Today’s forecast: white and crunchy with a chance of sliding cars. It’s Sunday, and Oakley and I are a-hunkering until the road gets plowed and salted. We had rain yesterday, followed by freezing rain, and then sometime in the wee hours, we received enough snow to touch up the tired grey heaps left from last week’s storm.
No matter. I have plenty of everything–tea, almond milk, and food of substance for Oakley. We wisely invested in a freezer a couple of years ago, so there’s no sweating bullets about getting to the store in adverse weather.
The big issue is keeping Oakley active enough to avoid playtime at 4 AM. We’ll do nosework; we’ll practice out rally obedience skills. Some runs in the yard are in order for hygienic purposes, but other wise, our needs are met, and for that we are truly grateful.
Two weeks to Christmas Eve.
Three weeks left in 2013. Three weeks and one day to 2014.
I don’t want to wish away that most precious commodity: time. Especially now that I’ve reached That Certain Age mark. Especially now that I’ve started getting notifications about high school classmates and friends making their passages. Especially now that I get word of friends whose lives are catching up with them in the form of heart disease, cancer, and diabetes.
This has been a long year, and I’m just ready to let it go.
Hubby and I have never been really big on going out for New Year’s or that into Christmas. Yes, I make something yummy for the latter, and we go out to lunch at an Italian place for the former, but we just don’t make a big deal about it.
2013 brought a lot of changes and growth. My wish is that 2014 be calmer.
Not THAT kind. What do you think this is, Penthouse Forum? No, the confessions are related to food, dear.
Bless me, Gentle Readers, for occasionally your WolfMama eats frozen meals and canned soup. Not just any, mind you. They have to pass some pretty strict tests. Minimal ingredients, preferably organic, and nothing in them that sounds like it came from a chemical lab instead of a kitchen. Amy’s Organics (no, I’m not getting paid for this) is my favorite brand. They fit my criteria. Archer Farms, one of the house brands at Target, has some pretty good pizza that comes from Italy with high quality ingredients.
I have a Costco membership. It can be good for a two-person-one-dog household. They frequently have good deals on canned organic foods and alternative milks. And cheese from Europe. And books. Must…have…books……
My favorite chocolate is Ghiradelli. Not just because of the flavor, but because each square has ridged edges, making it possible to enjoy a schmeer of almond butter or peanut butter on them. Sometimes I wonder what my excuse will be for this sort of behavior after I get on the other side of menopause.
Proponent of locally grown food that I am, I have never been able to find bananas or citrus grown in the midwest. I don’t get it. Or tea or coffee.
I prefer storefront ethnic restaurants. Pointing and crossing fingers while hoping for the best usually works.
Another confession of PMS-related foods: the peanut butter-potato chip sandwich. Not to be done often, just when you need the carby blast to kickstart your serotonin production. Works best without jam or jelly. Not bad with bananas.
So…what are your food-related confessions?
I just am not into holidays, so please don’t come around looking for suggestions on how to place tinsel on the cat or get the dog to wear a Santa suit without shredding it or your face.
Christmas was my mom’s show. Until her unexpected passage when I was nine, it ran like clockwork and brought joy to all. Afterwards, not so much. What was supposed to be joyful, or at least civilized, descended into a chaotic swirl of bad behavior leaving me with sour memories and a ton of resentment for getting too many celebration related tasks dumped on me too early. December ends up being a month-long attack of PTSD for me.
In adulthood, I followed suggestions to cope–volunteer work, letting others do the planning and entertaining, singing in recitals. Still, they left me feeling hollow and unfulfilled. So I opted out of the observations, preferring to practice acceptance instead.
If I could, I’d check myself into a Buddhist monastery until the 30th. New Year’s I like, but the rest of it is not to my taste.
However, I would be unable to take Oakley with me, so that’s out of the question. I will content myself with Netflix, DVDs, and internet radio without the incessantly grinding demands to be HAPPY and JOYFUL and all that.
If you are into Christmas, may this be the best one ever for you and yours. And if things get too overwhelming, you’re welcome to join me and Oakley behind the love seat.