The Holidays Are Coming! What Do I Say?

The holidays are coming! The holidays are coming!! Oh no, what do we say? I have to be politically correct and not insult anyone. Really? If you say Merry Christmas to me it’s an insult? How about if on a Friday late afternoon I say Shabbat Shalom? How exactly are you insulted?

I’ve read several articles in which Donald Trump says he’s a good Christian and when he’s president everyone will be saying “Merry Christmas” all the time. First, I don’t think he’s all that great a Christian. Personally, I find him condescending and uninformed but as he says, he’s very rich. Guess the money makes him righter than anyone else. However, that’s not my point. How is he going to compel "everyone" to say what he wants.

As you can probably tell from the top paragraph, I’m Jewish. If you can’t tell from that, go look up the phrase on Google. They will explain it. I don’t have the energy for it. My point instead is that these are just words. Someone says "Merry Christmas" to me I just smile, nod, and move on—and I usually answer with “Happy Holiday.” I’m not insulted. Not everyone knows my faith, and frankly, I don’t want to know theirs. The bigger question--and frankly, there should be several big questions--is what does it matter? Obviously, if you can tell from clothing that a person is not a Christian, just don’t say it. If not, say whatever you like. No one should be that concerned with it. 

And really, does it matter that a paper cup is red, without any holiday decorations? Shouldn’t it be more important that said red cup is made of paper and probably won’t be recycled by its user? Maybe the planet deserves a holiday greeting and better treatment as well.

And another point is saying the words doesn’t make anyone a good Christian. I find it fascinating that from Thanksgiving to Christmas everyone talks about being good to others, and so many good deeds are done. After December 25, not so much. By the way, wars don’t stop just because it’s Christmas. Hunger goes on, homelessness and poverty are still there. They are just frequently decorated in greenery and tinsel.

My daughter has for the past few years volunteered to fulfill a Christmas wish for a family in need. That makes her a good person, and a good Jew—for us, it’s a mitzvah (also to be looked up). At other times she also makes donations to charities that have meaning for her. Frankly, she really doesn’t care what you say to her. Both of my children have volunteered to feed the hungry, clean up parks, do errands for others. And not in that little four-week period where what you say is all that counts.

Maybe it’s time to not worry so much about the words but to look at the actions. And by the way, Trump’s daughter converted by choice to Judaism. I give her a lot of credit for doing that (and am also a secret admirer of how she has chosen to live her life). But, I wonder what he says to her.

 *   *   *

I think that at some point early in my blogging days I said I’d stay away from politics. This year, though, some of the politicians and what I think of as their idiocy is just getting to me. Trust me when I say that this was the least of my thinking on these issues. You don’t want to know the rest of it.

Just Listening

I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again, I seem to be regarded as a bit of a therapist and sometimes mentor by some of my friends. Today’s world isn’t easy. With all of the technology and the constant need to produce—even very young school children have homework, some of it intense—people, at least those in my age group, seem to have a much greater need to talk…about themselves, their lives, what’s wrong with the world.

 I’m not sure when I turned into the therapist of choice. I think it’s because I am a pretty good listener, and usually don’t offer an opinion unless I’m asked. But be prepared for my answer when you ask me for comment. I’ve been known to let someone have it.

A friend of mine is what I would call a serial dater. She’s on several online dating sites and goes out frequently. But I’ve been noticing that by the third date she usually finds something wrong with the guy. On the whole, I think she has a tendency to pick the wrong guys. But, she also nitpicks. The guy who spent several years in jail and had a lot of tattoos? He finished the jail term years ago and now runs a very successful--and legal—business. Whatever happened way back when is not important. The abundance of tattoos? Okay, I’m a little weirded out by those too, but he wore long sleeves on your dates, so I think he knows that people are bothered by them.

Don’t like your job and have interviewed for another one that’s easier to get to—a bonus in this job market? Be careful. The friend who asked you in to interview on a pro forma basis has then turned on you before. Personally, I don’t trust her to follow through on it--and I’ve said so. Heard this story before, with a lot of the same players. As it is said, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different response. Same goes for the serial job searcher. Very picky in what they want to do. Unfortunately the job specs for what you’ve done for years have changed, and recruiters don’t look past the education line. I don’t know what you should be doing, but maybe it’s time to either rework the resume or look for another route around it. I can’t change the specs.

