MOVING INTO THE NEW YEAR

It strikes on Christmas night around midnight. Technically, I guess that makes it Boxing Day. I mean, whatever and whenever, it still hits me. I am suddenly overtaken with the urge to move furniture around.

For those who know me, especially siblings, this is nothing new. I used to rearrange my bedroom all the time growing up. It became almost a game. At school, I am notorious for rearranging the student desks (and my own desk placement, which moved three times during school last year) to the point of driving the custodial staff to madness.

Unable to let my Christmas night thoughts rest, I sneak into the living room and very quietly move the chaise part of the couch. When I wake up, I'll look at it in daylight and decide whether or not I like it. (Case in point, the couch, which is relatively new, has changed sides of the room before now, and the chaise portion has been moved five times back and forth to opposite ends.) When I awaken, I discover that I do like it.

Then, I wonder, as I often do, why I place my couch against the wall. It was fine when the couch was a big futon, but now the couch has a straight fabric back. I don't need to hide any moveable parts against the wall. So, I hitch the couch forward and decide if it cuts into my apartment-sized living room too severely. I let it be for a few hours, looking at it, walking around it, and sitting on the couch to see if I feel too close to the television. 

This new placement leaves the wall open, so I start moving bookcases. Yes, even though I sent seven bags of books to the Used Book Super Store last summer, I still have books, books, and more books. This means unloading all of the books that I own. I let the bookcases sit empty for twenty-four hours.  After all, now that I've emptied the bookcases, wherever they end up, even if back where they started, books need to be sorted and redisplayed on the shelves. 

This arrangement is a go, so I start putting the books onto the shelves. For anyone who has ever tried to reorganize books and shelves, just know that this is an arduous, all-day undertaking. It becomes even more convoluted when shelves need to be readjusted and when the shelf braces snap off. I smartened up the last time I moved bookshelves, so I have plenty of replacement braces, but it still requires pliers to get some of the little plastic tabs out, and a hammer to beat them into the new hole placements.

Finally, the bookshelves are done, so I start moving bedroom furniture around. My bed has to remain along on particular wall because of my neighbors. There is only one wall that doesn't leave me visible to the parking lot and opposite apartment buildings -- not that anyone would be looking into my apartment windows, but I probably am not the most graceful of sleepers. I often awaken completely wound up in the sheets as if there had been an attempted mummification in my private chambers. As the expression goes, ain't nobody need to see that.

Once the furniture is rearranged, including moving my work station back out to the living room area (from whence it came already as it has been moved four times in the last few years), I start on storage benches, which leads to closets, which leads to laundry room shelves, which leads to plants and lamps and knickknacks and pictures and . . .

It's like watching dominoes fall and trying to beat them to the finish line. Actually, it's more than that. It's more like a game of Mousetrap because so many things seem to be happening at once while the wrecking ball moves through the maze. I think I'm at the "plastic man jumps off diving board into empty plastic tub" point of this re-do. I just hope I can pull this place together before I have to go back to work on Monday.

NEW WORDS FOR AN OLD TUNE

Let it Snow - A Song About Driving Home on Christmas  

Oh, the weather outside is frightful,

The ride home's not delightful.

It seems I've no place to go:

Hit the gas! You're an ass driving slow.

You show all the signs of stopping.

The veins in my brain are popping.

The light is still green, you know.

How I yearn that you'll turn -- You're too slow.

With one finger I wave Good night,

While you drive like you're stuck in a storm.

If you don't take a turn at the light,

My nerve endings start to get warm.

My patience is quickly dying.

I'd send you good thoughts, but I'm lying.

You're driving too goddamn slow:

Hit the gas, you're an ass. F*****g GO!

SIDE TRIP TO THE SAND

Every few years we are hit with late autumn temperatures that are single digit numbers with wind chills even lower. This is, apparently, that year in the cycle. It has been so cold that my skin is already rebelling, and there isn't enough cream or lotion in the world to make my poor fingers or toes feel any safer from the wrath of winter's approach.

To top all of this off, we had ridiculous weather Friday: mild morning, temperatures approaching 60 by lunch, then a line of monsoons so strong that roads flooded and lightning flashed and wind pounded and power was lost in various places across New England. With the line of storms, temperatures dropped rapidly, turning us back into icicles.

All of this, and Winter is just (officially) starting.

