Mulled Wine and Mockery

         Dear Friends,

       Happy Holidays!

       Once again, I send my sole annual correspondence to all of you whose names and addresses I have collected over the years. Some of you I have not seen, nor heard from for a decade or more, but my collection, that qualifies me for a bulk-mailing rate, helps me with affirmations of my worthiness and value as a person. Thank you also to those of you who bless me with your sole annual letters that conveniently sum up your year in five paragraphs. It is amazing that by writing down our accomplishments, and documenting our lives, we are effectively validating our purpose. Blessed be the holiday letter! My life is only enriched when I read that Charlotte from my high school days was so proud of her 2 year old for kicking the thumb sucking habit, and that Jared moved from 1st street to 4th street in March.

       For those of you who are graced or plagued with the details of my life on a more consistent basis, this letter may be pasted into your scrapbook of memories. Or, you may recycle the page as holiday wrap, fold it in fours to make an eggnog coaster, or set it ablaze with your Yule log, as you burn away the pain of the past, and plead to the fire gods for happier, more fruitful and more favorable times in the future…..

       2009 began as usual for our family…with several colds and flu’s. The ridiculous nature of the ‘holidays’ (that is, from Halloween to New Year’s Day) always seems to get the better of us, rendering us exhausted, sick and oh so tired for at least a couple of weeks. Last year did not disappoint, and after several doctor’s visits, a few rounds of antibiotics and much ‘Breathe Easy’ tea however, we surfaced in February renewed and eager for adventure.

       Thanks to the ‘local’ hockey program, we had fantastic travel opportunities this blustery winter, with travels to premier methamphetamine Wyoming oil towns, dry-county Utah whistle-stops, and small and unexceptional villages in Idaho. The burdensome and knuckle-whitening drives and hockey related injuries were obviously worth the effort however, because now our son can recite the Applebee’s menu off the top of his head, and knows which room is closest to the (cess)pool in most “Country Inn and Suites” or “Shilo Inn’s”. Way to go, boy! We’re so proud.

       A visit from my brother last winter proved to be an exciting time for us as well. My 4-year old niece and 12-year old daughter bonded over what I term the “Crown and Chopper” incident, where a front tooth was violently broken off leaving a gushing puncture wound above another's eye. Both girls really demonstrated a respect for life when they asked if they were dying as astounding amounts of blood poured from their heads in ways that would rival a bear mauling. And as all great family gatherings end in frustration, panic and tears, we were not disillusioned, as those left standing frantically wiped up bloodied floors and walls, made panicked calls to dentists and pediatricians, and emotionally contemplated a trip to the ER. And although the tooth was never found, the tooth fairy demonstrated compassion and unequivocal generosity by shelling out an enormous sum for a 4-year old’s baby tooth. College is already starting to look financially feasible for my darling niece, proving that teamwork pays off in the end! Dentistry might be an appropriate field of study…. Great work girls!

       As far as the forehead goes, my daughter’s festering infection finally healed up after 3 doses of antibiotics and two months of Neosporin applications. The scar on the forehead now serves to ensure that my beauty will never rely solely on her looks for success…a boon in a world where people don protective facemasks to guard themselves from worrisome pandemics and disease anyway. Lucky break!

       And speaking of pandemics, the Swine flu infused our home with more opportunities for family bonding and intimate growth. Cuddled together and shivering from fever, we united over shared boxes of tissues, hot honeyed tea and Pink Panther reruns for an entire month. Not to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, the pig thing did however grant us natural immunity to the flu, and we feel so fortunate not to have to endure lines for the controversial and divisive H1N1 shots.

     As for myself, I opted for a sensational shoulder surgery in the early spring. A formidable and illuminating process that afforded me much time for introspection, I learned how much joy can come from tiny amounts of codeine, diazepam and alcohol. I now have a renewed respect for the money-hungry, deceptive, government monopolized pharmaceutical companies, and will turn to them first for any liver ailments or neurological concerns that befall me in the future.

     'Dad' took a 4-month sabbatical this year in which he moped around contemplating his existence and purpose in life. He climbed some absurdly high mountains in Ecuador (looking for the answer), damaging his lungs and reactivating his childhood asthma. As Oscar Wilde once said “Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.” So, under the euphemism ‘experience’, more desperate attempts to conquer nature and test the physical limitations of a 55 year old are in the works….and Albuterol and Ibuprophen are really fine drugs.

       Our family sends you our thoughts of peace and love for 2010, since the 2012 predicted demise of the world is now just over 2 years away. Have a blessed holiday season, and remember that turkey’s are intelligent birds that are generally inhumanely raised and slaughtered, eggnog is basically salmonella and cream in a glass, and that mulled wine can absolutely be considered a meal.

       Cheers!

The Breakaway

            My son withdrew from the peewee hockey league today.

            What?!

