As much as I think I should enjoy the holiday season, I'm always thrilled when it is over. One more holiday on Tuesday and we're done. Whew.
Curt and I had a nice Christmas Eve. This year was the first that I didn't cook for us. Instead, I suggested we eat out, let someone else do the cooking AND the dishes, then come home and open presents. Because of some previous business dealings at the Marquette Hotel, Curt had a gift certificate for a complete dinner for two at Basil's- the in-house restaurant. Sweet. We asked for a seat on the balcony, which overlooks the IDS Crystal Court. (By the way, Basil's is recently remodeled and looks great.) The lights in the court were dimmed to highlight the 30-foot Christmas tree and the other trimmings. It was lovely. I ordered the flash seared tuna wrapped in nori- remarkably well prepared and presented. Curt had the ribeye with apple smoked bacon- mmmmm, bacon. After dinner, we came home and exchanged presents.
The next day we went to Curt's brother and sister-in-laws home in Champlin for my third Christmas of the weekend. We had dinner, gorged on cookies and settled in to open presents. The gift giving in Curt's family is very organized with the kids going first, then the adults- youngest to oldest- opening gifts. All the aunts and uncles in the family buy for all the nieces and nephews under 18. Everyone over 18 draws names for eachother. This means LOTS of gifts to open. I love Curt's whole family dearly, but damn, the gift opening takes a year. By the time we're done, I am hoping to never hear another child's voice until the following Christmas and ready to crawl in to a cave from over-exposure to people. I think I am the only introvert in the whole clan. By the end of the evening, they're all still smiling, while I find myself completely tuning out conversations and staring blankly in to space. Being an extreme extrovert, Curt has some trouble understanding that being around lots of people completely saps my energy, while his is increased. Oh well.
This year, we have no plans for New Year's Eve. I am secretly celebrating this, hoping for maybe dinner and a movie, while I think it is driving Curt a little crazy. Typically, we go to some friend or the others' home, eat lots, make a little noise at midnight and go home. It is always a nice time, but mostly I just get very, very tired since midnight is two hours past my bed time.
Showing posts with label Fun With Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fun With Family. Show all posts
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
I Made It!
Just a quick note to let my gentle readers know that I survived Christmas with my family. It was held at my brother's place in Decorah and was really low key- lots of eating with no gift exchange. At mid-afternoon, I taught my niece and nephew and their mates the card game Nuts- basically group competitive solitaire. My niece is apparently fiercely competitive and has a vocabulary while in competition that is quite, shall we say, stunning? So, the festivity portion of the day went fairly well- that is, until I had to take my dad back home.
The house I grew up in, and where my dad still lives, is on a hill with a very steep driveway. Generally, this isn't a problem. Today, however, we had a big winter storm with lots of snow and ice. My dad has never been one to hold back on his criticism, especially for his children. Here are a few of the comments on my driving that I got, all within 100 yards of our driveway:
"Jesus Christ, aren't you going to slow down to make the turn?"
Followed immediately by:
"You better speed up so you can take a run at it!"
I managed to maintain my composure at this commentary, but it didn't last.
Seeing that the driveway is covered with several inches of snow and ice, I took a run for the hill. Just as I'm just about reach the top, my car stops, starts spinning its wheels and sliding backward toward the ditch. (If you know the driveway, one side is a smallish ditch, the other side a minor ravine. Guess which I was sliding for?) And what do you suppose my dad says? Hey, let me tell you:
"Well, Jesus Christ, don't you know how to drive your own god damned car?"
Snap! Because I was attempting to stay out of the ditch, I couldn't stuff a cork in him. So instead I barked: "You are so not f*cking helping right now! Just sit there, be quiet and LET ME DRIVE!" You would think that having sensed my irritation he would have kept his remaining comments to himself. Oh no. All the while I'm trying to back down the hill, he's commenting on my technique and the direction I'm headed, and on and on. [Please, gentle readers, if in 30 years you see me embodying these characteristics of my father, shoot me. No warning or explanation required. Mind you, I also have great affection for many of my father's less irritating qualities. I just couldn't find them in that moment.]
Anyway, I ended up being able to wrangle the car to a spot beside the bottom of the driveway and regained control of my breathing. My dad, who is 80, whose vision is not what it should be and is very unsteady on his feet, had to be left in the car while I walked to the top of the hill to get his 4 wheel drive truck to retrieve him. Even though a little hypothermia might have quieted him down, I did follow through and get him back up the hill. After setting him in at home, I left to go meet some friends for dinner.
Another joyous family holiday drawn to a close.
The house I grew up in, and where my dad still lives, is on a hill with a very steep driveway. Generally, this isn't a problem. Today, however, we had a big winter storm with lots of snow and ice. My dad has never been one to hold back on his criticism, especially for his children. Here are a few of the comments on my driving that I got, all within 100 yards of our driveway:
"Jesus Christ, aren't you going to slow down to make the turn?"
Followed immediately by:
"You better speed up so you can take a run at it!"
I managed to maintain my composure at this commentary, but it didn't last.
Seeing that the driveway is covered with several inches of snow and ice, I took a run for the hill. Just as I'm just about reach the top, my car stops, starts spinning its wheels and sliding backward toward the ditch. (If you know the driveway, one side is a smallish ditch, the other side a minor ravine. Guess which I was sliding for?) And what do you suppose my dad says? Hey, let me tell you:
"Well, Jesus Christ, don't you know how to drive your own god damned car?"
