With all the activities that come with the New Year—gathering tax documents, renewing car registration, planning for retirement (more on that in a minute), I frankly forgot to mention an important milestone: Wordplay—Writing & Life’s 10-year anniversary, which occurred at the beginning of the year. Yes, it really has been that long. Though in some ways it’s difficult to believe, since I clearly remember the day I sat down and wrote the first post, in other ways it feels like every bit of 10 years and more—the longest 10 years of my life, in fact.
I was feeling very hopeful when I started this blog. I was about to embark on the great unknown of writing a dissertation, and I was also hopeful of possibly seeing other changes in my life. Successfully completing a three-year course of graduate school while working full-time had given me the confidence that I might be able to do other things I’d never done before, including, but not limited to, moving and getting a new job. I didn’t want the job I was in then to be the job I retired from, and I knew that with a library degree I was probably employable just about anywhere. I wasn’t unhappy to be in Lexington, but the idea of moving had been in my mind for so long that I figured it would probably happen sooner rather than later.
Before I started the myth studies program, I was a writer in search of a subject matter and a spark that I hoped would set something alight in my mind—and that is exactly what happened, though not in the way I thought it would. If you had asked me then what I imagined myself doing 10 years on, I probably would have said: I will be living in California, or at least dividing my time between Kentucky and California. I would have said I will be working in a creative field, publishing books, perhaps teaching part-time, and maybe even exploring my newly formed interest in working with images and film. At that point, I viewed my library career as something I was likely to transition out of. But first things first: there was the dissertation to write.
Although the end of 2009 had ushered in some unexplained and unsettling events, as I have said before, it was really more of a Dada phase in my life, not the full-on Surrealistic Nightmare that was shortly to ensue. At the beginning of 2010, I still felt that I could steer my life in the direction I wanted it to go, and in fact, that’s what I was doing. The main anxiety I had was the pressure of the dissertation, and, while daunting, this was largely a good pressure, one I had chosen for myself.
When I look back, I’m thankful that I had my dissertation to think about once all hell broke loose, because it gave me a focus, an intellectual activity that required me to gather myself together and give it my all. If I hadn’t had it to work on at the end of 2010 and during the latter part of 2011, I don’t know what I would have done. But there I was, doing the things I had always done best, gathering sources, reading, and distilling all of that into writing. In a way, completing the dissertation was like one long writing meditation, although I suppose most people wouldn’t think of an analytical process like scholarly writing as a meditation. In effect, though, it centered me and helped me keep my feet on the ground during an extremely bewildering time.
In Jungian terms, I was in dialogue with the Self throughout it all. In some strange way, despite having been semi-agnostic for long stretches of my life, I felt at that time as if I could sense a divine presence hovering at the edges of things, quietly willing me to succeed. It wasn’t just “succeeding at the dissertation.” It was succeeding at surviving. If you’re an atheist, this will probably make no sense to you, but I was a believer in the goodness of God at that time like I had never been before in my life.
Needless to say, most of the things I had hoped for 10 years ago did not come true. Once I successfully completed my dissertation, it was as if I was at a dead standstill. My ability to land on my feet upon leaving one job, which had never failed me before, had suddenly deserted me. There I was, a newly-minted PhD, with—I felt—more to offer than ever before, unable to get any kind of a job. No matter that I was more focused, more skilled, more valuable as a worker than ever before—none of that availed me. I felt stymied at every turn, even when I applied for jobs I would rather not have had. My 10-year plan certainly didn’t include using up my retirement savings just to live, and yet that is exactly what happened. In my wildest dreams I never imagined ending up homeless, and yet that happened, too.
There has, however, been at least one great good thing to come out of it all, which possibly wouldn’t have happened if none of the above had taken place, and that was that I was forced into myself and my own resources and ended up finding a way to turn my frustration and pain into writing. I had always wanted to write fiction and suddenly found that when I turned my hand to it, instead of hesitation over every word and sentence, the words came tumbling out as fast as I could write them. I was pleased with what I was doing fiction-wise for the first time, and that, friends, is no inconsiderable thing.
I’m not going to make it easy on anyone else by saying that the writing has made the last 10 years all worthwhile; what I really feel is that I succeeded in what I was doing in spite of the last 10 years. I chose to finally shed some of my innocence, to acknowledge the darkness I could not get free of, and finally, to triumph over it to some extent by bringing it to bear on my writing. I feel sure that few of the things that were happening to me were happening because of someone’s good intent—just the opposite—and yet the fight I found myself engrossed in eventually had the effect of giving me (and my writing) some much-needed edge. I would never have described my life prior to 2010 as “uneventful,” but in some ways I feel now that not enough had happened to me. I was still almost a child, comparatively speaking. One thing about fighting for your life is that it gives you heaps of fabulous material, if you choose to see it that way.
