Okay, so it’s Saturday night, New Year’s Eve, and yours truly has yet to write her blog post. I have a ton of excuses, most of which are legitimate. Now don’t get me wrong; I won’t burden you with them.
But, realizing time is running short in 2022 (in fact, it’s just 6 hours till 2023), I’m posting a recap of the holiday and its accompanying hustle and bustle. I suppose you know by now I won’t be out celebrating tonight. So here goes:
It always starts (except during the height of Covid) with my tree decorating party/dinner. This year there were 10 of us who gathered at my home to eat, drink and be merry while I had them decorate my tree. Clever, huh? And may I say they did an excellent job, as I only had to hang one ornament.
Did you have a happy Thanksgiving? Personally, I had a selfish one and enjoyed every minute of it. Yes, I opted to spend Thanksgiving alone, if you don’t count my 10 pets. Now don’t get me wrong; I realize I sound uncaring saying that about a day when we gather to celebrate who and what we are most thankful for. And I passed. Shame on me, right?
I’m busy. You’re busy. Everyone’s busy. And for me to get a day where I don’t have to leave the house is essentially nonexistent. Pretty much daily I either trap feral cats, visit properties to re-home them, receive calls, texts and emails about them, or take them to and from the vet. Ferals, ferals, ferals…
Last week was Sharon’s 2nd Annual Witches and Wine Halloween party. Truth be told, I’m not a big costume person but one doesn’t want to miss this gathering. Lots of old friends and potential new ones gather to eat and drink the night away; two of my favorite things.
So while Sue drove us to Santa Rosa, we attempted to put on our Halloween fingernails. In hindsight, probably not the best choice of where to do that, which I realized when I dropped one between the seats. Say bye bye. But luckily we had 24, no doubt meant for clumsy people like me.
Being my first endeavor with fake fingernails, I hadn’t noticed they came in different sizes. So I pressed on whatever I happened to grab. Not until they were stuck like glue did I realize my mistake. I then pried off half the nails, which was no easy feat. Those little suckers meant business.
Last week I had occasion to visit the neighborhood where I grew up in Santa Venetia, also derogatorily known as Scabo. I’m not sure what that stands for but since it’s an ugly word, I’m guessing it wasn’t known as the most desirable place to live. But I beg to differ.
Kids don’t know they don’t live in a mansion. I certainly didn’t. We had 4 bedrooms that weren’t much bigger than some large walk-in closets and closets not much wider than a refrigerator. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t care one bit. I had what I needed and that was enough.
Our little house
To me, our Doughboy Pool was the bomb (better known as groovy back then). Other neighborhood dads helped my dad install it. That’s how it was; neighbors helping neighbors. On summer afternoons, being in that pool or playing ping pong on the patio were my favorite places to be.
Last weekend Sharon gave a baby shower for her 8-month pregnant daughter, Caitlin.
I’ve known Caitlin from the moment she was born, as I witnessed her arrival as well as the birth of my godson Martin. To them I’m Auntie Janet. I’d say it’s the nicest name I’ve ever been called.
Anyway, Sharon asked me to make a watermelon baby carriage for the shower. A WHAT?! I’ve never even seen one let alone carved one. That’s like asking a budding sculpturist to create Michelangelo’s David. Yikes, the pressure!
After a couple attempts of begging Sharon to ask someone else to do it, someone who actually had a clue, I gave up when she emailed me photos of watermelon carriages.