Drink up

Yesterday I told you about my addiction to books. I've always considered myself relatively free from addiction except for that one little vice.

Then Megan called to ask what I'd like her to stock up the house with for my desert visit, and I realized I do indeed have another addiction. My reply was that the only things I need—really truly need while she and Preston are away and I'm babysitting my grandsons—are internet access and coffee. She meant food items but I'll eat whatever she has on hand; no picky grandma am I. What I wanted her to have on hand (and hooked up in her new house) is internet access, I emphasized, and lots and lots of coffee.

I don't consider internet access an addiction; I need it for my job...and to pop in here to see how you all are doing when Bubby and Baby Mac allow for that. The other part of my request to Megan, though, made it clear that coffee is an addiction. I really did say "I need lots and lots of coffee." And I really did mean it. I do need coffee.

Yes, I need coffee. I love coffee. I'm addicted to coffee. Which is why I like this video and want to share it with you. Even if you're not a coffee addict drinker, I think you'll find it interesting.

Drink up! I certainly am (although only until noon as any coffee after that time would require another addiction—to sleeping pills come bedtime).

Today's question:

How many cups of coffee do you drink a day? And what's your favorite blend/roast/brand?

My addiction: The first step

They say the first step in overcoming an addiction is admitting you have a problem.

Well, I have a problem.

I'm addicted to books.

Here's proof—my rows upon rows, shelves upon shelves of books:

No, those aren't duplicates. I do indeed have that many books, that many bookcases and hiding places.

And no, I've not read them all. Most, but not all. I'm not addicted to reading them, just accumulating them.

I have no idea what the second step is, but I have a feeling it's not gonna be easy.

Today's question:

What is your addiction?

7 perfect things: My week in review

I have a tendency to focus on things that need improvement, ways I need to be better to make my life better. Not today, though. Today I'm taking a different tack and focusing on ways my life is already pretty darn good. Perfect, in fact—at least this past week, at least in these seven ways:

My bed sheets. I love my sheets. Don't ask me the thread count because I have no idea. I just know that each time I've pulled back my comforter this week, the color (a dusty purple of sorts) and the comfort when I climb in warms my heart.

Bedside stack o' books. I read before falling asleep, and my current "to read" stack is one of the best I've had in a while. Featured: The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman; Life Itself by Roger Ebert; Freedom by Jonathan Franzen; Labor Day by Joyce Maynard. Now if I could just stay awake long enough to get through the two I currently have in process—non-fiction courtesy Connie Schultz and fiction from Amy Hatvany—so I could delve into that stack. (Must be the afore-mentioned bed sheets sending me straight to slumber.)

Jim's continued support of my non-traditional career choice. My husband is my No. 1 fan and that helps in more ways than I usually tell him. Especially during times...<clears throat>...like this week....when I consider throwing in the towel and getting an office job.

Alcatraz. The new series featuring Hurley, er, Jorge Garcia and produced by Mr. Lost himself (J.J. Abrams for those who didn't succumb to Lost) premiered this week. It was thoroughly enjoyable, intriguing, and indicative of good things to come.

Clementines & kiwis. This week's bowl of fruit has been especially sweet. And perfect.

My new camera. I've not yet perfected even the smallest degree of its functions and potential, but the camera itself is perfect, and I'm so pleased with what I've been able to do with it so far, including the one above of Wednesday's sunset.

"The Sweetheart" jeans from Old Navy. Sure, they're hand-me-downs from Megan when she started losing all her weight, but they're broken in, they're soft, they're comfy as <cuss>. I love these jeans. And I think I look pretty darn okay in them to boot.

Today's question:

What was perfect for you this past week?

The Saturday Post: Third-act edition

This video, at just over 11 minutes, is longer than I typically like to share. But it's well worth it, especially inspiring for those of us who are aging. And isn't that all of us?

Today's question:

What would you most like to do in your third act?

11 things I learned last year

No. 6: Two grandsons are better than one.

1. How to make salmon, cut mango, appreciate the delights of a boldly flavored balsamic vinegar.

2. Every once in a while hype is well warranted. Case in point: Adele.

3. The older I get, the more unbidden kindness and consideration matters, makes a difference.

4. My black thumb is apparently permanently tattooed that color and will never transform into green. (Though I'll surely give transformation yet another attempt this year.)

