Category Archives: Holidays

December 4, 2010 · 10:08 am

Yule log me out

Tick. Tick. Tick. If you haven’t noticed, there are exactly three weeks until Christmas. I have trouble hearing carols above the ticking away of the annoying clock against which I work fiercely to accomplish the self-imposed and society-imposed holiday chores.

I’ve become a Grinch about nearly every holiday of the year, mostly because self and society collude cruelly to impose unrealistic expectations and impossible deadlines.

I typically don’t get a lot of sympathy when I complain about the holiday stress because about 85 percent of it is self-imposed. I send out 260 cards and hand address each one. The .001 percent lineage I have to Emily Post won’t allow me to print labels. This year, my dreaded holiday newsletter came back from the printer with a typo that wasn’t in the original, so off it went for a reprint, because Word Nymph can’t send a typo to 260 people.

The upheaval caused by our central air installation, which no doubt by now you are sick of reading, stands in the way of most other tasks—from wrapping and shipping to putting up the tree. Hence, the last-minute scramble will be all the more intense.

By this time in the season, I start to go a little crazy. “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” sends me over the edge, and one playing too many of Mannheim Steamroller’s version of “Carol of the Bells” (one is one too many) has me fighting the urge to crash my car into a Jersey wall at 60 miles per hour.

This year, as an experiment, I’ve decided to pick one society-imposed chore and do away with it altogether. If that works, maybe I’ll pick another in 2011. This one wasn’t a hard choice because my family asked me to nix it.

I won’t be doing any baking. The problem is, I like the idea of baking cookies. I like how tingly Martha Stewart looks when she does it. My friends bake exquisite decorated sugar cookies, reaping great joy. The ritual just seems so appealing.

The sad truth is, I am a terrible baker with a faulty oven. Last year’s attempt at my grandmother’s delicate ginger thins could have doubled as equipment for the NHL. I dream about attempting a Bûche de Noël, but fear it would be seized as a weapon of mass destruction.

Instead I’ll dream of Nancy’s chocolate thumb prints, Mary Lee’s angels, Roxanne’s painted ginger snow queens and the Grady family’s fourth generation cookie ritual, while I head to the store for boxed Walker’s shortbread. Sigh.

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November 29, 2010 · 9:53 am

Cyber schmyber

Another one for the “only you” category. Such as, Monica, only you would eat a dog biscuit at a gourmet show. Or, Monica, only you would lose your Internet on Cyber Monday.

Having never shopped online on Cyber Monday, I was all set to give it a try. Last night I decided to do my scouting and be prepared to start at midnight or at least in the dawn hours.  As soon as I set out on my recon, my Internet connection was broken. After several attempts to reset the modem and router and 31 minutes on hold with Comcast, I gave up. I’d start this morning anew. I awoke to see The Washington Post noting Comcast’s glitch as well. Seems the gitch could affect a fair amount of the east coast.

It is back up now, but I had put one item in my Amazon shopping cart this morning when the crew arrived to begin our long awaited central air installation and notified me that they’d be shutting off our power for a large part of the day.

What to do? Perhaps I’ll dash off to the mall, three days late for Black Friday, and return later to scrape up the Cyber dregs.

Gotta run from the blackout. Happy cyber shopping to the rest of you!

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November 25, 2010 · 10:15 am

The little things

Drip, drip, drip. That’s what I awoke to this morning. Cold rain against the window on a dark morning. My sore nose that kept me awake all night in need of Kleenex.

I went to bed angry at the woman who sprayed me with mucus on a four-hour bus ride from New York City on Sunday.

So I woke up this morning in a really bad mood. My throat hurt and my head was pounding. The 40-degree, rainy morning slapped me in the face.

Then I remembered it is Thanksgiving.

After a steaming cup of white tea, appreciation washed over me. I became thankful for tea, Sudafed, Tylenol and for generic-brand cherry-flavored throat spray that expired in 2002 but still brought relief.

Now I am ready to give thanks. Most people will honor the day by expressing their gratitude around the dinner table. Mine would take too long, so I’ll do it here.

