Grateful

I am just hours away from another holiday celebration, looking back on a week spent visiting my beloved family.

Friends, I dig you, but I have to say that sometimes nothing beats waking up alone on one's own well-worn sheets, not wondering what anyone else wants to do with the morning. Today, before I gear up for New Years Eve, I will be host and guest to myself, and I will play both roles gracefully and graciously. I will indulge myself by wandering around aimlessly. Perhaps I will sort my yarn collection or take another stab at reading the book of Derek Walcott poetry I bought at a yard sale. Then there are the fine children's programs on PBS that I can enjoy child-free.

I received many cool gifts this Christmas, but today I am most grateful for solitude.

Ungrateful

I have received a gift that I do not want or need. It arrived in two boxes, swaddled in finely patterned tissue, bubble wrap and Styrofoam. It spite of the careful and excessive packaging, the retail price was still stuck to its bottom, inviting thoughts of all the other things that could have been done with the money and the hope that it was bought on sale. The object is fragile and pretends to be useful, although it really isn't, and somehow that makes it worse than something purely decorative. The best thing about it is that it is not very large. I can picture the moment this gift was purchased, the delight on the customer's face. I like to imagine that the gift inspired thoughts of me as I was in elementary school, or perhaps a vision of a dream home occupied by the person I should have grown up to be. Still, there is no evidence that the person who bought it for me was actually thinking of me--a nearly 40-year-old woman living in a small apartment who has never in her adult life expressed a desire for old fashioned knick knacks--when selecting this gift.

What will I do with this object? It seems crass to sell it and thoughtless to re-gift it. The best possible thing I can imagine is for me to accidentally break it. That way, I can throw it away with little regret. But since I can't plan to accidentally break it, I am condemned to own it until I lose or break it naturally.

And so, even though I love the person who sent this Christmas gift to me, I am ungrateful.

Prop Zero

Since I am not a legal or cultural historian and I've always been single, I think it's time for me to say something about marriage.

Maybe it's time for our government to stop recognizing marriage. Let the state cut the messy ties with our theocratic past altogether. If domestic partnership is such a social boon that it must be encouraged through government endorsement, tax breaks and such, then let's just have civil unions for everyone! Gays, straights, asexuals, platonic roommates trying to save money on rent. Heck, I lived with my last roommate for years. That's longer than many marriages last.

While we're at it, how about eliminating reserved parking spaces for people with kids at Ikea?

More Turds Where Politicians Eat

I've been gnawing on more than Ab Ex cookies lately. People are rightfully upset about Obama and this Megachurch guy, just as I was upset about the proverbial turds in Hillary's peanut butter (not that I am equating one action with another). Yeah, there's a long list of more important things going on, but please, Democratic leaders, stop leaving turds where you eat. Tolerating the intolerant is a bizarro ouroboros and just a pain in the ass.

Beyond my neighborhood but on my mind

Stories from Pennsylvania, The Congo, and wherever Zadie Smith is stir my thoughts. Yet I still have to deal with things here.

Cookie Day Goes Jackson Pollock

Just Sit and Listen

Last night I began volunteering at a nearby nursing home. When I signed up for this program, I was a bit worried about the informality of it all. I don't know anything about living with a severe disability. Didn't I need a special lecture on elder safety or something?

Anyway, I spent most of my first visit just sitting and listening to an old lady as she recalled seemingly unrelated pieces of her life, from her last shower to her childhood in the deep south. Since she was nearly deaf, there wasn't much point in me saying much. She seemed glad that I was there, so I guess it was helpful. At least I didn't hurt anyone.

Dream within a Dream or That Carl Reiner was so Avant Garde

Since nothing new is really happening in my life, let me tell you about my dreams.

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream in which I was watching Rob and Laura from The Dick Van Dyke Show have a dream in which Rob had escalators for feet. The show's closing credits looked like they were done by Dziga Vertov.

Last night, I dreamed that I took a pregnancy test at some clinic. The medical technician sort of forgot I was there for a while, then suddenly blurted out "Yeah, you're pregnant. It's a girl and her name is Elizabeth."