5. Despite the complaints and bad press, I'm unashamed to admit I love Netflix. Especially instant streaming for without it, I'd never know the thrills, chills, and chuckles of Friday Night Lights, Sons of Anarchy, Nativity!.

6. Two grandsons are indeed double the fun, double the pleasure of one and two of my life's greatest pleasures day in, day out, whether I see them or not.

7. Although decades removed from the drama and trauma of the teen years, mid-life friendships are still fickle affairs. Some flounder and fade for reasons unclear, while others grow and glow brighter than ever—also for reasons unclear yet much appreciated.

8. Committing yourself to fulfilling your heart's desire is worth far more than money. Most of the time.

9. Less really isn't more, it's still less—especially when it comes to having. But it's manageable, survivable, easier than previously believed.

10. There are benefits to having less, though: It highlights the abundance of blessings remaining for which to be endlessly grateful: a loving family, a welcoming home, continued co-pay assistance.

11. Those things that go bump in the night at my house really are just my boogedy boiler. (Or so I keep telling myself...and my houseguests.)

Today's question:

What did you learn last year?

One word

No improvement needed here—perfect as they are.

Improvement. That's my one word, and I'm sticking to it.

That one word is my response to a question posed yesterday on Facebook by SITS Girls, a network of bloggers I—and several other Grandma's Briefs readers—belong to, a network built around the idea that "The Secret to Success is Support".

The question SITS Girls asked its members yesterday: "What's the one word you hope defines 2012?"

I hemmed, hawed, considered (but never consulted) the thesaurus. Then I settled on improvement. Mostly because I desperately want, desperately need 2012 to be an improvement over 2011...and 2010 and 2009—the years that became so tough in so many ways since losing my job. The years that have been so tough for so many since losing jobs, losing retirement investments, losing savings of all sorts, and, for many, losing hope.

I thankfully never lost hope. Ever. And my hope for 2012 is that it's marked by my chosen word: improvement. Not just improvement in year-over-year as a whole, but improvement in nearly every single sector of my life.

I hope to see improvement physically. I need to eat better, exercise more, feel fit to function in far better ways than I have been.

I hope to see improvement financially. I have little gigs here and there that foster this improvement, but I need to improve my numbers—of gigs, of words written, of options. Mostly, I need to improve the numbers in my bank account.

I hope to see improvement in my home, and I have more home improvement projects on my plate than I care to admit. Accomplishing even just one or two would surely be an improvement, so success in this sector is a given. I hope.

I hope to see improvement in my piano playing, picture taking, recipe making, wrinkle erasing, and more.

I hope to see improvement in the quality of relationships I have, the friendships I maintain.

I hope to see improvement in the number of hours I spend reading—for enjoyment, not review or research.

I hope to see improvement in my ability to relax...without guilt...without reservation and unnecessary explanation.

And I hope to see improvement in the amount of time I devote to gratitude, thankfulness, appreciation. Of all I already have. All I already am. All I already can do and give and be.

Improvement takes work. And persistence, motivation, perseverance. And the ability to overcome frustration, as I'm sure I'll get frustrated along the way to improvement—frustrated with myself, with others, with circumstances beyond my control. (Especially with circumstances beyond my control, which makes me consider that I should really work on improving my need to control everything, too.)

With work, persistence and more, paired with hope—humongous heaps of high hopes—that one word will be mine. Improvement. In all areas. In this year over years past.

Improvement. That's my one word, and I'm sticking to it.

Photo of Bubby and Baby Mac: Shamelessly stolen from Megan's Facebook page.

Today's question:

As the SITS Girls asked, "What's the one word you hope defines 2012?"

Sing it: Only six days 'til Christmas

A little ditty to sing (very loosely) to the tune of 12 Days of Christmas:

Only six days 'til Christmas, wish someone would give me

a muzzle so I'd stop eating all I see.

On the fifth day 'til Christmas, wish someone would give me

more energy,

and a muzzle so I'd stop eating all I see.

