Horse With No Name

I guess the BBC wasn't the only one confused about what the current Chinese New Year was supposed represent.  I was under the mistaken impression that this-the year of the horse-was to be my year.

Instead, I just learned from feng shui experts that this year is going to suck.  The masters say that we, my fellow horses, will have chaos, disputes and money problems. Throw a little wood and fire into the mix (our yin and yang earth signs) and we've got the makings of a real apocalypse. Somehow, I can't shake the image of a Trojan Horse going up in flames in my ugly, flooded-out yard with all the dead trees and bushes adding flames to the fire..

They've Given You A Number And Taken Away Your Name

A couple of years ago, a family friend who has a private investigation company hired one of my sons to do some surveillance work for him. My son went to a soccer field and photographed a woman thought to be cheating. She was there alone watching her son, then went to lunch with a woman friend. All very innocuous. He got paid for his time, gas and even the hotdogs he ate.

After my adventure this week, I've considered asking this guy for a job.  And I'd work cheaper than my son because I don't eat hotdogs.

Tell Me Why

The other day, someone asked what's wrong with me-that I use to be charming to be around but lately, well, all I seem to do is yell and act like a bitch.

Moi? Well, I act like a bitch because YOU are an @$$.  Really.

I tried to think back to when I lost my perpetual smiley face, and started adding a profanity to every sentence like a dime school rapper. It seems to have happened right after Labor Day.  When my tan starts to fade and I put the shorts and tee shirts away in favor of denim and leather, I become the female version of Kanye West.

Where Are You Now?

  Back when I worked at "Wrinkle City" (A/K/A the retirement community), our security manager had a skewed opinion about the health of the residents: if they didn't die around the New Year, they would be good until summer.  And statistics say his opinion is correct-January IS the month when most people die-followed by December.  Which is probably why my social calendar has been filled recently with more wakes than parties. These wakes are stressing me out, and it has nothing to do with who is in the casket.

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

In the past few weeks, I have:

Spoken with authority to a tax attorney and realtor to help someone out
Cooked a gourmet dinner for 25 people
Pushed a woman's car out of a busy intersection
Bought a snow blower after negotiating the price
Celebrated New Year's Eve in Manhattan by myself
Chastised a drunk on a train 
Changed my own windshield wiper blades

Yeah, I know...

Reliving In Our Eloquence Another "Auld Lang Syne"

New Years Eve 2013...it's my second New Years Eve since Wingman died and I did something crazy. I went to New York City to see the ball drop in Times Square.

Probably not one of my more sane ideas. Still, I also have this other insane idea that when I die, instead if a dash between my birth and death year on my tombstone, I want there to be dotted lines and a few question marks to indicate the "WHAT WAS SHE THINKING???" moments. Like this one. It was the coldest New Year's Eve in years. And I did it solo.  I haven't done anything solo on New Years Eve since I babysat in high school.

I'll Be Home For Christmas

So the hoopla of Christmas is more or less over.  As usual, it took a lot less time to open all the gifts than it took to buy and wrap them.  And by the look of what they gave me, I would say that my family know me quite well: they were caffeine related from son #3 and wine related from #2.  I got to speak through Skype with son #1 a couple of times this week. I saw granddaughter #1 from across the globe and held #2...even better gifts.

And They Call It Puppy Love

"Good fences make good neighbors" wrote Robert Frost.  Well, what do you do if you don't have a fence, and all the bushes on the perimeter have died because of the salt water?  And what do you do if your bad next door neighbor happens to have children who are heroin addicts and are either dealing or buying from their house?

You get a puppy.  One that will grow up to be a B-I-G dog.

Signed, Sealed Delivered

Although I've only been writing this blog for about five months, I sent out Christmas letters with my cards for more than 15 years.  It began when I would talk to myself as I read the letters I would get from my more-accomplished-than-me family and friends.  They recounted tales of their talented spouses who could build family rooms out of recycled toilet paper rolls, their children who volunteered tutoring orphans in advanced calculus while scoring perfect 1600's on their SAT's, and their cats who cleaned their own litter boxes.

Oh Christmas Tree

Two years ago, while working two jobs, I put up 14 Christmas Trees, two Christmas villages with over 40 houses, baked many dozens of cookies for friends, hosted a wedding reception for 80 guests eight days before Christmas and cooked a Christmas Day dinner for 30.

Last year, my only tree (next to my growing-up-twin-bed in the bedroom I occupied at my parent's home because of that "She Who Must Not Be Named" storm) was a Charlie Brown tree sitting on a shelf. No villages, no weddings, no Christmas dinner.

What's that saying?  The bigger they are, the harder they fall? Ouch.

Before The Parade Passes By

There are few things that clearly define Thanksgiving for me. 

There's football-particularly high school football.  From the time I was young, there was always some cousin, brother or son playing somewhere.  Games played on crisp autumn mornings with moms and cheerleaders wearing big pompom chrysanthemum corsages while turkeys roasted at home. The most popular members of the senior class being elected Homecoming King, Queen and their royal court.  In the blink of an eye, I went from wishing I was in high school, to being there, to ruefully looking back on those days. And it ticks me off that the big corsages went out of style before I ever got to wear one.