Most Days
I spend a lot of time being afraid. (It's a disorder.)
To my credit, I spend about an equal amount of time trying not to be afraid.
This means, using the above photo as an illustration, I've developed a lot of habits and strategies designed to make me feel less like the terrified pair in the first row, and more like the chill sista in the second row: "Yeah, baby," I imagine her saying to her small companion, "it's just a roller coaster."
I'm reminded of that part in the fantastic 80s movie Parenthood when Steve Martin is feeling terribly exposed and yanked around by life's events, and his wife (played by Mary Steenburgen) compares life to a roller coaster, explaining that the ups and downs are the whole point, and the trick is to learn to enjoy the ride.
Returning to the photo: I do hope some day to become so acclimated to life's permutations that I'll relate most strongly to the back rows of white folks who have their hands thrown recklessly in the air. "Whooo-hoooo!" we'll be hollering together on that day.
Photo credit: thingsyoucantdocokedup.tumbler.com
Saturday, November 21, 2009
She Won't Be Emailing You Anytime Soon
Mom asked me yesterday if I could do something for her.
"Something like what?" I asked.
"Could you go into the internet for me and get me a wild rice stuffing recipe?" she asked.
She went on to say that she has lost her favorite stuffing recipe, and she knows that I use the internet to get recipes, and she’s already bought the wild rice...
But my attention had been diverted when asked me to go “into the internet” for her. Like the internet is a trendy fashion boutique with obnoxiously loud house music playing. Or a basement root cellar, and she's got a bum leg.
What I actually pictured when she said it was me ripping open the seams on Google, and dropping myself down a bright tunnel of binary code where I’d find Chuck from Dooce posing with noodles on his head, and Guy Kawasaki sprinting away in a black pullover.

Photo credit: shashbellamkondo
"Something like what?" I asked.
"Could you go into the internet for me and get me a wild rice stuffing recipe?" she asked.
She went on to say that she has lost her favorite stuffing recipe, and she knows that I use the internet to get recipes, and she’s already bought the wild rice...
But my attention had been diverted when asked me to go “into the internet” for her. Like the internet is a trendy fashion boutique with obnoxiously loud house music playing. Or a basement root cellar, and she's got a bum leg.
What I actually pictured when she said it was me ripping open the seams on Google, and dropping myself down a bright tunnel of binary code where I’d find Chuck from Dooce posing with noodles on his head, and Guy Kawasaki sprinting away in a black pullover.

Photo credit: shashbellamkondo
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