On the fourth day 'til Christmas, wish someone would give me

magically finished greeting cards,

more energy,

and a muzzle so I'd stop eating all I see.

On the third day 'til Christmas, wish someone would give me

an elf to wrap the presents,

magically finished greeting cards,

more energy,

and a muzzle so I'd stop eating all I see.

On the second day 'til Christmas, wish someone would give me

a personal shopper for final groceries,

an elf to wrap the presents,

magically finished greeting cards,

more energy,

and a muzzle so I'd stop eating all I see.

On the last day 'til Christmas wish someone would give me

an easy-to-learn DSLR camera for taking incredible shots of my family—including Megan, Preston, Bubby, and Baby Mac, who will arrive Christmas afternoon—plus extended family for a sure-to-be-festive, not-likely-to-happen-again-for-a-very-long-time holiday celebration,

a personal shopper for final groceries,

an elf to wrap the presents,

magically finished greeting cards,

more energy,

and a muzzle so I'd stop eating all I see.

Merry Monday to one and all!

photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What do you wish someone would give you in these last days 'til Christmas?

A wonderful world indeed

It's been a frenzy of a week for many, myself included. As the number of days before Christmas gets lower, the stress level gets higher. So today a I offer a brief respite from the prep and panic with this short video—an homage to Sir David Attenborough to commemorate his final appearance on BBC as well as his last production for the network, Frozen Planet.

It is indeed a wonderful world!

Credit: I was first introduced to this video via a mailing from Open Culture.

Today's question:

What about today makes it wonderful for you?

It goes on and on, my friend

I placed the last of our Christmas decorations on Friday, setting out all the Santas, the last of the village, the table centerpiece, and the kitschy this and that that goes here and there. The holiday decorating was done.

Or so I thought.

As Jim and I pulled into the driveway after church yesterday, he said, "Ya know, I'd really like to put some white lights in the trees out front." To which I agreed...and thought of all the other decorative things I'd like to do to in order to crown our home sufficiently Christmas-y before Bubby, Baby Mac and their parents arrive on Christmas Day.

So much for being done. Just like the song, holiday decorating doesn't end.

Song? What song? you may ask. I'm talking about the following little earworm ditty, which you may recall with much disdain after just one bar or so:

Like holiday decorating and that obnoxious song, there are plenty more things that never end—some good, some bad, some just the way it is:

• Watching one's weight. You may watch it go up, you may watch it go down. But always, it's watched...often with much trepidation...especially around the holidays...especially if you can't stop eating those <cuss> Ferrera Rocher. (Not that I have been; I'm just saying.)

• Yard work. Spring, summer, fall, winter, there's always—always—more to do in yards front, back, and side.

• Home improvement. There's always—always—something else that needs repairing, replacing, remodeling, repainting, recaulking, redoing.

• Learning. You can always be smarter.

• Self improvement. You can always be more emotionally stable better.

• Grocery shopping. You may think you're done...only to realize you forgot something. Even if you do get every single thing on your list, you're not done and will have to go back again. Maybe the next day, maybe the next week, but you will have to go back. The most dreaded chore of all truly is Never. Ever. Done.

• Parenting. It never ends. I scoff at those who look (or looked) forward to that magical age of 18, when the child supposedly becomes an adult, leaves home, no longer needs you. Yes, I scoff...and chuckle...and await the cries of "Why didn't you tell me it never ends?" Well, those of you with youngsters, I'm telling you now: It never ends!

• Grandparenting. I'm assuming on this one as I'm still fairly close to the starting line, but I'm figuring it's much like parenting: There is no finish line. And that's a good thing.

• Aging. And that's a good thing, too—at least considering the alternative.

I could go on and on, my friends, as I have no doubt this list itself is a list that doesn't end.

There is one thing that does indeed end, though, and that's my time allotted for writing this post. So consider this The End.

(Oh, one more thing: Enjoy your earworm. No matter how hard you try, the replaying of that song doesn't end. It will be stuck in your head all day. You're welcome.)

Today's question:

What would you add to the List of Things That Never End?