            After 7 years of grooming him for hockey, and coaxing his Canadian blood to the surface, he has decided to take a break from the sport that so many bloodied, broken and toothless people adore.

            Frankly, I’m impressed. At 12 years old, you wouldn’t think a kid would recognize burnout or be able to maturely look at the big picture. His shocking announcement came pretty much out of nowhere, and with phrases like “it’s too demanding”, “hockey is not my life”, “I just want more family time” and “I’m conflicted”, the only response a person could give would be “Okay…..but don’t say it out loud around Canadians.”

Now, I wonder if maybe my ‘encouragement’ was too forceful. I was, in fact, the consumer of several miniature sized hockey jerseys when he was merely months old. I have a picture of him smushed into a sitting position at about 5 months, wearing an incredibly small Canadiens red jersey. Eyes sparkling and smiling with joy (gas?), his big bald head tilted just perfectly to the side, I thought his gurgle sounds were baby-speak for “I can’t wait to get on the ice!” Maybe his insides were just all bent over and crushed and he was really trying to say “I’m about to fall over….and I can’t breathe. Can somebody please grab me…..?” Regardless, I was assured over and over of his commitment to the game and his love of the sport, but now I wonder if his words were not just a regurgitation of my words. Did I cause the burnout? Was I screening my own goalie?

As a parent, I find the line between encouragement (offense) and pressure (defense) so hard to find. I know I’m not one of those ‘helicopter’ parents, always hovering around and protecting the kid (after all, it was hockey…..a contact sport that involves hitting, sticks and blades, and not badminton), but peer pressure, external incentives, baits and popular persuasion already do a number on our kids, and as parents we are supposed to be supportive. But where do you draw the line? If your kid is already participating in more than a few activities, can we say ‘no’ to more, or will that label us as unsupportive and obstructive in our kids’ development? Frankly, I’m getting tired of being the ‘only mother in the whole world’ who doesn’t say ‘yes’ to everything. I know there are others who must feel overwhelmed for their overwhelmed children…because I see them….driving around town, frantic and disgruntled, wearing pajama bottoms and loosely tied boots….and I watch them as they hand off rarely eaten sandwiches and pre-packaged ‘nutritious’ energy drinks to their running and baggy-eyed kids. We all look at each other with that faraway ‘can you see I’m screaming inside’ look in the hopes that someone would just say it out loud; say that’s it’s all too much and that our kids are exhausted and our family life is practically non-existent! But no one does….we just all go along supporting, encouraging and promoting…..because that’s what we are supposed to do…..while the irony is that it is our 12 year old kids that are the ones that come to us and say “I need a break!” I feel like there should be a team of moms who draw the line en masse… and meet as a support group. The ‘Mother NO’s Best’ group. Honestly, who knows what we’re doing to our kids and if maybe they just really want to ride bikes around the neighborhood or sled on the hill the snowplow made. And as parents, we’re going to need our own defense team, because we can absolutely count on the fact that we will be at fault for something we’ve done or haven’t done….a delayed penalty for a line we let them cross, a board we encouraged they get slammed into, or for not backchecking soon enough.

To be honest, my thoughts on the hockey breakaway are the bittersweet kind. I love the game of hockey, as I am sure my son will always too. I will miss watching him float effortlessly along the ice and pivot on a dime in ways I wish I also could, but I will not miss freezing fingers and toes, the insanely late nights of practice, the lengthy and boring drives to other cold and bleak hockey towns, or the indescribable smell of hockey saturating my car all winter long. And not been lumped into the same category as Sarah Palin? Priceless.

But now what am I supposed to do with all those hand and foot warmers that I have stocked in bulk?

Get Out Of The Woods

         I have only one question: Is he still an outstanding golfer?

        Why the media thinks it is their right to attack and judge a person for their personal life, is something I’d like to know. The personal life and ‘transgressions’ of Tiger Woods concerns me about as much as whether Hillary has an inny or outy. I’ve heard that he is an exceptionally private person, unlike say, Paris Hilton, and as I believe his fame came from his abilities on the golf course and not how well he fits into the Christian ideologies of marriage, I think that the personal aspect of his life should be left alone. Let him have his privacy. If he can be respected as a golfer, then he should also be respected as a person.  Judge him if you must, but keep it within the boundaries of golf.

        So is it society’s obsession that is driving the media frenzy, or is the media frenzy driving society’s obsession? At this point, I can’t figure it out, but realize that even our most respected media has turned into a greedy, blood-sucking beast more akin to paparazzi than responsible news reporters. And if this world is buying the material, I’m left with very little hope for the species' survival. I am frankly not particularly surprised by the shallowness of ‘we the people’, but I really had hopes after it appeared that at least a few more million were paying attention to the big stuff after Obama was elected. (Prior to that, I thought that Jerry Springer was where people were getting informed).