The Other Side 

But there is another question in this. If I listen to all of you, repeatedly, wouldn’t it be nice if you offered to listen to me babble along on what’s bothering me? Guess not. I’ve tried to get someone to listen every so often, but apparently no one wants to hear anyone else’s problems unless they can respond by relating it to their own problems and successfully turning the conversation back to themselves. Really? Personally, I think that’s rather selfish. No one in the world has no problems. Next time, perhaps listen to others; you never know, you might learn something that you can use, without making the conversation all about you.

So, let’s talk about me…. Anyone out there? Hello?

Writer’s Block

Yes, once again it’s been awhile. And there are two reasons for that. First, I’ve had a lot of work of the paying kind. With deadlines. Good for my income but at the end of the day I had no strength, never mind thinking brain cells, to sit and write. Just couldn’t do it.

And second, I couldn’t write. Yes, it’s been a major case of writer’s block. I probably started at least a dozen entries, all of which are gathering virtual dust in a virtual folder used to keep incomplete pieces. Not good.

For me, writing isn’t easy. Especially on topics I need to choose and comment on. Sounds like it should be easier than writing on something someone else has chosen, but it isn’t. If someone gives me a topic, I’ll knock a quick essay out that will at least be decent. 

But a blog is different. It’s much more on things that mean something to the writer, especially if it isn’t subject specific. While writing it I think not only about my feelings on the subject, but in some cases, just how much I want to share of myself. That’s the hard part. I have a list of subjects I eventually want to talk about and, as I said earlier, a lot of unfinished material where my thoughts either ended too soon or for some reason I couldn’t put together the words that explained my thoughts. Eventually it will happen though and I’ll go back and finish each topic. They are all important to me.

The Spirit Is Happening

I know others who blog like I do—not to a specific subject area. Some of them even have specific times of the day or week when they schedule themselves to write. But I’ve never been good at that kind of planning ahead; I write better most of the time when the force just hits me. Today I’m on a plane on the way to visit my granddaughter for her second birthday. My tablet is in my bag and I finally feel the moment. This is also the start of a week with a lot less income-producing work so my brain will be able to get into some less intimidating material (all of my work for income is in medical editing, which can be very stressful). After I finish here, I think I’ll also be able to start—or finish--another blog for later posting. I feel like the words will flow. I’ve written on planes before and for some reason it’s a good spot for me to get things together.

It’s time to get back into it. 

Neighbors Are A-Changing

We’ve lived in our house for 28 years. Before that, we were in a house for about 8 years. I gave birth to my children in that first house. My older daughter started school while we lived there--we moved while she was in the first grade. I didn’t notice too many changes because we bought the house new and everyone around us had young children.

A couple of weeks ago, though, I looked at where we live now and realized that we, and the older couple down the block who were original owners (we’re the third owners of our home), are now the “old” people in the neighborhood. Every other house on the street, probably eight besides us, has changed hands in the last 10 to 12 years, and now some are changing again. Personally, I think it’s great that the street is getting young again, but then I feel really old. My children live far away so I rarely have my granddaughter playing on the front lawn. Plus some of the families that arrived in the last 15 years have kids now entering high school. They were babies—or not even born—when their parents moved onto the block.

As an example, the people in the house next door left the day after their oldest son finished eighth grade. We have no idea what happened or where they went, but I do know that they had 2 kids when  they moved in and 4 when they left. One day we saw a for-sale sign, and by spring those kids seemed to have disappeared. In fact, the mother, who was always outside with them, seemed to disappear as well. Odd, but then they left (and they were also the third, or maybe even the fourth to own that house) and the new family was coming in. One day I’ll find out what happened from her neighbor on the other side, who not only knows everything going on but also had a daughter graduate from 8th grade and will be going on to high school. That girl wasn’t even born when her family moved in.