Today I am thankful for:

  1. A couple of hours of alone time, while my husband and son run a 10-kilometer race. I will be even more thankful if they return free of injury and colds.
  2. The fact that, even though it was my turn, and yesterday was my stepmother’s birthday, she and my father are hosting dinner today. If I had to do it feeling the way I do, I’d be crying right now.
  3. My son’s safe arrival home, on 420 miles of angry interstate and foggy mountain roads.
  4. Community—my church community, my family and friends, colleagues and clients, the Jazzercise girls and my neighbors
  5. The best weekend ever in New York, and the 25 years of marriage that led to it
  6. Running water, a toilet that flushes, light that comes on whenever I flip a switch, heat (and I hope within the next three weeks, the installation of central air conditioning)
  7. Punctuation
  8. Medication
  9. Elvis, the homeless cat who brightens my life once or twice a day.

Now, let’s watch the parade.

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November 24, 2010 · 9:46 am

Fowl play

A year ago, three days before Thanksgiving, I facilitated a medical  meeting at a large urgent care center. As I was setting up for the program, the meeting coordinator and I were exchanging pleasantries, mostly about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.

I asked her if the center was expecting to be busy on the holiday. I thought this was a logical question. She just looked at me as if I had three heads and said, no, that she couldn’t imagine why that would be the case.

Huh. I would have thought, based on our family’s experience, that urgent care centers would be staffing up and stocking up with extra bandages, sutures, balms and epinephrine.

I recall a time when one kind of accident or another defined Thanksgiving tradition. One year it was a severe oven burn. Another it was a deep laceration caused by a broken glass concealed in a sink full of dish suds. Once—though on a different holiday, perhaps July 4th—someone drank bug spray. Another time one of my cousins nearly lost a toe, though I can’t recall exactly how.

When I look back, one memorable Thanksgiving springs to mind. Thankfully, no humans were harmed.

My mother had just moved into a house in Arizona with slick terra cotta floor tiles that ran from the kitchen to the bedroom area.

We were roasting a large turkey, which neither of us could lift alone. When it came time to remove it from the oven, my mother and I each took an end of the roasting pan. On the count of three we would lift it to the stove top. One, two, oops, one of us dropped her end. The roasting pan toppled and the turkey was ejected, landing on the slick tiles with such force that it turned the corner and slid down the hall toward the bedrooms.

That might have been the first time I heeded the 10-second rule; hey, what’s a little desert dust?

Bon appétit. Et soyez sûr.

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November 23, 2010 · 9:11 am

Hi ho silver

This is a big week. In addition to Thanksgiving, my husband and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. That’s the silver one.

It’s been a great run so far, but frankly I don’t think I am old enough to be celebrating 25 years of marriage.

My husband and I celebrated last weekend in New York City. We stayed up late, walked for miles and hung out with our young peers. We saw a Broadway show, had great meals and hit some swanky night spots. Very different from  any prior mental image I’d had of such an occasion.

The first silver anniversary celebration I remember was that of my Aunt Mary Lee and Uncle Henry. And they were ancient; I think Aunt Mary Lee was 43. From what I remember, the party room was full of old people dancing to old people’s music. I wore about six inches of crinoline and wondered if I would ever live long enough  to be married 25 years.

Here. See for yourself.

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November 22, 2010 · 9:21 am

Work stoppage

Here is a suggestion for office managers all over the United States. You might as well close up shop this week because little is going to get done.

I admit it has been a while since I worked in a traditional office setting. But for the 20 or so years that I did, what I remember about the week before Thanksgiving—except for the occasional harried lame-duck Congressional session—is the fervent exchange of information pertaining to food for three full days preceding the holiday.

I predict that, for the next two and a half days, the majority of office computers will be connected to Epicurious.com or the Food Network and that cookbooks will be pressed against the glass of copiers churning out recipes to be shared among staff members. Conversations normally confined to the lunch room will spill generously into working hours, as colleagues seek other’s advice for the best way to satisfy Aunt Minnie’s taste for goose liver pâté.