So now, the time has come to once again look to the future and answer the question of, “What do you see yourself doing 10 years from now?” And I would say, very much the same things I was thinking I wanted to do 10 years ago, as long as I am in charge of making my own choices. I have never given up on my dreams and hopes and am no further from doing that than I was 10 years ago. I’m reaching retirement age this week and have chosen to apply for social security retirement for economic reasons. Living modestly on social security and wages from Home Depot was never part of my plan but is now my reality, so I intend to make the best of it. I make a small income from my writing business (I don’t make much, but, yes, I make enough that I have to report it to the IRS, so I have in effect been a working writer all this time). Perhaps some day I’ll make more than I do now.
Being a writer is what I am, at my core; I never realized that surviving would one day depend on my holding fast to this, but that’s turned out to be the case. I can do a lot of things, but there has never been anything else that I wanted to do as much. It’s as natural to me as breathing. I also want to add that the timing of Greta Gerwig’s film, Little Women, has been rather fortuitous, because that book, given to me by my aunt when I was seven years old, loomed very large in my imaginative life as a child. The fact that several of the March daughters had talents and aspirations, including—most notably—Jo, the writer, didn’t seem at all remarkable in the book and was simply presented as a given. Ms. Gerwig would have no way of knowing this, but my experience of seeing her film on Christmas Day brought me back to one of my foundational experiences as a reader and a writer, confirming for me that, at least where it really matters, I’m right where I need to be in my creative life. It was as if I had circled back to myself.
Whatever talent or passion you yourself are nurturing, openly or secretly, I encourage you never to let go of it. Pay attention to your soul’s requirements, and you’ll never find yourself agonizing over “what might have been.” Find a way to make it happen, and resist people and situations that pull you away from what you know to be your truest self. Stubbornness, often said to be a vice, is in fact a highly underrated virtue, and one I would advise anyone to cultivate, at least in the things that really matter. It will enable you to stand up for yourself. Anyone who doesn’t appreciate my stubbornness doesn’t need to be talking to me.
Thanks for reading my blog, and maybe we’ll have the same “taking stock” talk 10 years from now. Wordplay is not going anywhere.
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
Aquarius Rocks, Evidently
Do you ever read those horoscope descriptions of your birth sign characteristics and wonder, “How do they come up with this stuff?” That happened to me last night. Since Aquarius is my sign and we have just entered it, astrologically speaking, there are a number of articles floating around the Internet describing what Aquarius people are like, including tests to help you figure out how you stack up against your fellow Aquarius people. Like me, you probably can’t resist looking at these articles now and then, even though you don’t really believe in horoscopes. You just want to see what they’re saying about you.
I read one article last night that was so flattering about Aquarius people that I thought, “Wow, I guess I’m really kind of cool. Who wouldn’t want to be an Aquarius?” Of course, it left the less flattering things out (and I see no reason to enumerate them here either). I thought that it sounded so much like me that I was truly amazed, the way I was one time when someone “did my chart” and said a lot of things about me that seemed surprisingly accurate. “How does that work?” I wondered. I still don’t know. Though some people say that there is a science to astrology, I sometimes wonder if astrologists don’t have a lot in common with mediums in that they are just very good at reading people and casting their charts accordingly.
Someone once told me that I was very down-to-earth for an Aquarius; I gather that, along with their other good qualities, Aquarius folks are supposed to be zany. I wouldn’t describe myself as “off-the-wall,” and I doubt if most people who know me would either—playful, maybe, but not zany. Some of the things I read in the article sounded a lot like a description of an INFP, which I also am, but there are plenty of INFPs who do not fall under the Aquarius sign. INFPs, and introverts in general, are inwardly directed and do not rely on other people to tell them what to do or how to be. This is apparently a hallmark of Aquarius as well, as they are famous for moving to the beat of their own drum.