The next cycle 

It looks like the new neighbors are starting a new cycle of kids. We saw her going to pick up her mail while carrying a baby. Then again, that’s the only time we’ve seen her. They spent a month on fixes to that house before moving in, and then just seemed to be gone a lot as well.

I like the “youngification” of the block though. Neighborhoods should be like that. My daughter just moved to a house that’s been around for a while. On one side there is an elderly woman and her daughter; behind the new house is a family with 6 kids, and I hear that the other night three more families arrived to introduce themselves—with kids of varying ages. The neighborhood is 40 years old but the original owners are moving on.

 In some ways the changes keep us young, although we’re back to driving really slowly up the block to make sure no one runs out in front of us. But, I guess it’s time for us to think about moving on as well. It’s a really good street in an excellent school district. Soon it will be the right time to let someone else enjoy it, and keep the street young. But then again, living here also helps keep us young watching everyone play. It's a hard choice.

The Art of Chronic Illness

As I have sometimes mentioned, I have a chronic illness. It’s number three on the arthritis list, and sometimes I think it’s number one, but that’s just me. Most people think that there are just two version of arthritis—wrong!! When I started this little journey I was told there were 60 forms of arthritis, but if you count the subheadings in the lists, it’s probably more like 120. You know Venus Williams’s Sjogren’s disease? That’s a form of arthritis, although it doesn’t have the word in the title. Unfortunately, any form of arthritis is pretty much a chronic illness—you get it for life; there is no cure. Fortunately, for mine there are drugs that help mitigate the problems to some extent.

But what do you do with those problems? In my case, I’m lucky; I’m considered to have a mild-to-moderate case, and I really can’t imagine how bad it gets with the moderate-to-severe cases because I’m really not happy right now with where I am with this. Apparently I’ve been in a “flare” for almost two months now (based on what my rheumatologist said the other day), and counting. He can’t predict when it might end; all he can do is tweak the meds in order to try to make things slightly better. Hopefully, the weather will improve and the rain will stop soon. A couple of drier, warmer weeks will definitely help things improve and my attitude will turn up again. (Frankly, it's been so rainy here that not only are we out of the moderate drought people were predicting, but I haven't had to water the lawn yet, and that's really unusual for late June. But, that's also beside the point.)

The real issue is in deciding that you will live your life in spite of the disease, and not let it dictate what you will do. At least, that’s how I do things. 

So, what happens?

I refuse to give in to the problem. Therefore, no matter what, I get out of bed at just about the same time every weekday, sometimes more slowly than others, and I go about my business. What does that mean? I just touted up numbers and essentially, I just about doubled my business income this quarter over the last one. Now, having said that, I should admit that the first quarter of this year was not great. There just wasn’t enough work out there from my clients and I had trouble finding new ones. Fortunately, in mid-March I picked up a very steady assignment plus another new client, and had work from some of my steadier clients. It was a big help, and this next quarter is also looking decent. But the issue is that I never missed a deadline, and only had to cancel once—and not for arthritis, jbut for a stomach bug that made things difficult.

I have crocheted for years. I committed to making a dog-shaped afghan for my granddaughter. It was an easy pattern that went fairly quickly, but the winter and spring were not good for my kind of problem and I had to stop for a bit so my hands could recover. Oh, and I had then said I’d make a matching afghan for her very close friend. What I thought I’d deliver by late March was actually delivered at the end of May. Not sure when I’ll be picking up a crochet hook again, but it probably won’t be one of the really skinny ones unless I have a thick handle on it. But, they got done. Now, I’m working on an alphabet needlepoint for the anticipated second grandchild—I’ll need it done by Thanksgiving. Any idea how many little holes you have to fill with the thin floss and really thin needle? I work for a couple of hours at a time, and then come back a few days later and have at it. No matter what, it will be done, and framed, on time.

My family came to visit on the Memorial Day weekend, and I kept up with everything. Yes, I sat down sometimes when I got too tired but I’m hoping it wasn’t wildly noticeable. They know my hands are not in great shape so my issues in picking up my granddaughter were not considered all that big. After she left, I sat down for the afternoon—and cleaned up more the next day. Everything gets done, but on my schedule.

