Favorite Day Of The Week

By Anita Garner

Thursday’s my favorite day of the week. A Thursday’s as good as a Friday, in terms of anticipation, and  anticipation is the key. Looking forward to something is often more fun than the “something” when it actually arrives.  The one thing we can decide all by ourselves is what and how much we’re anticipating.

On Thursday, whether or not there are weekend plans, I look forward to the weekend.  This was true even when I worked weekends, and it’s true today when I am more or less in charge of my own work schedule.  There’s no accounting for this little fizz of joy that bubbles up around afternoon coffee time on a Thursday.  It’s the feeling that something good might happen.

When I was a kid and a brand new member of the workforce, I bought the “hump day” reasoning.  Everyone talked about how great Wednesday would be, because it’s the halfway point in the week.  But that didn’t last long.  It never did carry the anticipation of a Thursday.

On the opposite side of this falls the least favorite day of the week.  Sunday seems to be the letdown point for lots of us. Some say it goes back to childhood when, by Sunday  afternoon, fun was done and a new school week loomed.

I’m thinking maybe it’s the letdown from all that Thursday anticipation. But I’m not giving up the Thursday feeling just to alleviate the Sunday afternoon blues.  Anticipation is still the only part of the week I can control.

Read the instructions first? Really?

Now comes the time for getting acquainted with our new products.  Assembly instructions.  Operating manuals.   Warranties.  Oh my. It’s not just the digital camera, the cell phone, the hand steamer, the bagless vacuum with three different filters, it’s also the computer which had to be replaced in an ill-timed holiday rush.

Because of gifts received and necessary purchases and appliances that broke and even furniture (good old Ikea) there’s a stack of booklets on the table screaming, “Read me.”  I say,  “Fat chance”  and keep walking.  

The simplest gadget of all – the hand-held steamer  –  is the one so far that refuses to cooperate.  It has two attachments – a brush and a lint thingy – meant to keep the steam a safe distance away from delicate fabrics. The attachments won’t attach.  We resorted to reading the three page booklet -obviously translated from another language.  It says, specifically, “Slide the attachment into place.”  There’s no possible way to “slide” anything.  If it’s going on there, it’d be more of a “snapping” into place.   We tried snapping.  Then forcing.  The parts don’t fit. 

So I filled the reservoir and steamed away without attachments, carefully keeping it away from the silk blouse I need to wear immediately. It spat at me.  

At this point I’m farther along with the new computer than the so-simple-a-child-can-do-it hand steamer. 

Top of To Do List before the new year:  Must sit down and read all instructions. Yeah, that’s gonna happen.

© Anita Garner 2009

My Own Christmas Newsletter. Spoiler Alert – Includes Swine Flu

December, 2009

        It may be better to give than receive, but I’d rather read your newsletters and cards than try to remember the past year in enough detail to write my own.

        Memory isn’t always accurate in my case.  A friend once accused me of “painting the past in pastels.”  I beg to differ.  Every writer I know paints the past in different colors but not all of them are pale. I don’t always note in which months these things took place, but I do recall the emotion vividly.

        Our little Caedan Ray had swine flu.  It began with symptoms of a regular flu but perhaps because it happened sometime in summer, an alert doctor tested for H1N1 and that’s what it was.  Immediately Caedan was quarantined with her mommy. Even her dad, Edan, couldn’t be close to her.  I wanted to go to L.A. to help, but the doctor wouldn’t allow that either.

        One of the most frightening parts was that one day Caedan got quieter and more pale and lay down on the floor. Cathleen rushed her back to the doctor where she was found to be oxygen-depleted and put on respiratory therapy. This disease can affect lungs so quickly and with terrifying results. Better news – Cathleen had a “regular” flu, but no one else close to them got Swine Flu.

        Caedan started Kindergarten in September, the youngest in her class.  She has just now turned 5. So far so good.  She loves school.  Loves the work and according to her teacher, loves visiting (too much it seems) with her schoolmates.

        I remain in Mill Valley, north of San Francisco, while my family is in southern California, so I spend a good deal of time commuting.  It’s worth it for the blessed fog and redwoods near me – and then the warm reception I receive when I show up at the door to my girls’ place.