I did succumb to taking a test to see how “much of” an Aquarius I am and was pleased to find out that I didn’t match up to the standard too closely. Why be predictable, right, even in unpredictability? I guess what it boils down to is not wishing to be pigeon-holed, or stereotyped, or placed in a category determined by someone else. Whether or not the stars and planets have any influence on our psychology, one always wants to feel that he or she is making his or her own way through life, mistakes and all, moondust and stardust be damned. Cassius was right: The faults do lie in ourselves, and not in our stars—and, hopefully, all the good qualities do, too. I suppose it’s barely possible that old Uranus is in some tiny way responsible for the Aquarius reputation for seeming to be from another planet. But I’m pretty sure the stubbornness and lack of biddability come from being Mary Hackworth.
I read one article last night that was so flattering about Aquarius people that I thought, “Wow, I guess I’m really kind of cool. Who wouldn’t want to be an Aquarius?” Of course, it left the less flattering things out (and I see no reason to enumerate them here either). I thought that it sounded so much like me that I was truly amazed, the way I was one time when someone “did my chart” and said a lot of things about me that seemed surprisingly accurate. “How does that work?” I wondered. I still don’t know. Though some people say that there is a science to astrology, I sometimes wonder if astrologists don’t have a lot in common with mediums in that they are just very good at reading people and casting their charts accordingly.
Someone once told me that I was very down-to-earth for an Aquarius; I gather that, along with their other good qualities, Aquarius folks are supposed to be zany. I wouldn’t describe myself as “off-the-wall,” and I doubt if most people who know me would either—playful, maybe, but not zany. Some of the things I read in the article sounded a lot like a description of an INFP, which I also am, but there are plenty of INFPs who do not fall under the Aquarius sign. INFPs, and introverts in general, are inwardly directed and do not rely on other people to tell them what to do or how to be. This is apparently a hallmark of Aquarius as well, as they are famous for moving to the beat of their own drum.
I did succumb to taking a test to see how “much of” an Aquarius I am and was pleased to find out that I didn’t match up to the standard too closely. Why be predictable, right, even in unpredictability? I guess what it boils down to is not wishing to be pigeon-holed, or stereotyped, or placed in a category determined by someone else. Whether or not the stars and planets have any influence on our psychology, one always wants to feel that he or she is making his or her own way through life, mistakes and all, moondust and stardust be damned. Cassius was right: The faults do lie in ourselves, and not in our stars—and, hopefully, all the good qualities do, too. I suppose it’s barely possible that old Uranus is in some tiny way responsible for the Aquarius reputation for seeming to be from another planet. But I’m pretty sure the stubbornness and lack of biddability come from being Mary Hackworth.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
Wordplay’s Official Policy on Zombies
The other day, I was making a joke on Facebook about zombies, and here today I want to make a clarification. I wasn’t talking about zombies in the sense of the reanimated dead of Haitian tradition but rather in the pop culture sense familiar to us all, plus I was being a little sarcastic. But please don’t shoot the messenger: I can’t think of another metaphor that better describes some of the strange things I’ve seen in recent years. It really began in earnest in 2016, a year so full of celebrity deaths that I commented to someone that I wondered if some of those folks were really going undercover to work for the government.
I don’t want to be insensitive here, since of course people do die in large numbers all the time and are mourned by the people they leave behind. I’m not trying to create doubt in anyone’s mind about the fates of their dearly departed friends and family. I’ve mourned deaths of loved ones of my own, and as much as I miss them, I have no doubt that I won’t see them again in this life. I’ve told a few people the story of how I once saw someone who looked exactly like my dad, who had been dead for almost 12 years at that point, and I believe I was misunderstood by some of the people I told. I didn’t conjure up a hallucination of my dad, I saw an actual person who looked exactly like him. I’m sure the illusion would have been dispelled had I walked up to the man and talked to him, but I didn’t. It was just another bizarre incident in a string of many at that time.
The puzzle to me was why it happened and how it happened. I recently read an article about the retirement of the CIA’s master of disguises in which some of the agency’s very impressive methods of subterfuge, pioneered by this official, were described. When I read that the capability exists to create a mask of one person that will make a different individual look exactly like the first, the question of “how” such a thing might occur was no longer a mystery. I’m not suggesting that the CIA sent someone made up to look like my dad to the hospital to scare me; I’m merely pointing out that this technology exists and can be used by anyone with access to it. Prior to that, my idea of altering a person’s appearance extended to heavy makeup à la Hollywood; I never dreamed you could actually recreate the face of another person with such exactitude.