I have to be in Hampton, NH, today. Since it's along the coast, and since the wind is still being naughty, I'm not sure that visiting the beach is my brightest idea, especially with high tide. I stop along the way at all the old haunts: Salisbury Center, Seabrook, Hampton State Park, Hampton Strip, and, finally, the beach just north of the action, famously known as The Wall. I know all of these beaches so deeply that I can feel each different texture of sand as if the memories are etched into my skin.

I stop, snapping photos as if I've never seen the ocean before. Quite honestly, the ocean is fickle even today. In Salisbury, the water is so deeply blue that it looks almost like a dark sapphire. In Seabrook, the water is slightly lighter and less dramatic. Hampton, though, the ocean is a multitude of many blues, and the waves slap the sand with intention. 

As I drive along The Wall, I glance behind me just in time to see a wave splash over the concrete barrier and into the road. I just miss getting a salt-water car wash. It's not a dramatic wave; it isn't flooding the street. It's just playing, letting me know it can come over that wall whenever and wherever it wants, even if that means Route 1A instead of the beach and the rocks. I stop there, noting the many surfers in their wet suits, and watch the multiple swells roll in.

Eventually, I drive away from the water, inland a few miles, still close enough to the ocean that I can smell it but no longer see it. Once the holidays pass, the new countdown begins. Yes, I'm aware that Winter is just beginning, and I still need to put sledding, skating, and snowshoeing on my bucket list (since last year was basically a snowless bust). But, today's trip reminds me that summer is coming. In six short months, yes, summer. Neither the air nor the water will be wearing their winter coats, and I can hope that as cold as this season has been, the summer will be equally and conversely as warm.

WAX ON, WAX OFF

Big news around here is that Yankee Candle is closing its iconic South Deerfield distribution center, and, frankly, that news stinks (or, rather, smells faintly unpleasant in a pleasing, waxy way).

I used to be a Yankee Candle fanatic, especially the balsam fir smells since I have a fake, odorless Christmas tree. As I've aged, though, I've lost my affinity for all things smelly. Aromas I once liked in candles (lavender, apple spice, meadow -- but never vanilla) have become off-putting. 

I think this aversion started around the time that I discovered I can no longer go on twisty-twirly amusement park rides. I used to love the Tilt-O-Whirl, but not so much anymore. I can tolerate the Teacups, but only if we spin in an organized pattern. Oh, I still love a good Merry Mixer (Canobie's Psychodrome is one such animal), but that's one of the few I tolerate well.

It's the same with candles. Scents I used to enjoy and had stockpiled are suddenly offensive and stomach-curdling to me now. Oh, sure. I can give them away to other people, but I'm not really fond of re-gifting, and I discovered that the scent wafting through the air inside of my apartment is enough to set my tummy into dry-heave mode.

Solution? Purge. (The candles, not my stomach.)

I seriously can't even keep these candles inside my home nor my car long enough to donate them. Suddenly, the putrid smell is suffocating me like the overwhelming stench of popcorn inside a closed theater. Where is the air? I can't breathe in here!

Most of the candles I have are votives, the smaller ones that fit into glass cups, as opposed to the candles that are already in glass containers. Throwing these candles out is painless from a "cut yourself on broken shards of crystal" way, but extremely painful from a stench angle. After all, I have to sniff, really and truly sniff, each and every candle to decide if it's a keeper. Some of them are borderline, but the ones that are bad are really, really bad. The aromas actually get trapped inside of my sinus cavity. 

Every time I open the trash can lid, I am assaulted by the smells of discarded waxy votives. It reminds me of the last trip to the local Yankee Candle store where my friend and I were basically thrown out for gagging over candles. So, I drag out a couple of zipper baggies, dig the candles out of the trash, and secure those bad boys inside protected plastic.

If I receive candles for gifts this holiday season, I will graciously accept them, and I may even like them. But, to be honest, I tolerate them a lot less than I used to. Then again, I tolerate a lot of things, including people, a lot less than I used to, so candles should be no surprise. Regardless, I'm sorry to see Yankee Candle hit the skids. It has been an icon around here for as long as I can remember. It makes me sad that people will lose jobs and more storefronts will be vacant.

I suppose I'm "waxing" poetic. but now the only smelly waxing is coming directly from me rather than the baskets of candles in my living room.

HOLIDAY BY CANDLELIGHT

I had to order new outdoor lights to decorate my porch railing for the holiday. I get the battery-operated ones because whoever lived here before me set the outside power outlet on fire, and I'm terrified to try and plug anything into it. I order four short strings of lights since the longer strings are a pain to wrap in and out of the railing rungs. After putting two sets out there, I am reasonably happy with the results. If I have a chance, I'll pick up a small potted tree, decorate it with the other lights, and put that outside, as well.

