Christmas Card OCD

If you know me, you are well aware that I'm way into Christmas cards. I start thinking about mine right at the end of August. Casual or formal? Snapshot or studio photo? Flat card or fold over? Traditional or whimsical? Color or black and white. You get the gist.

I was like this well before I had children. I'm not sure why except to say that I just can't imagine Christmas being Christmas without sending out cards. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother when I was six or seven. She took pride in her holiday greeting--in those days it was kind of a status symbol thing to have your family's name professionally printed inside the fold over. I can see it now-- the velvet nativity scene framed in gold foil. I'm sure these would look really dated if I saw them today. But in 1972--the look was very elegant.

She tried to inscribe a line or two in every single one of them. And there were lots. I remember piles and piles. She would let me lick the envelopes or the stamps. I would run out of steam and go to bed sooner or later. I'm sure Janie stayed up into the wee hours getting them all done.

So there you have the Norman Rockwell aspect of this little obsession of mine. Now the dark side. I get really irked when people don't send Christmas cards. I get downright crabby if by December 15 I'm not getting a decent amount each day. Maybe because it's so nice to receive something, anything besides bills and never ending junk mail. And I'm sure that it's also about reciprocity. If I send one to you then yes, I want one in return. Antithetical to the spirit of the holiday, I know. But I'm just being truthful. I doubt I'm alone in my way of thinking either.

Just for the record, I don't care if you include a handwritten note. If you feel the love--go for it. But the card will do. Cards with pictures are ideal but I understand if that's not your thing. That's a right of passage for folks with children, by and large. Just send me something and I'll be happy. And grateful. Send me nothing and you've made the "list". I'm ashamed to admit it but I do keep track. I know--CATTY with a capital "C". Sometimes the truth aint pretty friends.

I've made my list and I'll be checking it more than twice.

So indulge me. Just send the card.

Thank you. :-)

August Wrath

I told you so. The month of August in the Chicago area is just the worst. And this one is wrapping up to be no exception. After three and a half days with no power, we've finally got the AC cranked and the lights are on. Never mind that our neighborhood looks like a war zone. Forget that the mosquitoes are fat and happy. No one is injured, no one's home is irreparably damaged. We're safe.

On Thursday at about 3 in the afternoon, Ethan and I were playing a Webkinz game on the computer. McKenna was napping in her room upstairs. Jim was in New York working. He wasn't expected back until Friday night. It was a typical summer day--muggy, slightly overcast, about 90 degrees. The usual. So, I was amazed when we looked out the patio french doors and saw a scene straight from The Wizard of Oz. The sky was black and trees were literally sideways. It looked like a monsoon descended upon us in the span of one minute. The wind was howling as loud as I have ever heard it. I firmly told Ethan to back away from the windows.

Thankfully, Ethan had the presence of mind to say that we better go get McKenna. (What a little trooper.) We ran up the stairs, plucked her out of bed and ran back down the stairs to the basement. The three of us snuggled up on the couch and listened as the house shook, trees crashed, and thunder boomed. McKenna just kept her face buried in my chest. Ethan was being super brave. He didn't cry but his eyes were as big as saucers. We talked about SpongeBob and Patrick and how they would handle the situation.

As soon as it came it was gone. A tendril of light emerged in the window well. Time to go upstairs and see what was what. Truly, I thought it was just a freak thunder storm. Pretty typical stuff in these parts for this time of year. But when we stepped out of the mud room door into the side yard, all three of just said, "Whoa".

Trees and power lines were down everywhere. A huge chunk of an Oak tree outside McKenna's room broke off and missed her sleeping area by about three feet. Fire and police sirens sounded everywhere. Neighbors came out of their houses and we all just sort of stared at the mess and then at each other. What happened?

Catherine and her father Bob and brother (Eric) drove up and asked if they could park one of their cars in our driveway since theirs was completely buried under debris. Bob told us that he had been outside when "the thing" hit. A wall of water just came barreling down the street. He said he had never seen anything like it and that it has the scariest thing her had ever seen in his life. I'm told that we may have gotten as much as eight inches of rain from this storm alone. WILD!

Many of our neighbors' basements flooded. Cars stalled in three feet of water just down the street. One of our neighbors lost a trampoline.
It ended up in another yard two houses down.
We got off relatively scott free. Amen.

OK enough details. Some say it was a microburst. Others said it was a class one tornado. I called it a gustnado even though I'm told that it doesn't meet the technical specs for that particular act-of-God (I just like the word gustnado.) Who knows what it was? Scary, loud, menacing, and sudden. There you have it.

I'm officially done with August even though there are a few days left in this wretched month. Fall never looked so good.

Beauty Disaster

Whatever you do....do not ever, EVER use Olay Definity eye gel pods. I'm not a big grocery-store-beauty-product woman. I'm a little snobby in that regard. The only "low-end" item I use is Nivea. And that's because Nivea works and it's fragrance reminds me of Katy and dear Jutta. Other than that it's high-end cleaning and moisturizing products. My skin is just soooo sensitive and the cheap stuff usually gives me a reaction. In this regard, you definitely get what you pay for.

I digress. The morning after I applied this stuff on my immediate eye area--I woke up with my eyes so swollen I could barely see out of them. My eyes were red and dripping with ooze. This was certainly not the look I was going for. I wore sun glasses the whole day yesterday.

My Aunt said her dermatologist neighbor recommended Vitamin C serum--which you can buy at Whole Foods. I'll give that a try. After the puffiness goes down, it's back to good stuff.

41 is just a swell age. Taken directly from Fried Green Tomatoes: Too young to be old and too old to be young.

Weather Blues

Here I go again. I love living in the Midwest but I have a major beef with the weather. Californians are horrified at some of the low temps we see during the winter. But that's not what I'm ranting about at the moment. I'm no fan of 15 below--that's for sure. Still, I'll take it over a sweaty Chicago August anytime. Everyone and everything are literally doused in humidity. When we run the AC in the house, the windows drip with condensation. And of course there are the bugs. I'm stealing Woody Allen's line here: The bugs are as big as Buicks. The other day I watched in horror as a flying insect the size of a hummingbird landed on McKenna's back. Thankfully she didn't notice.

Every year, Oracle hears my broken-record spiel about this hot, wretched month. For some reason, as soon as the month is over, I put it out of my head completely, perhaps as a way to avoid my version of weather related PTSD. The following year, along comes August and I'm taken by surprise that it managed to rear it's ugly mug once again. Call it my coping mechanism. Go figure.

Frizzy hair, red face, sweaty skin, heat related break-outs. A vision to behold.

The light at the end of the tunnel is Fall, glorious and colorful in all it's grandeur. For folks who don't live in climates where there are true seasons, it's hard to fully appreciate a Midwestern Autumn. Maybe if August were not so miserable, I would not be enamored with the Fall. Who knows? But I'm looking forward to cooling down and jumping in the leaves with my shrimpers. And tucking crazy August away in the cob webbed recesses yet again.