From both sides now

Even several years into it, an empty nest can be hard to get used to. Especially during the holidays. No longer do I have play-by-play announcements from the family room of who's up next in the Thanksgiving parade as I prep the turkey in the kitchen. No longer must I search high and low for a favorite Christmas CD that's been nabbed from the holiday-music tin by a teen who wants to play it in her room or car. Nor do I have youngsters—or teenagers—waking up early as can be on Christmas morning, excitedly serving as the alarm that time had come for celebrations to begin. 

I miss all that and more—even the pilfered music—that was part and parcel of a full nest. Every now and then I indulge in pity parties, bemoaning the occasional sadness Jim and I now share since our daughters have grown up, moved on.

In my self-centered, self-pitying mindset, I often, no, I pretty much always forget that my daughters face their own sadness and challenges in the growing up, the moving on. Especially during the holidays. My youngest daughter, Andrea, recently—unintentionally—reminded me of exactly that.

Andrea was scheduled to work on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to spend the day with the family. As a counselor in a residential treatment facility for troubled adolescent girls, staff is required to be on-site 24/7, and Andrea's regular hours include Thursdays, which, of course, Thanksgiving was. Which meant she had no choice but to cover that shift. It was to be her first Thanksgiving absent from our table, so she and some friends who also had to work that day—plus a few who simply couldn't make it to their own family homes for the holiday—planned a holiday gathering of friends for later in the evening, after the workday was done.

The idea Andie couldn't be home for Thanksgiving—that now two of my three daughters wouldn't be around for the day—saddened me. But in these crazy economic times a job must come first, so I accepted it. I didn't accept as easily, though, the seemingly nonchalant attitude from Andrea each time we discussed it. I never voiced it to her, but in all honesty, there were a few times I thought my youngest might just be asserting her independence and actually pretending to me that she had to work but in fact was planning a full day of holiday fun and frivolity with her friends instead of her family.

How wrong I was. Turns out Andrea was just doing her best to stay strong in the face of reality, of growing up, of being an adult, of needing to stay employed. Her tough facade crumbled Thanksgiving evening. On her way home from the gathering, Andrea called me in tears. The celebration with friends had been fine, the food was good, she assured me, but it simply wasn't Thanksgiving at home, and it broke her heart to feel so far away from family during a holiday for the very first time.

"I'm 26 years old," she said through her tears, "I'm just being stupid and a big baby, but I missed being home. It was just...so...hard!"

I realized at that moment how rarely I take into account what my girls have gone through, continue to go through, on the road to adulthood and independence from their parents. I focus only on what I'm missing, what I've lost.

I don't consider often enough Andrea's steadfast determination to continue traditions instilled in her childhood, everything from green eggs and ham on Saint Patrick's Day to pumpkin-carving competitions for Halloween. Or a holiday turkey dinner with friends that may be fine...but oh-so hard to get through without crying.

I don't consider often enough the role reversal for my middle daughter, Megan, who as a child definitely enjoyed the giving but wholeheartedly preferred and relished the receiving at Christmas. She'd happily pose with her piles of presents, giddy with the prospect of opening them. Once her picture was taken, she'd dive right in with unbridled joy, not worrying one whit what went on around her. Now as wife/Mommy/grown-up, Megan must care plenty of whits, as she plays supervisor of the family giving and receiving, making sure celebrations run smoothly, successfully. In other words, putting everyone else first. Which can be hard, is hard.

I don't consider often enough that my oldest daughter, Brianna, leads a solitary home life yet still does her darnedest to make her home a happy space filled with holiday joy to enjoy on her own. Just last week she decorated her tree, by herself, with no one to help string the lights, hang the ornaments, place the angel on top. "You have no idea how difficult it can be doing it all by yourself," she later told me.

And I don't know. Because I have a husband to help. And because after Brianna finished her own tree, decorating her own place, she hopped in the car and drove over to help Jim and me decorate our tree, our place.

"I had to come," she said when I thanked her for doing so. "With Megan gone now and Andrea not able to help this year, I didn't want you and Dad to be sad doing it alone. We have to ween you off such things slowly, Mom. I know it's hard."

She's right. It is indeed hard—for all of us. I need to consider that, I need to remember that. Especially during the holidays. 

Today's question:

What did you miss most about holidays at home when you first left the nest?