Just walk down the hall and you’ll hear the great debates—stuffing cooked inside the turkey or out? Roast turkey or deep fried? Giblets in the gravy or not? Pumpkin pie or pecan? How many fruits and vegetables can be slipped into stuffing without the children tightening their lips? (In my house, the answer is zero.)

More e-mail will be generated between employees and their families than within the company, so as to make expectations clear about arrival times, covered dishes and football schedules.

One person (there’s one in every office) will be attempting the latest Martha Stewart centerpiece and individual place decorations and feeling the need to draw her colleagues into the challenge.

A worker or two will try not to get caught missing of an afternoon, while dashing out to buy napery.

Okay, so the word is out. But am I wrong?

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November 17, 2010 · 9:13 am

’Tis taboo

If my September 25 post reminding you that you only have three months to write your holiday letter didn’t send you straight to the keyboard, that’s good—because I’ve found a great set of tips for how not to write your letter.

I am not biggest fan of Christmas letters, and yet I can’t refrain from writing them. What’s more, I can’t keep myself from slipping into what I know are bad habits. In my 2006 letter, I actually listed all the things I felt people shouldn’t say in a holiday letter, mostly because they are cliché or cover topics in which only the writer is interested. Then I turned around and used one.

In my opinion, the most cliché way to open a holiday letter is by asking, “Where has the time gone?” or “Where did the year go?” I also prefer to omit unseemly medical conditions that might spoil a reader’s cup of Christmas tea. A letter we received one year actually contained the words “rectal prolapse.”

I could go on and on but I will let John E. McIntyre of The Baltimore Sun do it for me – and more eloquently at that. In a recent blog piece, McIntyre offers tips for making a letter less cheesy than it might be. He suggests refraining from any and all holiday metaphors, analogies and parodies of the Twelve Days of Christmas. He also reminds us that the 12 days begin on Christmas and run through January 6th. This is especially important to me, not just as a Christian but also because my birthday falls 12 days before Christmas, and I’d like a little time to celebrate the occasion (and observe Advent) before the big day hits.

McIntyre also helpfully points out that, while Hanukkah comes close to Christmas, “they are not twins.” Nevertheless, is it still all right for me to use my holiday card to wish a happy Hanukkah to all my Jewish friends?

He advises letter writers to avoid ‘Tis and ‘Twas and to back away from the Dickensian: “No ghosts of anything past, present or future. Delete bah and humbug from your working vocabulary. Treat Scrooge as you would the Grinch, by ignoring him. Leave little Tiny Tim alone, too.”

If you’re interested in cutting the cheese from your holiday letter, then before you put pen to pad, or fingertips to keyboard, try heeding John McIntyre’s advice. I promise to do the same.

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November 9, 2010 · 6:18 am

Desperate times

I just activated my emergency Snickers bar.

You might be saying to yourself, I thought she was forced to give up chocolate. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

I made it through Halloween without a single piece of chocolate, which took great will power; but I was committed to good health and respectful of my dietary restrictions. However, I did stash one Snickers bar, perhaps as a measure of security, where I could get to it in an emergency.

Recently, some minor yet frustrating annoyances have graced our doorstep, which have called for generous amounts of patience and flexibility. The first was October’s fender bender and the various inconveniences that ensued.

I fully appreciate that the flies in my ointment are mere gnats compared to what the world’s poor, sick and homeless face every day. All the more reason to face one’s irritations with proper perspective.

So, as my gnats began to reproduce and mutate, I consulted my handy new manual, How to Say It, to be sure I addressed each inconvenience—and the person behind it—appropriately. Chapter 13 on Complaints offered a wealth of tips and techniques for airing one’s grievances, firmly but politely. I drew upon the insights offered in Chapter 13 to respond to statements like, We’re sorry, Mrs. Welch, but the rug you ordered in August, that was to be delivered in September, might (but we cannot offer any guarantee) be delivered in mid-January, and We’re sorry, Mrs. Welch, but the home project that was to be done in October is delayed indefinitely. We hope to start before Christmas (but we cannot offer any guarantee).

Chapter 13 gave me the right words but it provided no guarantee. Or result. I was on the edge.

With the ointment now full of horse flies, the only weapon I had left was an illegal, fun-sized Snickers bar.