As far as the living dead go, I almost feel I should make a statement (or perhaps there is an appropriate Voudon ritual for keeping them away?) to describe my feelings about all of this. In a nutshell, it’s creepy. It’s become common for me to see people who resemble other people but are definitely not them, and that’s weird enough, but seeing people who are supposed to be dead is another category of experience altogether, and not a welcome one. From former English professors to comedians to fiddling musicians, all of whom have been reported as “deceased” by numerous sources, I’ve seen it all over the last few years. And none of these encounters were with people I had any emotional attachment to; it’s just that the feeling of recognition was so strong that I was almost sure I couldn’t be imagining it.
So Wordplay’s official stance on the living dead flitting hither and yon among us is, “We disapprove.” We’d ask you to go haunt someone else, but that really wouldn’t be kind either. We don’t wish that type of experience on anyone, as the times are disconcerting enough without that. Now, that’s not to say there aren’t those whom the world would probably welcome back with open arms, should it turn out that reports of their deaths were greatly exaggerated: no doubt Robin Williams, whom I thought I spotted on the L.A. Red Line in 2017, would be one of these. Prince would probably get a pass, too. But dying is no small matter, to the person doing it or to those left behind, and trifling with death or the appearance thereof seems to me to be bad mojo, unless it is for a very good reason indeed.
The myth of Orpheus and Eurydice demonstrates how hazardous it is to try to come back to the land of the living from the Underworld. If Eurydice, guided by Orpheus, with a special dispensation, couldn’t do it, it indicates that the borders truly aren’t meant to be permeable. Think of your state of mind if all of sudden anyone—from your long-dead grandmother to your bullying deceased ex-husband—might pay you a call at any time from beyond the River Styx. You might think the prospect of getting to see someone you’ve dearly missed again would be wonderful, but just think: if they can get through, anyone can, including that college roommate you did an ill turn for all those years ago or the teacher who terrified you as a child.
If by some chance Robin Williams really is out there somewhere, let me just say that if I actually did see him in L.A., grinning to himself while dressed as an Asian tourist on the subway, that was about the only time I didn’t get a bad vibe from a “zombie” encounter. I can’t really explain why not, except that this person gave off such an aura of good humor that it never occurred to me to be scared or upset. What it was all about, though, I haven’t the foggiest. I imagine you could see a lot of strange things in Hollywood, but if I’m honest, I have to say I was about 80 percent convinced that it really was Robin Williams on the train that day. I’ll leave 20 percent room for doubt because, after all, it was L.A.
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
What the Bee Saw
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”—William Shakespeare (Hamlet, Act I, Scene 5).
I was strolling through the mall one evening at the beginning of the holidays when a window display unexpectedly jogged a memory. A stick-on display in a women’s clothing store featured a large pair of patterned wings that could have been inspired by either a butterfly or an angel. I thought first of a butterfly but then realized that the winged creature I was recalling was actually a bee. It happened like this: In my myth studies program, we had a class in Irish mythology and storytelling, and one of my classmates told a story involving a bee (the particulars of which I can’t remember). She handed out to each of us a small cardboard cutout of a bee, and I took mine home as a memento.
Why that particular pair of wings in the window reminded me of my classmate’s bee I don’t really know. At first, I thought I was remembering the handout as a butterfly, a symbol of the soul, until further reflection brought the rest of the story to light. Instead of putting the bee on a shelf somewhere once I got it home, I had decided to take it into work with me. I remember thinking that the heaviness that seemed to have settled over my office might be alleviated for me, at least slightly, by the presence of this little bee, which I left on the counter in the break room. I viewed it as kind of a talisman of good will and good luck, and I thought that it might also bring a small sense of delight to anyone else who saw it and wondered how it had gotten there. I don’t remember if I told anyone else what I had done, but I don’t think I did. I saw it as a kind of under-the-radar thing.
I thought I would leave the bee there for a while as a sort of magical object, free of charge, for anyone who might notice it. I was taken by surprise when I saw, the next time I went into the break room, that somehow someone else had picked it up and run with it, as it were, by moving the bee and placing it so deliberately in an odd location (perhaps on top of the hot water dispenser or among the tea bags) that it was impossible to think it had gotten there by accident. I moved it to another location, just as deliberately, and there followed a sort of dance between me and an unknown person (or persons) in which the cardboard bee was the connection. The next time I came into the break room, it might be sitting on its head among the swizzle sticks; I might next tip it on one wing and prop it against the soap dispenser. It was a little like passing a paint brush back and forth, though I never actually saw anyone move it, and I didn’t think the other person knew I was moving it either.