        And isn’t golf a big enough waste of time in itself…..without extra focus on the sport? (it’s a sport?) Does golf really need more airtime? Isn’t there a war (or two) going on somewhere? Do we have healthcare yet? Are our schools still not up to par? Is the Mars Rover still stuck? For god sake, is Oprah really quitting?

        But if our minds are overloaded with the horrors of wartime and politics, and in need of a little diversion by snooping into people’s private lives and private parts, why not focus on more educational and inspirational stories like the one I stumbled upon a couple of months ago….?

        In the fall, ABC news reported that a man was in court testifying over a recent incident in which his penis was glued to his abdomen…..(they said stomach, but in the real sense of the word stomach, I don’t’ see how that is possible) Allegedly, he was attacked by four women: his wife, his girlfriend, his other girlfriend and her sister….in a motel room during one of his sexual encounters. The first woman was with him alone, and had tied him up, when the door flew open and the other three stormed in. The first girlfriend then preceded to superglue his penis to his ‘stomach’ as the others watched (and giggled and cheered). The ladies were being charged with assault.

        Now that’s educational, inspirational and giving airtime to some guy who is obviously and actively looking for attention. I haven’t heard anything regarding that story since I discovered it, and I wonder if maybe Mr. Shameless Weenie might have something to say about the bonding experience he shared with his girlfriends….or the sticky situation he was left in. And the ladies who took matters into their own hands? I bet they regret not cementing the unit to a boulder….sitting precariously on the edge of a cliff…..’cause he sounded like a cocky bugger.

        In any case, a man stepping out of a marriage and chasing his ding-dong around is not news. But did you hear that nanotechnology has produced a peptide-coating for windows that repels dirt? We may never have to wash windows again!

       Now that is news.  It's time to get out of the Woods.

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

         So today is the big day: The day I get the much anticipated and uber-necessary hair-repair-cut.

        There is something so lovely and gratifying about going to the salon. The way the stylist focuses on you only, talks about what you want and tries to make you look the best you possibly can. It’s one of my favorite self-indulgent times (other than eating chocolate in bed). But it’s the scalp massage during the wash that really makes me happy. That’ll make anyone talk. My hair stylist friend says that when she would wash people’s hair and massage their scalp, they’d just start talking…about everything you could imagine. She learned things about people that no one else had privilege to….and that she probably didn’t really want to know either. Imagine being left with the secret that someone is having an affair, or that some wife deliberately mismatches her husbands socks…. Whoa. The responsibility. I suppose there must be some subconscious need to ‘give back’ to the person who is kneading your skull. You know, when someone does something so nice for you, you want to return the gesture….by sharing dirty little secrets, I guess. I mean, at that moment you’re in the chair, what other options do you have?  And what’s wrong with getting feedback on your marriage from someone who hears a lot….from the whole community anyway? She just might have the best advise yet. You know she certainly has your best interest in mind, or she wouldn’t have spent so long rubbing your woes away while working those pressure points. For god sake, she knows the shape of your head, every bump, every contour, the dry spots and where the grays come in. Does your husband? Does he even care that your extra large and protruding cerebellum makes a dramatic inverted bob a no-no for you? Does he know that the back left of your skull has a permanent (and quite large) lump from the time you fell 12 feet down the unseen and open trap door onto a rock in the basement? It’s pretty clear-cut: The stylist knows best.   In fact, who even needs a shrink when you have a hair therapist? Does your councilor know the shape of your head and where your bump is?  Maybe, but that would just be weird.

        Clearly, I’m addicted to getting my hair cut, which is why I’ve been abstaining for about the last 18 months. The attention, the head rub, the crispy sound of sharp scissors cutting…..are all just so attractive to me that until I admitted I was powerless to the lure of the salon, I had pretty short hair. I could just never say no. I was a salon junkie. A trim tramp. So, deciding to grow my hair long was not really a style decision, but more of a financial and self-preservation necessity.  Sure, I’ve had a few slip ups here and there, but addiction is a beast. I figured if I just had a little clip once in a while, that hair high would be easier to achieve….and I’d have longer hair…..that I could use to cover my long and sad face....that was blanketed with expressions of longing (shorting) and withdrawals.

        So here I am today, having to cut short my attempt at lengthy locks. My self-inflicted mane mutilation was obviously my souls cry for help, and perhaps the destroyed do and necessary emergency salon visit was a blessing that simply forced me to seek out a professional….for both my head and my head. In any case, my appointment today is bound to put me in a good mood. My hair could not possibly get worse looking at this point, and I’ve almost developed a permanent horizontal line on my forehead from my daily use of caps.

        I’ve been jonesing all morning. I can almost smell the shampoo and hear the sharp and scrupulous scissors etching a new masterpiece. Heavenly.

        Looks like I've fallen off the wagon.