What’s the point?

If I were to let the arthritis have the last word, none of this would happen. I’d just sit here with an e-reader (much lighter than an actual book) and do next to nothing. Instead, it’s better for anyone with a chronic illness just to live. I still go walking as often as I can (usually the floors are flat there; if there’s even a quarter-inch lip on a sidewalk I’ll find it and fall over it so the mall is just better). The issue is to choose to do; not choose to sit. I know that not everyone can do that, but then again, I believe that even if my illness was in the severe category, I’d make the choice to do I have to believe that everyone can do something, even if lying down; it’s the only way we can have productive lives.

Even my rheumatologist is sometimes surprised that I keep going regardless. My impression after my last visit was that he wants me to slow down just a little bit in order to handle the flare. My greatest fear, though, is that if I give into problems any more than I already do, it will start to take over. I imagine that at some point in the future I will have to slow down to accommodate it, but right now, I just refuse to let it further impact my life.

I think that dealing with everyday life along with a chronic illness is an ongoing fight for everyone, but has to be done on our own terms—and those are different for every “victim.” With any luck, no one else will notice my fights.

And yes, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted here. The weather and the illness were part of that issue, as was the avalanche of work. Plus, can’t seem to find the lists of topics I have on index cards on my desk. I write them down as I think of them, then can’t remember what I wanted to do. That issue will be handled this week when I absolutely promise to clean out that desk. I’ve got a new work setup that I think will be better in the long run, and it’s time to clean out anyway. A good purge of “stuff” always makes me feel better.

Return of the Clique

In 1963 my parents moved our family from what most would consider a more rural area of New York (although we were really just outside of New York City) to a more suburban neighborhood in New Jersey. My father had been commuting more than 50 miles each way for his job and it was time to go closer. 

I’ve never been the person to have lots and lots of friends around. At heart, I’m probably more the solitary type and normally am comfortable being close to just two or three people. But I was happy to make a friend on the new block right away. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in my class in the public schools so I was on my own the first day. And, surprisingly, when I went to gym class—yes, gym class, who would have thought it, which was shared with another class, I instantly clicked with a girl there. So, there was hope.

My parents were very big on certain ideas, some of which I think have disappeared in the last 50 or so years. One was that when you went to school you sat, you learned, you paid attention, you respected your teachers. The other concept was that you did the same in religious school—which I attended 3 times a week for a total of about 5 hours. I was stunned when I walked into the first class there and the girl from gym class was sitting there. To this day—and after more than 50 years of friendship with her—I am grateful. Without her sharing the class, life would have been hell. Why? Because of THE CLIQUE.   

     

It turns out that my particular grade in school had a clique in it. How did that happen? A lot of the parents had moved from a town about 12 miles away that had fallen out of favor. So years before, they all moved to my new town—and almost everyone lived in the same neighborhood, so their children could grow up together. In fact, it seemed like they did just about everything together. And, I think there were people who wanted to be part of the group, so they lived on the edges of that neighborhood. While most of these families had at least two children, apparently the bulk of the next generation turned up in my class.

My new friend’s parents were actually part of the group at one point, but when they moved they opted to live on the other side of town and not be part of that. Their beliefs on child rearing and what was important were much more in alignment with what my parents thought. As my friend has said, “The day she arrived I finally had someone to talk to.”

But this is just background. The clique continued through high school, although other kids worked really hard to join it so there was some ebb and flow in it. The bigger problem was that they really didn’t seem open to even interacting with people outside their group, and it was very insular. And yes, I sound insulted that I wasn’t part of the group, but when you have to work with someone who really doesn’t want to interact with you, it’s annoying.

Ultimately, we all graduated and they had to go their separate ways. But at the reunion who did they stay with—the old crowd. And by the way, my sister was 4 years behind me. Even her class had heard of this group in the school. It lived well beyond its “Sell by…” date.