Now, following a Snickers breakfast and paying the piper for it, I will leave  to catch an early flight with an impossibly tight connection. I will be optimistic about not hearing your flight is delayed, your flight has been cancelled or you missed your connection. (Heaven knows, the airlines offer no guarantee.)

Either way, I know the newsstand sells grown-up sized Snickers bars. And extra strength Tums.

Optimism aside, is it an omen that an enormous fly is buzzing overhead as I write this?

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November 2, 2010 · 8:23 am

Hefty and handy

I don’t know how many will share my enthusiasm, but I just found something to really sink my teeth into—though if it were a sandwich, I’d have trouble getting my teeth around it. It’s that big.

It practically jumped right out of the Border’s bargain bin into my welcoming arms. Nearly three pounds and 890 pages of meat. It’s called The Big Book of How to Say It. You may already know it; it’s been out for 12 years.

Of course, the title caught my eye. At first, I took it for another tome for word geeks. Actually, it’s two tomes, How to Say It by Rosalie Maggio and How to Say It At Work by Jack Griffin.

Cringe not; this book has little to do with grammar and everything to do with writing and speaking one’s mind in the most thoughtful, personal and effective way—under almost any practical social or business scenario.

The Big Book is also not an etiquette book. While offering suggestions on the most appropriate way to express one’s thoughts, the focus is on choosing the right words and tone for the occasion, customized for the addresser and addressee alike.

I immediately bought it for a special someone for Christmas. Now I’m reluctant to give it up. There are more than 60 chapters dealing with everything from expressing (and accepting) a simple condolence to applying for a job, and 58 topics in between. Each chapter includes several options for “How to Say It” as well as “What Not to Say.”  There’s also a mini-thesaurus in each chapter, along with handy writing tips to suit the situation.

Apologies. Holiday letters. Complaints. Job terminations. Negotiating a promotion. Renegotiating a deadline. Accepting a compliment. Taking criticism. Handling a snafu. Agreeing to a drug test. Announcing the cancellation of a wedding. It’s all there.

As a bonus , in one of the chapters dealing with getting a job, there’s a whole section on How to Say it with Clothes, including 28 tips for men and 23 for women. Just remember, the book was written in 1998.

If you’re looking for just the right gift for everyone on your shopping list this holiday season–word nerd, etiquette geek or lay person–then grab a forklift and head on over to Borders. You could order online but the shipping might cost more than the book.

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November 1, 2010 · 8:14 am

Weekend in Washington

And so goes another weekend. Another Halloween. Another Marine Corps Marathon. Another Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. Another October, gone.

My ears are still ringing from the flip-flip-flip of calendar pages turning in animation, the door bell ringing, endless political ads and the oohs and ows following my husband’s excellent Marathon performance. Thank goodness I Restored my Sanity.

As far as the Rally, which by the way was an absolute blast, you’ve no doubt read the news, watched the television coverage and seen the 100 Best Signs, so there’s not much I can add. Except my favorite sign: “Take it off CAPS LOCK.”

I trust the weekend provided the District of Columbia’s economy with a big burst of stimulus, thanks to the Rally on Saturday, Marathon on Sunday and traditionally huge crowds in Georgetown Sunday night.

I outgrew Halloween in Georgetown many years ago. Instead, I spent the evening on our front porch, in a rocker, wrapped in a blanket, Elvis the cat in my lap. The trick-or-treaters thought he was part of my costume. Crazy Cat Lady.

Nearly 500 revelers came to our door dressed in about 40 different costumes. In addition to the usual witches, cats, fairy princesses and superheroes, there were emergent, yet unfamiliar themes that proved I am not seeing enough movies or playing enough video games. Don’t tell my nephews I asked this, but what in heaven’s galaxy is a clone trooper?

If I could give out prizes, I’d reward all the kids wearing homemade costumes—including a pair of 1920s flappers, a set of black and white Siamese twins and a foursome of six-year-old Mafia men.

But my favorite comes from the only-in-Washington category. He was a little guy dressed in a suit and tie, pressed white shirt, good dress shoes and a leather briefcase.

He was a lobbyist.

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