It’s hard to describe how this affected my feelings about being in the office. At a difficult time (which was to become much more difficult later, though I didn’t know it then), it was a little magical opening, a feeling of being at play, that I had never felt in the office before, even at the best of times. Someone was responding to my gesture with creativity and humor, and I had never expected that to happen. There was some kind of a meeting of the minds (or perhaps, more accurately, of the souls) taking place, and for some reason the entire episode made me feel that someone perhaps understood me and was validating my impulse to bring the bee into the office. I wondered who was doing it, but I didn’t really want to know. The mystery just added to the ludic quality of the game.
I can’t remember how long this went on, only that it happened in the summer, and that it made me feel better about going into work every day while it lasted. Then one day, the bee was gone. At the time, it made me sad: I thought someone had just thrown it away, and that seemed such an abrupt end to what had been a harmless but nonetheless engaging distraction. All these years later, I now wonder if in fact that is what happened, or if my mysterious interlocutor decided to keep the bee for some reason. It only occurred to me recently that stranger things might have been happening in the office than I was ever aware of—and perhaps not all of them bad, though there was plenty of that, too. You’d probably be amazed if I told you everything I’m thinking about that long ago time . . . a face wise beyond its years that comes into focus from somewhere in my memory, an overheard conversation, an inexplicably sad farewell that I am—rightly or wrongly—now associating with the episode of the bee.
In my mind, I think I have solved the mystery, though I can hardly believe it myself and am certain I was far from being the only one oblivious to a mysterious presence in our midst. Possibly, there was more than one mysterious presence there over time, not all of which were benevolent—though this one was. Sometimes, very significant things might be happening while you are thinking about something else entirely, and you might never be the wiser were it not for a small cardboard bee and a few smatterings of memory.
Am I right or am I wrong? To be determined . . .
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
My New Year’s Eve in Kroger
I want to send a note out to all you baristas: when a customer enters Starbucks on New Year’s Eve with a book and an iPad, they are not looking for nightlife downtown. I thought you might want to keep that in mind when you tell them you’re closing early and they ask you if any other Starbucks are open. Of course, you yourself are free to go downtown, with our blessing. Update your website with current opening hours before you head out the door, though.
My other note is to wish everyone a safe New Year’s Eve and a Happy New Year in 2020. I know what you want to know: what do I think is the biggest thing that will be happening in the new year. Wordplay is not really a prognosticator, but we’ll be happy to give it a try if you insist. I have been thinking a lot about sexism and how it cuts both ways. One thing that has struck me lately is how many young men of style in Hollywood and elsewhere have been wearing bright colors and styles normally associated with women and doing it with quite a bit of panache. Wordplay is just a lone Kentucky girl far from any major style centers, but we feel compelled to ask: is this a thing? And if so, why is it a thing?
We do not know, but one reading from a depth perspective that may not be too far off the mark is that these young men are taking on sexism in their own way. It’s usually acceptable for women to adopt menswear styles and for girls to be tomboys, but God help the male who decides to flaunt his inner female, even in the smallest way. I read an article last night with comments from men (I believe it was from a reddit thread) about what they would do “if it weren’t for the patriarchy,” and their ideas were quite interesting. I’m inclined to think the young men challenging these gender norms through fashion are doing something much more substantial than it would seem, and that it’s actually a powerful statement they’re making. They have my respect and admiration.
What would you do it if “weren’t for the patriarchy”? Wordplay would never recommend that you do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but what about something you would love to do but don’t do because you know it makes others uncomfortable? Not talking about breaking laws, but what about unwritten norms?
My wish is that 2020 will not only be the year of feminism but also the year of masculinism. We are all made up of yin and yang, and I believe we’re better people for getting in touch with our undeveloped qualities. May 2020 help us all to be kinder not only to others but also to ourselves.
Update: BuzzFeed article, “16 Things More Men Would Do If It Weren’t for the Patriarchy”
My other note is to wish everyone a safe New Year’s Eve and a Happy New Year in 2020. I know what you want to know: what do I think is the biggest thing that will be happening in the new year. Wordplay is not really a prognosticator, but we’ll be happy to give it a try if you insist. I have been thinking a lot about sexism and how it cuts both ways. One thing that has struck me lately is how many young men of style in Hollywood and elsewhere have been wearing bright colors and styles normally associated with women and doing it with quite a bit of panache. Wordplay is just a lone Kentucky girl far from any major style centers, but we feel compelled to ask: is this a thing? And if so, why is it a thing?
