January? Already?

So that was December? Some sparkles, some pretty paper, a lot of hacking coughs, and whoosh, gone?

Pretty much.

Originally, December was supposed to be the month of letting the cards sell themselves on the Web site while I went totally Martha on the house. I had a whole schedule that listed a month’s worth of Christmasy crafts and to-dos. I started out strong, shopping for Christmas CDs on Nov. 29, and then had to tell myself that perhaps they didn’t have any in stock because it was not actually December yet. I got cards printed up, started cruising the online stores, and spent a weekend making the doughs for the annual Christmas Baking Frenzy (scheduled for Dec. 10-12). That was on the 3rd.

By the 9th, I was so sick (head, nose, and especially throat) that I basically squawked my way through the company holiday* party. Spent the next three weeks in varying stages of sick. Cookie-baking weekend—cancelled in favor of three days of sitting in the easy chair while wrapped in blankets. Candy house I was going to make with the Boy—cancelled. Christmas mix CD--cancelled. Photo project of downtown Christmas trees—scrapped. Seasonal decorating—done, but in stages over several days and not as extensively as I wanted.

On the other hand, cards were sold, gifts got out, and we did do some pretty fun things. There were two cool holiday parties (the Stearnseses [sorry about that Tiki thing] and the Hartmans); we had a great time driving through the suburbs and critiquing the lights (thanks Dan and Lori); the Boy and I saw a fun play on his birthday; I got really cool gifts; and I didn’t step foot in a single mall. OK—Water Tower Place. So one. One mall. But I didn’t buy anything. On the Martha tip, we also put together Christmas dinner for six and it went swimmingly. No one even knew that I accidentally cooked the game hens upside down. At least, they didn’t mention it.

And then it was New Year’s. The end.

* * * * *

Best gift I bought for the Boy: Four pounds of his favorite Italian cookie (tri-colors). As he has heard too many times now, I had to call 7 different places before finding someone who actually made them around here, and getting to the bakery itself took two buses and 90 minutes. But it was totally worth it to surprise him like that. Il Giardino on Harlem and Diversey—nice people, yummy cookies, and no extra charge for special orders.

Second-best: Profanisaurus Rex, a dictionary of British vulgarity. It’s absolutely disgusting and will cost me several feminist points. Needless to say, we’ve read almost the entire thing.

Best gift I got: All of them. Including the ones that involved just spending time with friends.

Weirdest moment: Company holiday* party. Watching an underpaid Hispanic foodservice worker wrestle a 50-lb. roast beef, while in the background the DJ is playing "Do They Know It’s Christmas?" Feeeeeed the wooo-oorld…

Second-weirdest: Department holiday dinner. Held at a very trendy restaurant, the kind that sells $20 appetizers and comes with a "dining concept" that must be explained in detail to everyone, twice. The concept itself basically boiled down to: "We serve family style; pass it around; if we see you like something, we’ll bring more of that dish." Later, the waiter looked deeply troubled when someone interrupted his detailed explanation of the passionfruit mousse dessert. I am so done with "dining concepts."  Just bring me some good food already.

Odd, not really weird: Department dinner. My department’s resident gadget-head sat down at the table while wearing his cell phone. It’s this little no-mouthpiece thing that just clips onto your ear. Throw in the blinky light and it looked less like a phone and more like cyborg jewelry. I looked at him and thought, This is it. This is the future. We are finally here.

Culture: The Santaland Diaries; Brokeback Mountain; Melvin and Howard; Pirates of the Caribbean.

Moment when I most amazed myself with my own patience: December 8. Heavy, steady afternoon and evening snowfall. Some areas got 10 inches. Traffic was bananas. My evening bus commute, which usually takes 60-90 minutes, took two and a half hours.

You read that right. Two and a half hours on a city bus. And I didn’t go crazy or kill anyone. I feel like I earned some sort of big-city-living merit badge. Two thoughts sustained me: 1) If I got off the bus there was no hope of getting a cab, and 2) If I just stayed on the bus long enough, I would eventually get home.

Like the Furniture Guys say, Home is nice.

*Fuck you, Bill O’Reilly. And your little friend John Gibson, too.

Comments

[AmyWOMAN]

There is something Zen about that moment on the bus in which you give up and let the ride take as long as it's going to take.

[ChgoRed]

I agree--it was very Zen. You accept your lack of control over the situation and realize that whatever happens, happens.