 Fast Forward 40+ Years…

Aren’t cliques so high school? Apparently not. I was working as the only staff editor for a medical education agency. Everything was supposed to come across my desk, and the higher ups were very happy with my work. Granted, there were some days when they thought I could read 90 pages in an hour—I refused to even try—but for the most part everything was going very well and I was happy to have regular work. But then there was a palace coup and one manager leapfrogged another to take charge of my group. He put someone else in charge of the day-to-day running of things.

I knew there would be trouble the first time she came in for a meeting. Spoke to everyone, except me. Bad management technique. It then became apparent that she didn’t like editors who worked on staff. How did I know? I have really good hearing and she said so to someone else. And somehow work didn’t arrive when promised so it was sent out to be completed overnight. The writing was on the wall, and I sat back to watch. I’ve been there, seen that. High school was back.

A couple of people left and were replaced—by people with no experience. An editorial assistant was hired, without my input, and not even introduced when she started. But you could see that she was part of the “in” crowd. Then I had a couple of stupid comments made to me based on age and speed. Sorry, but speed is not really a desired part of the editorial world—usually, spelling is a big thing. Plus, they couldn’t figure out how I could fix somethings by keeping notes on what I did. Obviously, I should just remember everything—that’s what they did and it worked fine except when it didn’t. In one week I had at least half a dozen projects that I had to fix after they “corrected” things. Oh, and they referred to me as “she” in really loud terms but never by name. It was juvenile.

Came the day when I was called in and told things “just hadn’t worked out.” (Patently untrue.) The lead manager, the one who committed the palace coup, couldn’t look me in the eye because he knew what was happening was just wrong. But the rest of management was young, and they liked to deal only with the young pretty girls—almost all of the staff. I took the severance, which was quite generous, and left. The only issue was proving to the unemployment office that I was let go without cause; I won that too.

After I left I kept an ear to the ground and found out what happened. Seems that cute editorial assistant who was in the work clique left a month after I did, so they had no one. Work still had to be sent out and some of it just came back wrong (and no, I don’t think I’m perfect but at least I wrote the style sheets). Some of those young things had helped “grow” the firm. Within 6 months it was shrinking again. They had to give up the big fancy office and all those clique-y types were demoted to the same or lesser positions that they had previously. I heard that one of the blessed ones made a huge error, but her mother was a friend of the owner so she was just demoted—and kept her nice office. The company has since moved to much smaller quarters and a number of people have left. But the heart of the clique is still running things—and from what I hear, not well.

The Moral of the Story

 High school should stay in high school--and really, cliques should stay in grammar school. Once you graduate it’s time to grow up. If you can’t make friends outside of the group you grew up in, you have bigger problems. Life is more than a clique. And working in the real world means you need to sometimes step out of your comfort zone. Some of the people outside of the clique really do have value—and maybe experiences you can learn from. Try it.

Bucket Lists Redux

Yes, I've talked about these before but now I'm actually getting into the idea of making a list because all of a sudden I’m finding myself really wanting to do things that no one would expect me to try.

I just scratched off another idea – ziplines. Now, you have to understand, when I first mentioned this to the husband he looked at me like he didn’t even know who was talking; or like I had grown an extra head; or perhaps I needed to be committed. It was something he wouldn’t ever touch, and probably would forget about anyway. Nevertheless, I felt it was my way of proving that the arthritis wouldn’t get me; and that there was life in the old (okay, maybe more middle aged) girl yet. I think we also have to just challenge ourselves regularly to keep the blood moving.

In December, we went to Costa Rica, where ziplining is a very popular tourist event, and was included in our tour package. Then again, there was also some horseback riding offered too. That will never be on my bucket list and I declined. Even if they could get me on the horse, I think they’d need Paul Bunyan to get me off. My joints would never forgive me.

However, I really was looking forward to going. And all of a sudden, the hubby was into it as well. Getting suited up wasn’t easy, but I managed. And trust me, ladies, those helmets, while good for safety, are a disaster for your hair. Fortunately, mine is short so it worked out. This set of ziplines requires you to wear very heavy gloves because that’s how you brake. Of course, you can’t brake too soon or you’ll be left dangling off the cliff. And you can’t brake too late or you could hit one of the guides as you arrive for a hard landing. Nevertheless, I loved it. What I hadn’t realized though is that ziplines don’t come as a single event—there were seven of them. By the fourth one, I was wearing out. But I refused to give up and managed to finish all of --them, even if I wasn’t standing up straight at the end. It was a wonderful experience, and proved that I can challenge myself to some of the big stuff and survive.