We do not know, but one reading from a depth perspective that may not be too far off the mark is that these young men are taking on sexism in their own way. It’s usually acceptable for women to adopt menswear styles and for girls to be tomboys, but God help the male who decides to flaunt his inner female, even in the smallest way. I read an article last night with comments from men (I believe it was from a reddit thread) about what they would do “if it weren’t for the patriarchy,” and their ideas were quite interesting. I’m inclined to think the young men challenging these gender norms through fashion are doing something much more substantial than it would seem, and that it’s actually a powerful statement they’re making. They have my respect and admiration.
What would you do it if “weren’t for the patriarchy”? Wordplay would never recommend that you do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but what about something you would love to do but don’t do because you know it makes others uncomfortable? Not talking about breaking laws, but what about unwritten norms?
My wish is that 2020 will not only be the year of feminism but also the year of masculinism. We are all made up of yin and yang, and I believe we’re better people for getting in touch with our undeveloped qualities. May 2020 help us all to be kinder not only to others but also to ourselves.
Update: BuzzFeed article, “16 Things More Men Would Do If It Weren’t for the Patriarchy”
Thursday, December 26, 2019
A Holiday Not Particularly Good, But It Had Its Moments
The day you go back to work after Christmas, people will naturally ask if you had a nice holiday. Truth compelled me to tell people today that, no, I didn’t particularly have a good one (although I’m very good at seeing whatever good there is to see, even I can’t make a cashmere glove out of a rotten pumpkin). It started out OK, with egg nog, chocolates, holiday movie sessions, and a brief respite from work. I was cozy enough on Christmas Eve with all the afore-mentioned, but then I decided to go out on Christmas Day to see a movie and have dinner.
I decided, with some trepidation, to go see Little Women on its opening day. This was probably the first “chapter book” I read as a child, but this is the first time I’ve seen a filmed version. A previous production with Susan Sarandon just never pulled me in because none of the well-known actors in the cast corresponded to my idea of the March family and their friends. In this case, I was able to contemplate seeing the film with a reasonable level of equanimity because a number of the cast members were unknown to me. While I thought this film was well-made, and I enjoyed a number of the performances (Meryl Streep as Aunt March and Timothée Chalamet as Laurie were particularly inspired choices), the March girls seemed a little too modern and raucous to be the March girls I remember. I believe that was an intentional choice by director Greta Gerwig, and while I think she’s made a very good film, it wasn’t quite the film I wanted. (Do not, however, let that stop you from seeing it.)
After popcorn and a movie, I went to Denny’s for dinner and was told they’d had a number of workers call in. I have to cut them a little slack, because I think they were being asked to do the impossible by even being open and serving people. My choices on where to have a turkey dinner were limited (it was Denny’s or nothing), so I toughed it out, and while it was not the way I had pictured it (and I burned my mouth by eating food that was simultaneously too hot (in some spots) and too cold (in others), I did get my turkey and dressing, which was my goal.
If you want some short quotables to take with you on sort of a non-starter Christmas (that is not, however, the worst Christmas I ever had), here are my thoughts on the day, summarized.
1. If you don’t have a husband, waking up with a hot water bottle is probably the next best thing, but if I could only get my belongings out of storage, I have a fake lynx coat hot water bottle cover from Restoration Hardware that would have made it a little cozier on Christmas morning and less medicinal-seeming, but OK . . . at least I had a hot water bottle.
2. Is it my imagination, or have I gotten so used to sleeping in my car that a nearly empty hotel is no longer that much better a place to spend a holiday (except for getting to watch TV) than the back seat of my car?
3. The eggnog I got from the store was good, but I suspect they slipped non-fat milk into that carton because it didn’t taste as rich as I was expecting. Look, if I want low-fat, I’ll get it myself, OK?
4. There are certain holiday movies that, once you’ve seen them, you don’t really feel the need for repeat viewings. I watched Elf for the first time this year, and while it’s really pretty goofy, at least I had never seen it before, and somehow Will Ferrell is able to pull it off.
5. If you find yourself watching Jurassic Park on Christmas Eve, that’s probably a sign. Not a good sign, but a sign. Switch the channel.
6. Hotels shouldn’t list movies on their channel guide if you are unable to watch them. This was the first time I became aware that not all of the movies listed on the in-hotel viewing guide are actually something you can view. I’m talking about Oscar-nominated (excuse me, Oscar-winning, what was I thinking?) films, not something you need parental permission to see (though I’m past the age for parental permission in any case).
