Christmas
shopping is right up near the top of the list of chores which we'd both
prefer to avoid. The horrible snow this year and unseasonably cold temperatures
have been such an impediment, requiring much extra effort just to get
out of the house and on the road. We had to dig out a space for the car
after the first snowfall; and we had to dig it out anew each time there
was more snow.In
true Chicago style, we put out empty milk crates to stake our claim, and
even so, some yuppie scum with suburban license plates still took our
space one evening. The nerve!
The extra
physical activity takes it's toll on my aging back, and my bad knee
is acting up, too. So I feel I must take extra care to prevent falling.
The extra stress, physical and emotional, leaves me exhausted at the
end of the day, and reminds me that I am indeed getting older, and results
in a lot of self flagellation about not taking better care of
myself, not doing exercise and in general just contributes to an even
lousier general attitude.
Since
I rarely go to real stores throughout the year, I found that I was a
little out of touch with what's available in the regular marketplace.
We already have plenty of stuff, and what we do purchase now is mostly
from auctions, garage sales, flea markets or thrift stores. That means
we are also out of touch with real prices. I hate to sound like
Scrooge, but I hate to pay retail for things. Unfortunately, my children's
taste and desires don't quite fit my collectors bargain shopping mentality,
so I really don't feel comfortable giving them *really great buys* except
as what I call *bonus gifts.* Besides, I give them that sort of stuff
throughout the year, so unless I find some really unusual item, to fill
a particular niche in a collection, it doesn't seem special enough
for real Christmas giving.
I'm also
not that good at obligatory gifting--especially not when it all has
to all be bought at one time. Even though I may see an item during
the year which I think would make an excellent gift for someone, I never
seem able to make the commitment to the purchase at the time. So I'm
left, at the last minute, combing everyone's list, and feeling
like I am simply filling orders unimaginatively.
Then there's
my need to "even up." In spite of how much I spend, I really feel that
each child, adult or not, needs the same actual ìnumberî of gifts to
open...a holdover from their childhood. Fear of hearing comments like,
ìHey, how come he got more gifts than me!?î still ring in my head. So
I worry endlessly over whether or not I'm being fair. As a result, I
sometimes end up not always giving as thoughtfully as I should. I actually
got stomach aches over it all this year. So crazy.
Something
which struck me while looking for clothing was how almost exactly alike
every line was, right down to the five acceptable colors. Everything
was very plain in gray, black, olive green, navy blue and red,
in the same fabrics, corduroy, polar fleece or cotton. Sometimes
the brand logo was added as a decorative element. Occasionally,
there was one very bright color added into the mix. All that uniformity
makes me wonder about how strong the need to fit in, to match must be
these days. I actually came away somewhat grateful that I shop at the
thrift stores or buy the odd piece of artist made clothing when
I have a chance. Where did individuality and creativity go?
While
we were in Best Buy®
we were inundated with the annoying sounds of the usual horrible music
blasting from the single-most irritating station. So we did manage to
manufacture a moment of guerrilla art...or was it sound, as we wandered
the aisles, changing all the stations to NPR. When we walked away, we
looked back at the sales help looking slightly confused, as they tried
to sort it all out. We decided to make it a policy do that whenever
we have a chance. Join us...help make it a national movement to
switch all electronic stores' radios and TV's to public radio or public
TV broadcasts nationwide.
I had been
looking forward to celebrating with the family this year especially
since my youngest son and his intended came in to town from Washington
state to visit this week. It was our first chance to meet her.(Here's
a silly picture of them.)
I really
liked her...we all did, but more about that and more pics maybe later
in another entirely separate entry....)
Anyhow,
because he was leaving on the 23rd, we decided to have a family
get together on Friday, the 22nd.
I had
finally managed to get the gift issues sorted out in my head so that
I felt pretty good about it and not so filled with anxiety. Everything
was wrapped, the salad was made, and we were all ready to go to my oldest
son, Rob's, for our celebration. We left in what we considered to be
plenty of time to pick up some bread, pick up my daughter and her S.O.
on the way, and and drive the 45 minutes out to the western 'burbs to
my son's. We loaded the overabundance of packages into the car, and
felt luck must have been with us as the trusty old Honda started up
in the near zero temperature. One thing you must plan when you
live in Chicago is to leave for the western ÿ''burbs well before 3:00
pm on any week day. The expressways just cannot handle rush hour traffic.
Leaving by 2:00 pm arrive between three and four seemed like plenty
of time. Wrong!
First
we found ourselves frozen into our parking space. No amount of rocking
and pushing and digging that the two of us could do alone was going
to free us. We had to call daughter and boyfriend to drive over and
help push us out. Then we'd have to follow them back to their place
so they would not loose their parking spaces.
School
was letting out just down the street and the traffic started to pile
up in our block with people waiting to pick up their kids, so by the
time they got over here, there was a little traffic snarl. Fortunately,
it was easy enough to get us out of the space, we just needed
some young muscles added to the old. OK, so we were off, headed back
to their place. As we turned the corner, we realized we'd forgotten
to put our black milk crates back in our space to save it. Since we
were coming back late we couldn't take the chance and just forget it.
So we felt compelled to go around the block again, which meant we had
to re-negotiate all the school traffic, only to find that or daughter's
intelligent boyfriend had already thought of that.
Finally
we headed over to to pick them up and transfer all their stuff into
our car, and begin the journey. Having lost a little time, traffic was
beginning to grow a little congested on the main streets to the expressway
and downtown, so we decided to skip stopping for bread. Once we got
from the Kennedy to the Eisenhower, it was like driving at the proverbial
snail's pace in a giant parking lot. It was now 3:15, so we placed the
first of three calls to my son to tell them we were stuck in traffic,
and that we would be late.
I quit
smoking two years ago and let me tell you this was one of the major
moments in those two years when all I wanted was a cigarette. I was
so stressed and annoyed at one point, that I half seriously wanted to
get out of the car and run ahead a block or so, just to get rid
of the adrenaline coursing through my body. Suffice it to say
that all of us in the car weathered the trip in the best possible humor
under the circumstances. So, let's just skip over those two hours...
yes, that's right...two hours... stuck in the car in traffic. We finally
made it there about 5:00 pm.
I can
deal with being a few minutes late, but I hated being this late. I felt
terrible, because I felt I was somehow personally responsible for holding
things up. My enthusiasm for the festivities in general was rapidly
diminishing; and it was definitely not putting me in the best mood for
a party where my ex-husband and his family would also be attending;
and where the first words I heard him utter as I walked in the door
were, "Finally, now we can eat!"
Strike
one!
(...to
be continued)