I should add that a few days later we were at another zipline opportunity but I passed. These were a lot longer and faster, and I just didn't have it in me to go again. Plus, I think my body was still recovering from the first round. I had fulfilled the list item; no need to push things.

What’s Next?

I have no idea. I only just started to think about what else we can do, but some ideas are now popping into my head:

– Swimming with dolphins in Florida. Several groups offer this and I’ll have to look into it. My family will tell you I’m not an animal person, but I’m thinking that with the right equipment like a full body suit and some gloves, this could be interesting.

– Snorkeling, almost anywhere. Again, I’m not great with underwater stuff but there are places where I hear that there is more beauty underwater than above ground, so that might work.

– Visiting Antarctica. After this winter in New Jersey, I really am not big on the cold but supposedly they provide the coats so who knows. That’s probably a lot further down on the list though.

– Flying in a small plane. Again, something that terrifies me but we have a friend who owns his own plane and has offered to take us to lunch at the shore. Could be interesting, although they’ll probably have to peel my fingers off the arms of the seat on arrival. I did the helicopter excursion several years ago in Hawaii and it was stunning, but I did essentially crawl out of the chopper at the end and swear never to do anything like that again, but you never know. As I keep saying, we need to challenge ourselves.

– Bungee jumping. All right, this is so far down the list it probably isn’t even near the list but everyone needs something like that. Almost anything else you can think of will come before it. To me, it’s a truly terrifying concept.

What’s on your list?

The Art of the Speech

The Art of the Speech

I’m not good with speeches. I’ve had to make them in the past and I agonize over every word, and usually make sure to have every word written down. At least then I could practice, make adjustments, get used to what I’m going to say. You know the drill.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

I recently decided to say a few words at an event we had to attend. The hostess knew what I was going to talk about and was completely in favor of it. I planned it out—several times—in the shower. It was perfect. Then again, maybe not…

Other people had said a few words, and I got up to add mine. It didn’t go well. Actually, it went off the rails fairly quickly. You know how you can feel when something has gone wrong and try to fix it midstream? That didn’t work either; in fact, I think I insulted a number of people in the room, and made myself sound like a snob. They also had no idea that I stood up and moved away from the table I was sitting at because the woman next to me, who can be a bit clueless, had already hit me twice with her elbow in passing, and the only place I could go was into the lap of the woman next to me (who I’ve known for a really long time and I suspect still didn’t want me to sit on her). It was very distracting, and a bit scary. Nor could anyone know that I knew I was being stupid but couldn’t get out of it. They just thought of me as a snob—I could see it on their faces.

Learning From a Eulogy

Next time, I’m going to take the advice I heard in the eulogy Andrew Cuomo gave for his father Mario. It was a great speech and made me cry. Andrew spoke from prepared notes; something he apparently doesn’t usually do because he wants to be able to adjust “on the fly” to the reactions. That day was different. In part, he talked about how Mario always spoke from the speech he had written earlier, not changing a thing. He had read that Winston Churchill always did that because you shouldn’t react to others; you should just say what you want to say and let them react to you. At the end of the eulogy Andrew acknowledged his father as well by pointing out that he had written his speech down—and stuck to it. He had learned that from his father.

I’m happy to learn from Mario, and Winston.

After the Fact

And by the way, I did send an apology to the hostess, who also knew things had gone off the rails. She was gracious enough to understand, because she knew what I was trying to say. But we did agree that I will never stand up like that again without written aids. It just becomes a mess—and the reactions can be even worse. Hopefully, others will forgive me.

Agent Wanted 

I need a new eBay agent. I had someone very good, but she and her husband decided to close their store for reasons I didn’t quite understand (and that my original connection to them didn’t understand either but didn’t want to push). That’s good for them. But where does it leave me? 