7. If you wake up to “Do You Hear What I Hear?” being played at a very high volume in the middle of the night, go back to sleep. This is probably not anything you want to investigate in person.
8. You will find that if you have a Christmas Day like I had, you will have had your fill of Christmas by the time you get back to your hotel. Travel Channel content on people who thought they were possessed by demons and others who had spooky encounters in the mountains around Asheville, North Carolina, with what may or may not have been a strange combination of scary people and weird special effects meant to make these unfortunates question their sanity will, in this case, begin to seem like something you might actually learn from, as unlikely as it may seem. Ditto, programming on Bigfoot and the Alaskan wilderness.
In conclusion, Happy St. Stephen’s Day, and Wordplay will still be here this time next week, if Grandma doesn’t get run over by a reindeer.
I decided, with some trepidation, to go see Little Women on its opening day. This was probably the first “chapter book” I read as a child, but this is the first time I’ve seen a filmed version. A previous production with Susan Sarandon just never pulled me in because none of the well-known actors in the cast corresponded to my idea of the March family and their friends. In this case, I was able to contemplate seeing the film with a reasonable level of equanimity because a number of the cast members were unknown to me. While I thought this film was well-made, and I enjoyed a number of the performances (Meryl Streep as Aunt March and Timothée Chalamet as Laurie were particularly inspired choices), the March girls seemed a little too modern and raucous to be the March girls I remember. I believe that was an intentional choice by director Greta Gerwig, and while I think she’s made a very good film, it wasn’t quite the film I wanted. (Do not, however, let that stop you from seeing it.)
After popcorn and a movie, I went to Denny’s for dinner and was told they’d had a number of workers call in. I have to cut them a little slack, because I think they were being asked to do the impossible by even being open and serving people. My choices on where to have a turkey dinner were limited (it was Denny’s or nothing), so I toughed it out, and while it was not the way I had pictured it (and I burned my mouth by eating food that was simultaneously too hot (in some spots) and too cold (in others), I did get my turkey and dressing, which was my goal.
If you want some short quotables to take with you on sort of a non-starter Christmas (that is not, however, the worst Christmas I ever had), here are my thoughts on the day, summarized.
1. If you don’t have a husband, waking up with a hot water bottle is probably the next best thing, but if I could only get my belongings out of storage, I have a fake lynx coat hot water bottle cover from Restoration Hardware that would have made it a little cozier on Christmas morning and less medicinal-seeming, but OK . . . at least I had a hot water bottle.
2. Is it my imagination, or have I gotten so used to sleeping in my car that a nearly empty hotel is no longer that much better a place to spend a holiday (except for getting to watch TV) than the back seat of my car?
3. The eggnog I got from the store was good, but I suspect they slipped non-fat milk into that carton because it didn’t taste as rich as I was expecting. Look, if I want low-fat, I’ll get it myself, OK?
4. There are certain holiday movies that, once you’ve seen them, you don’t really feel the need for repeat viewings. I watched Elf for the first time this year, and while it’s really pretty goofy, at least I had never seen it before, and somehow Will Ferrell is able to pull it off.
5. If you find yourself watching Jurassic Park on Christmas Eve, that’s probably a sign. Not a good sign, but a sign. Switch the channel.
6. Hotels shouldn’t list movies on their channel guide if you are unable to watch them. This was the first time I became aware that not all of the movies listed on the in-hotel viewing guide are actually something you can view. I’m talking about Oscar-nominated (excuse me, Oscar-winning, what was I thinking?) films, not something you need parental permission to see (though I’m past the age for parental permission in any case).
7. If you wake up to “Do You Hear What I Hear?” being played at a very high volume in the middle of the night, go back to sleep. This is probably not anything you want to investigate in person.
8. You will find that if you have a Christmas Day like I had, you will have had your fill of Christmas by the time you get back to your hotel. Travel Channel content on people who thought they were possessed by demons and others who had spooky encounters in the mountains around Asheville, North Carolina, with what may or may not have been a strange combination of scary people and weird special effects meant to make these unfortunates question their sanity will, in this case, begin to seem like something you might actually learn from, as unlikely as it may seem. Ditto, programming on Bigfoot and the Alaskan wilderness.
In conclusion, Happy St. Stephen’s Day, and Wordplay will still be here this time next week, if Grandma doesn’t get run over by a reindeer.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
That’s the Spirit!