Snap! Because I was attempting to stay out of the ditch, I couldn't stuff a cork in him. So instead I barked: "You are so not f*cking helping right now! Just sit there, be quiet and LET ME DRIVE!" You would think that having sensed my irritation he would have kept his remaining comments to himself. Oh no. All the while I'm trying to back down the hill, he's commenting on my technique and the direction I'm headed, and on and on. [Please, gentle readers, if in 30 years you see me embodying these characteristics of my father, shoot me. No warning or explanation required. Mind you, I also have great affection for many of my father's less irritating qualities. I just couldn't find them in that moment.]
Anyway, I ended up being able to wrangle the car to a spot beside the bottom of the driveway and regained control of my breathing. My dad, who is 80, whose vision is not what it should be and is very unsteady on his feet, had to be left in the car while I walked to the top of the hill to get his 4 wheel drive truck to retrieve him. Even though a little hypothermia might have quieted him down, I did follow through and get him back up the hill. After setting him in at home, I left to go meet some friends for dinner.
Another joyous family holiday drawn to a close.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Decompression... breathe, breathe, breathe
I've been decompressing all afternoon from another stressful trip to see my dad. He's 80, has had a stroke that slightly affected his mobility, is diabetic and doesn't pay attention to it, is a tightwad to the point that he makes bad choices for himself even though he has lots of money, is mostly deaf and would rather have us yell than wear his hearing aid, has a vocabulary that would embarrass a sailor, is convinced that he can drive even though he has no peripheral vision and has cataracts, and, to top it off, is unreasonable to the point that any idea other than his own is bad until he comes to the same conclusion 10 minutes later then announces his great new idea- formerly my own. It makes for stressful, unpleasant time spent with him. And still, I have affection for him, even though he and I have never had a lot to talk about. I gained a lot of respect for him while my mother was ill, and saw him suffer deeply after she died. So, it is hard, when he is being a shit- which is most of the time- to be patient and not want to throttle him. Even though we have it out about his health and choices, I try to leave on a positive note, but it is damn hard. *sigh*
For anyone who ever wants to experience the fun with me, here's an offer you can't refuse: if you ever want to hear the words Jesus Christ uttered frequently outside a church, come see my dad. Just about every other sentence starts with these words, and he's not saying a prayer, I assure you.
For anyone who ever wants to experience the fun with me, here's an offer you can't refuse: if you ever want to hear the words Jesus Christ uttered frequently outside a church, come see my dad. Just about every other sentence starts with these words, and he's not saying a prayer, I assure you.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Yesterday's Day Trip
Yesterday was a long day of driving, visiting, then driving some more.
My two hospitalized friends are coming along nicely. My old high school pal may be going home on Tuesday after a 3 week stay. My neighbor, who had an aneurysm burst during surgery to correct 2 of her 5 aneurysms, is coming along really nicely considering the hell her brain has been through.
After the hospital, I drove through Mabel, MN to drop off some of my aunt's favorite hand soap (C.O. Bigelow's Lemon Hand Soap) and some old quilting magazines.
Then it was on to Decorah. My dad, who complains about never leaving the house but is out of the house far more than I ever get out, was, you guessed it, out on an errand with my brother. So, I ran down to see another dear old friend, who happens to be the sister of one of my blogging pals. We had coffee and visited for about an hour. As I was leaving, my friend is standing on her porch talking to me and starts letting rip some championship farts that actually echo off the house across the street. She was completely unphased, but I am still stunned by just the fact that we're comfortable enough with each other to do that. When did that happen? I guess when you know someone for for 37 years, its just a given. In my house, we have a farting double standard- when I toot, it is disgusting, when he toots, it is funny. *sigh*
So, anyway, I end up going out to my brother's to pick up up my dad, take him back home, visit for a while, clean some floors, visit some more and head out after a few hours. As I was getting ready to leave, my dad, who thinks I am dating said farting friend (I've never come out to him- very long story- but everyone else in the family knows), asks me if I am going to take my girlfriend out for dinner. I tell him again that she is just a friend and that it would be like dating my sister and she farts too much. He just sort of cocked his head at me, which was my sign to exit.
My two hospitalized friends are coming along nicely. My old high school pal may be going home on Tuesday after a 3 week stay. My neighbor, who had an aneurysm burst during surgery to correct 2 of her 5 aneurysms, is coming along really nicely considering the hell her brain has been through.
After the hospital, I drove through Mabel, MN to drop off some of my aunt's favorite hand soap (C.O. Bigelow's Lemon Hand Soap) and some old quilting magazines.
Then it was on to Decorah. My dad, who complains about never leaving the house but is out of the house far more than I ever get out, was, you guessed it, out on an errand with my brother. So, I ran down to see another dear old friend, who happens to be the sister of one of my blogging pals. We had coffee and visited for about an hour. As I was leaving, my friend is standing on her porch talking to me and starts letting rip some championship farts that actually echo off the house across the street. She was completely unphased, but I am still stunned by just the fact that we're comfortable enough with each other to do that. When did that happen? I guess when you know someone for for 37 years, its just a given. In my house, we have a farting double standard- when I toot, it is disgusting, when he toots, it is funny. *sigh*
So, anyway, I end up going out to my brother's to pick up up my dad, take him back home, visit for a while, clean some floors, visit some more and head out after a few hours. As I was getting ready to leave, my dad, who thinks I am dating said farting friend (I've never come out to him- very long story- but everyone else in the family knows), asks me if I am going to take my girlfriend out for dinner. I tell him again that she is just a friend and that it would be like dating my sister and she farts too much. He just sort of cocked his head at me, which was my sign to exit.
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