The hubby and I know that eventually we’ll move out of the house and into a much smaller space. That means I’ll be looking to sell a piano, a couple of couches, bookcases (although those I might put on—now, don’t mention this to that other group—Craigslist) and some other items. In fact, the more I can downsize, the less expensive the move will be, and I don't expect that to be cheap.

How to Sell

Anyone out there know how to sell the big stuff? Locally? I’ve found several eBay agents in my area, but they only want small items—and things they can look up first to make sure they can sell them. One shop said their minimum sale was $40. But I’m talking big stuff, like a couch and a piano. I'm still deciding how much of the small stuff to get rid of--lamps, side tables--but I suspect I'll take those and if necessary, get rid of them at the other end. And I also know I'll donate a pile of stuff that I don't want to deal with on sales.

Plus, I don’t have a PayPal account, although yes, I know I can get one. But, a friend just told me her boyfriend opened his account one morning and discovered he was missing a really large amount of money. Fortunately, he found out about it fairly quickly, was able to contacted those in charge, and the transaction was stopped. Stories like that make me crazy because I do plan to sell larger items, and I really don’t want to worry about how fast I move the money. This kind of thing always makes me edgier than I already am about the whole issue.

Reading Up

I’ve been downloading articles from the Internet on how to sell on eBay. I’m totally confused because most sellers seems to have have real “stores” and are selling small items, like cosmetics or kitchen appliances. I have a friend whose daughter routinely buys her children’s clothes there—and then sells them again—because she’s found a really good broker who deals with that type of item. But I’m getting confused on how to do it, and no one I know has actually sold anything on the site; they normally are only buyers, and I haven’t even done that. Then again, all of the articles say the best way to learn to sell is by buying some items. The problem is that I really don’t need anything.

And I know I can sell larger items because I have a friend who has already done so, but through the same agent who's no longer in the business. I just worry that big items are not really a good place to start if I want to try to sell my belongings. 

Yes, I'm Whining

Do I sound whiny about this? I know I do. I like to just hire someone I know I can trust to do stuff like this—I’ve had all the workmen for my house for years because they’re good. But I guess now I’ll have to do it myself…something I really don’t want to deal with. If anyone knows of a good source for learning how to sell “big” items, feel free to send them over.  

Now, back to sales lists, of which I have many.

Work . . . Life . . . Blog?

Yes, I know, my blogging has gotten a big erratic. But I promise there’s a good reason . . . really, I mean that.

When I started the blog I did it with every intention of big things. Three times a week I’d post something. Of course, then work and life stepped in. I had more than 20 blogs in my files, with lots of others planned.  I had a digital calendar that included what would go up when. And I never expected that to not work out.

Enter reality. I work; and I have other things in my life. Like, my daughter had a baby. I could visit her. So what do I say? Sorry, kid, I can’t play with you. I need to blog.

I am as a freelance editor, which means I have to look for work; it doesn't always drop into my lap. Income can be problematic. Most of my work is by referral, and I truly thank anyone who has ever recommended me to their contacts (feel free to send them my way). I take pride in never missing a deadline—and never turning down an assignment. Would you believe that I had a client call begging for help while I was babysitting? And she couldn’t wait—because her client was on her back. I ended up with the baby using one leg to bounce on while she played, and the laptop open on the other leg so I could look up the answer to her question. (By the way, whoever designed that play table that sings, counts, does the alphabet and teaches Spanish, along with other interactive corners, please contact me; I have a few words I'd like to say to you--that shouldn't be said in public.)

Balancing act

Where do I find work/life balance? November was crazy. I edited a book, went onsite with a client—and had another client sending me work for whenever I could get to it. Plus, the granddaughter came to stay for a week. Forget balance, I just wanted to be able to keep my head on straight while I did everything, including house cleaning, baby setup, and meal planning. You think I could blog through that? I’m not that good. The best I could do was set up a bridge table in the bedroom to hold my laptop so I could work while she was in town—and sleeping. (Her parents were sleeping in her mother’s former room, now known as my “office,” if no one else actually needs it.) Still meeting all deadlines, and apparently not causing havoc in my clients’ lives. Phew! And it continued into

I’m not sure we can ever truly get balance in work and life, with or without a blog on the side. Just today I had lunch out with the hubby, went to the supermarket for the weekly shopping, finished fact checking a large job and started the editing. Oh, and then I started to write this blog? I had to; I'm at least making an effort to post more regularly. Don't know if it will work, but consider it a good effort.