How do I love thee, Christmas? Let me count down my favorite things about Christmas 2019.
1. Putting a rude customer in their place by absolutely killing them with politeness. You know that you are totally within the bounds of the holiday spirit because you are building their character even as they attempt to drag you down into the mud where they currently dwell. Perhaps they’ll thank you for it someday?
2. Looking at pictures of anything related to eggnog—actual eggnog, eggnog cake, eggnog cookies, eggnog pie, etc. Eggnog is the banana pudding of Christmas: you never see a bad picture of it.
3. Sending just the right card to family and friends and enjoying the thought of them knowing that you are thinking of them (for real). Putting on the stamps is also really fun, for some reason.
4. Going into Starbucks, because Starbucks always looks festive around the holidays and has very evocative holiday beverage names. This has not always been an unalloyed pleasure in the past, but they are doing better this year.
5. Going into the mall at off-peak hours just to enjoy the window displays and general holiday splendor.
6. Knowing that, regardless of what happens in the future, you will doubtless never, for the rest of your life, lose the attitude of superiority that comes with knowing you survived living in your car for a year and a half, including at Christmastime. You try to picture specific individuals you know doing it and nearly collapse with laughter.
7. Hearing either of these two songs come on the radio: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” or “Last Christmas”—or any holiday song sung with true elan.
8. Looking at presents under a tree, even if only in your mind.
9. Seeing an arched doorway outlined with a string of blue lights and imagining yourself saying, “Mellon.”
10. Glowering at the person attending the Salvation Army kettle in front of the grocery store.
11. Looking forward to Christmas dinner.
12. Watching Christmas movies while tucked into bed (special treat).
13. Imagining the smell of a real Christmas tree in whatever future home you will someday have.
14. Having visions of sugar plums. (Just what is a sugar plum, anyway? Possibly there is some room for interpretation on this, but you know it has to be something good. It’s one of those poetic phrases like “cloth of gold” that instantly evoke enchantment.)
15. Hearing the song “Do You Hear What I Hear?” and wondering if in fact the mighty king, in his palace warm, does know what you know—which is in no way a problem and entirely a good thing if he does. Doubters.
16. Reminding yourself that there are always those less fortunate than you and thinking about what you would do to help them in some future life should you ever be able to do so.
1. Putting a rude customer in their place by absolutely killing them with politeness. You know that you are totally within the bounds of the holiday spirit because you are building their character even as they attempt to drag you down into the mud where they currently dwell. Perhaps they’ll thank you for it someday?
2. Looking at pictures of anything related to eggnog—actual eggnog, eggnog cake, eggnog cookies, eggnog pie, etc. Eggnog is the banana pudding of Christmas: you never see a bad picture of it.
3. Sending just the right card to family and friends and enjoying the thought of them knowing that you are thinking of them (for real). Putting on the stamps is also really fun, for some reason.
4. Going into Starbucks, because Starbucks always looks festive around the holidays and has very evocative holiday beverage names. This has not always been an unalloyed pleasure in the past, but they are doing better this year.
5. Going into the mall at off-peak hours just to enjoy the window displays and general holiday splendor.
6. Knowing that, regardless of what happens in the future, you will doubtless never, for the rest of your life, lose the attitude of superiority that comes with knowing you survived living in your car for a year and a half, including at Christmastime. You try to picture specific individuals you know doing it and nearly collapse with laughter.
7. Hearing either of these two songs come on the radio: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” or “Last Christmas”—or any holiday song sung with true elan.
8. Looking at presents under a tree, even if only in your mind.
9. Seeing an arched doorway outlined with a string of blue lights and imagining yourself saying, “Mellon.”
10. Glowering at the person attending the Salvation Army kettle in front of the grocery store.
11. Looking forward to Christmas dinner.
12. Watching Christmas movies while tucked into bed (special treat).
13. Imagining the smell of a real Christmas tree in whatever future home you will someday have.
14. Having visions of sugar plums. (Just what is a sugar plum, anyway? Possibly there is some room for interpretation on this, but you know it has to be something good. It’s one of those poetic phrases like “cloth of gold” that instantly evoke enchantment.)
15. Hearing the song “Do You Hear What I Hear?” and wondering if in fact the mighty king, in his palace warm, does know what you know—which is in no way a problem and entirely a good thing if he does. Doubters.
16. Reminding yourself that there are always those less fortunate than you and thinking about what you would do to help them in some future life should you ever be able to do so.
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