Christmas was barely done when the media began rating 2011. Best movie of 2011, best health news of 2011, best business moment, best style trend … you name it, there’s a list. This was pretty much what inspired my survey this week – the one I post every Tuesday on my Facebook page. “My 2011?” it read. “I’d give it a 9 out of 10. SPEEDY BD SURVEY #85 asks, how about you? What’s your rating for 2011?”
Archives for December 2011
I’m so bad when it comes to afterwork, like weaving in ends and making pompoms. So I had six hats, all done but in need of finishing before I could send them off for the holiday. After procrastinating much of last weekend, I ran out of time. I had to mail them, or they’d never arrive on time!
The Patriots played Sunday. What better time could there be? I’m an avid fan, but I can’t bear to watch the game in progress. Hey, I read the ending of books first, because I can’t stand suspense. If you could tell me the outcome of a game, I could watch. Since you can’t, I don’t.
Eating has been a challenge, what with the oral surgery I recently had. Finding things that work has been sheer trial and error. Puréed soups work; oatmeal does not (too many little pieces). Jello works; ice cream does not (too cold). If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve already heard me mention fried eggs, which just kind of slither on down the throat without much effort at all. But second to that comes meatloaf, which DH bought ready-made at the market in part because he likes it but, yes, also because he thought it would satisfy me. It did. It was just soft enough, smooth enough, hearty enough. Was? Try is. I’ve been on a meatloaf kick all week.
I had oral surgery last Thursday. I wish I could say that I’m an adoringly appreciative patient, but when I’m not feeling well, I just want to be left alone. So here I had an army of friends and relatives wanting to help, and there wasn’t much they could do. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t eat. I slept mostly at first, until I switched from prescription meds to Tylenol, at which point I could think again.
DH was actually away with the grandkids for the weekend, a date arranged long before my surgery was scheduled and one that couldn’t be changed, since it involved tickets to the Patriots’ game. So I was (dum da dum dum) home alone.
I really, really want to complain about something, but I have a personal rule. It started when my son went to college and, during those first weeks of adjustment, too often called with complaints. I finally told him that for every bad thing, he had to first tell me something good. That’s my rule. So here goes. Today’s subject is packaging.
The good. I keep reusable bags my backseat and have trained myself to take them with me into the supermarket. The bad. If I have more groceries than bags, I ask for paper, which I then reuse to collect trash in my house. Blithely, the bagger puts my excess groceries in plastic bags. Four of them.
I love unexpected pleasures. Some hit me in the face, others are more subtle. But each is a joy.
Take this blog. I set out today to give an early December update of I write, I knit, I live. And then, tucked into each paragraph, came a little surprise, turning what might have been just another blog into something really fun.