Life is always a balancing act, with or without anything we hadn’t planned for—and we all know we can't plan for everything. The victory for me is just in getting up and getting it all done. If I can cross off most of what’s on my list to do in a day, I figure I’m ahead. As for the rest . . . well, I guess it’s time for me to go clean something out, or just work on more blogs – or maybe not. .

Regularly Scheduled Dinner--Maybe      

I do Thanksgiving dinner. Actually, I’ve done it 35 times so I’ve been preparing it regularly since before my children were born. Supposedly, it’s “my” holiday. The only two I missed were when my great-aunt invited my family to join hers (and to bring my in-laws), and last year, when it came out 6 weeks after my granddaughter was born—she was deemed a little young to travel.

But back to my dinner. It’s a blend of traditional turkey/stuffing/cranberry sauce (the usual) with traditional Jewish foods. Potato latkes are a staple and I’ve also been known to serve derma—a stuffing of meat and some form of grain that’s part of a sausage—although that has kind of stopped since we don’t seem to have a decent kosher delicatessen in the area. In the last few years, my older daughter has become the fastest potato peeler anywhere, which makes the latkes a lot easier to do, and my younger daughter consults on the desserts. Everyone offers suggestions for sides. And I improved the turkey when I heard Bobby Flay recommend adding chicken stock to the bottom of the pan. I do that twice—at beginning of cooking and in the last hour—and my husband is singing its praises. Who knew it could be that easy?

The strength in Pyrex

This past Thanksgiving, I had another mission. My granddaughter was past 13 months old and I decided it was time for her to walk. Total success. She arrived here crawling 80% of the time—we reversed that and she left walking 80% of the time. Now she’s almost up to running. Plus, there’s a step down from the kitchen to the family room. She figured that out on her own—although after managing to go down head first and hitting herself. She’s a quick study. She also moves around with a twinkle in her eye that says, “I know you don’t want me to do this but I’m going to try anyway; going to stop me?” Usually, unless it’s dangerous, we don’t because even falling down is a learning experience. The best one came when she realized she could open two cabinet doors at once—walking gave her a new level of reach—and bang them together. She loved it. But, when she managed to pull most of a set of Pyrex bowls out and let them fall onto the floor, even she scared herself. However, it seems that Pyrex when dropped 6 inches is pretty indestructible. Fortunately, it didn’t fall on her very small foot. Once she realized she was fine and there were no terrible repercussions, it was back to door banging. She loved that. Unfortunately, she had to leave, so we’re back to Facetime every weekend, and sometimes during the week. Now that walking was so successful, when we go out in February I'm going to work on getting her talking more. It's time.

Small explosion

On Thanksgiving night, though, after the food was eaten, and leftovers put away, and while the baby was playing with everyone – did I mention that she knew within 15 minutes who her great-aunt was in the room, and who her great-grandmother was? If you asked her, she knew who to look at, which we thought was, was usual, brilliant—I dropped a small grenade into the room. Not even the hubby knew it was coming. It was my last Thanksgiving. It’s not an easy meal to plan, or put together –making the latkes alone, which is done same day, usually takes at least an hour and a half. Plus, I think it needs new blood. I’m happy to buy the food for whatever menu others want, but I’m not getting up so early again to cook it. And my arthritis is really not happy with me that weekend. After 35 dinners, it’s time for me to hang up my potholders and let someone else take it on. I’d even be happy to cater it, if I know what people want; or to go to a restaurant and let them serve it. We won’t discuss the whole set up and clean up issue. I’ll know the verdict on what we do in August, because plans still have to be made. Otherwise, it’s going to be a really small dinner for hubby and I. I'll be able to watch the entire parade.