Putting up the tree — there’s that red silk again, draped at its base — brought home the hollowness of this upcoming holiday. There will be no gifts underneath. No flurry of excitement opening the gifts. No stockings stuffed with chocolates and homemade ornaments.
Before I go on: all I care about this year is that everyone stay healthy. That’s it. That’s all that matters.
Home Depot was packed. Worse, one of the staff bagging the trees wore her mask below her nose. What? I hated her just for putting us in the position of wanting to demand that she pull it up.
Note: Massachusetts case numbers are UP — way worse than they were back in March.
Having recently discovered (through the use of my new oximeter which also measures heart beats per minute) that my heart rate is often elevated, I walked away, turned my back, and breathed.
Fortunately, K didn’t need the sawing or bagging service and told her just to lean the tree on a rack while he paid. Loaded it himself.
I plan to turn my back on grievance more in the New Year.
Another example: my next door neighbor lets her yard fill with weeks’ worth of leaves before having her crew come which means when then arrive, we’re in for a long while of noise. Think: twenty five minutes versus two and a half hours.
I doubled up on ear protection and retreated to the cellar. Breathe! So, so preferable to gnashing my teeth, pacing to the windows to check progress, and feeling grievance.
The basement studio is a mess but nevertheless acts as refuge. Building on yesterday’s collage, I made a quick tracing of the surfer to use as a pattern.
Left side of silhouette needs work. I also found another collage (below) rife with female imagery and also created a simple new one — the lady with archeological find on her head.
Cookies are in the works. At least I can share THEM with the boys — as long as I can find a time when there aren’t seven or ten people waiting in line at the PO.
Thank you for the pecans, Jen!
I might have complained a while back about how I wasn’t about to go to Costco for the all important pecans. They had the best price, three recipes require them, blah, blah.
First, a Georgian friend offered to pick me up some. I declined (but thank you, Ms Deb Lacativa!) Then without telling me Jennifer, who hales from Alabama, went off and bought me a pound.
Tis the season to be grateful.