Window candles are another problem, entirely. I had some a few years ago, but two of them melted when the batteries overheated due to some kind of cheap wiring malfunctions inside the candles themselves. For a long time, back when I had about twenty windows in my townhouse, I couldn't have the plug-in kinds because I lived in a very old house with wall outlets in stupid places and far away from the windows. 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

But, if I'm going to have outside lights, then I need inside ones, too. Right? I debate ordering electric window candles online. Or, perhaps I risk more expensive candles and hope the battery problem doesn't do a three-peat. (Seems foolhardy to me.) 

This is when I remember that I still have a few LED tealights from Michael's Craft Store. They're not the tiny ones, but they're not tall, either. I rummage through the toy baskets and find a set of wooden blocks. I build up a little stand for each candle by stacking the blocks, then . . . voila! . . . Window Candles (that even flicker realistically). I could go buy taller ones, but these will do. I take a quick walk outside to see how silly these little candles look, and, gosh dang it, they look pretty decent. 

Maybe next year, I will use taller ones, but this maneuver has convinced me not to bother with the traditional "candles in the window" schtick. Now, if I can just get off my lazy butt and get that tree for the porch table . . . 

GRINCH + SCROOGE + CRATCHIT + MARLEY

It's Advent, and this first week is Hope. I feel like I'm hung up on hope without really being able to sort it all out in my head.

The Christmas tree went up several weeks ago so my granddaughter could help with the decorating. I just finished the rest of it today. Well, except that I forgot about changing over the shower curtain, so I guess I'm not 100% there just yet. 

But, I'm close. I'm at 99%.

As I've downsized my living space, I've downsized everything else. The tree has shrunk, ornaments have been discarded, strings of lights have been tossed (okay, so I had to order new outdoor lights, but that's because I wore the old ones out), holiday towels have been repurposed or donated, and I have stopped buying holiday candles except for Advent ones, but, to be honest, I am reusing last year's Advent candles but in reverse order.

I don't like when Thanksgiving is so late in the month, though. It throws off Christmas prep by a week. Add into that the fact that it is pitch dark, and I mean nighttime blackout, but 4:30 in the afternoon, and all sense of motivation is out the window. 

At my age, I don't want things. And, the more that I don't want things, the less motivated I am to give things. I want experiences. You want to give me something? Take me out for a cup of tea. Meet me for lunch. Join me at the beach. Dare to get on an airplane with me. Let's take a walk. Let's take a drive.

I still want the experience, and it's not about the expense. It's about the stuff. The accumulation of it, the passing it around. The preciousness of it all. The guilt of receiving something that I really don't want or the giving of something the other person greets with "Oh, you didn't need to" when what they really mean is, "Now, what the heck am I supposed to do with this?"

We finally agreed to stop Secret Santa when we realized as adults that we are basically passing around the same $25 gift card from person to person like some demented Yankee Swap. 

Yeah, I'm all about celebrating. But, please. I hope that we stop with the stuff for the simple sake of stuff. Just think: In the time it takes someone to find me a gift, wrap it up, and deliver it, we could've had a nice meal together or gone to a coffee shop or sat in our beach chairs or walked along a stream or gone to a museum or taken a train ride to nowhere just for fun.

Grinch? Maybe. I'll own it. 

Have I finished my shopping? No, but I've started it, along with the realization that it's just stuff. As I sip my cooled tea and surf the internet for just the perfect gift, I think that I could be sharing a hot mug with a friend or relative instead. We could be putting that time, effort, and expense into filling our gas tanks and meeting somewhere when we actually live hours apart. 

Color me green this holiday season, but don't forget the candy cane stripes. I'm Scrooge and Cratchit with a bit of Jacob Marley thrown in for good measure. Happy First Day of Advent -- I hope to see you all over the holidays and beyond so we can chat about . . . stuff.

STRESSED WORK IN PROGRESS

Stress.
One of my least favorite roommates. 

Stress lives rent-free in professional life.

Stress lives rent-free in my personal life.

Stress lives rent-free in my social life. 

Some days 

Stress takes up a huge space and should be

Paying a larger portion of my emotional expenses. 

Some days I am lucky enough to get by without 

Stress

Because Stress seems to be taking a vacation. 

(Perhaps I just trampled it with overuse.) 

Either way, I have mastered several ways to 

Keep Stress at bay most of the time. 

Not always, but 

I'm a work in progress.