        My biggest thrill so far this year (There are still a few days left and I wouldn’t mind another big thrill.  Are you listening, Santa?) was winning the John Steinbeck Short Story Award for my story, “Hank Williams Was A Friend Of Mine” which is from my collection in progress.

        I hope each of you has some pastel-colored memory to keep.  

                                               Anita

 

  

© Anita Garner 2009

 

 

 

 

 

All Those TV Christmas Movies!

It’s pretty much a given – without the Lifetime and Hallmark networks – Christmas couldn’t exist.  I’m not knocking those two – in fact I schedule my season in order to leave time to watch just about every  Christmas movie. Most of them aren’t very good – by anybody’s movie standards – but they all end happily.  Every single one of them.  And this time of year that’s just fine with me.  I like my holidays predictable.

Predictable is the word for the titles.  Most of them are named “The Christmas………..” 

To fill in the blank, choose one of the following:  Miracle. Note.  Wish.  Family.  Reunion. Angel.  Magic.  Wedding. Story. Cottage.

Many plots center on a scrooge-like character (young man, young woman, old man, old woman) who never learned the real meaning of Christmas – so we need one big event to teach them. 

Another favorite plot involves someone who’s been away from their home town.  This person has often had a high-falutin’ career in the big city and for some reason returns to said home town and proceeds to re-fall in love with 1)  the town, or 2)  a former sweetheart who stayed there all this time and is miraculously single.  And of course through this return visit, the true meaning of Christmas is revealed.

A plot that repeats every year – the successful business person is sent home to shut down a plant/store/company that is the main source of income for all residents.  During the course of this 1-1/2 hour movie, the person sent to do the deed gets converted to small-town thinking and finds a more efficient way to run the plant/store/company so that all get to keep their jobs. Turns out the people who work in the little town are the kindest, most generous folks this executive has ever met.  And once in a while the hatchet man/woman falls in love with the local plant supervisor/employee spokesperson

Of course many plots feature children. Sometimes it’s kids trying to keep mommy and daddy together.  Sometimes it’s a kid whose parents have died.  Or kids who haven’t learned the real meaning of Christmas yet but are still too young for that high-falutin’ career in the big city, so their lessons must be taught in a slightly different way, but rest assured, those lessons will be taught. Pets are often involved. 

I’ll watch all of them.  At least I’ll try. Just because I can guess what’s coming in the next scene, that’s no reason to give up my cup of coffee, feet on the coffee table, Christmas movie playback.

© Anita Garner 2009

Holiday Newsletters Are Arriving – Fa la la la la!

Here they come again, cards and even better, envelopes bearing holiday newsletters and photos and tales of travels and details about what life brought and what it took away during this year that’s ending soon.

I love holiday newsletters.  I especially like the ones I receive from people with whom I don’t exchange emails all year.  Nor even phone calls. So this is often our one communication and it’s becoming increasingly important. I don’t want to lose touch with people even (especially)  if we’re not really in touch (much.) 

It’s the time of the year for looking at pictures of kids and pets and vacation spots that accompany the stories told within these one or two pages.  Stories are what I love. I even like to read newsletters with stories about people I don’t know.

 In the mail a couple of days ago, I got the newsletter written by the husband of my very first roommate.  I had the honor of being part of their wedding ceremony, back when we were  barely out of our teens. She’s always been a good communicator, so it’s a surprise that the stories of their lives during the year are told by him. It’s a side of him I hadn’t known before our paths took different directions.  I don’t know who takes the pictures that accompany the text – but maybe that’s her part of this annual mailing.

One couple I’ve known for decades – I used to babysit their young children – are now grandparents who are in such close touch with every family member, it’s a joy just to read the updates about these grown grandchildren I’ve never met. These are grandparents who can tell you about college classes and hopes and dreams and plans and romances of each of their multiple grandchildren. 

I have one grandchild – she whose photo will grace my own missives when I get them ready to mail next week – and I have to run to keep up with the goings and comings of this one little girl.  So the couple with several grown grandchildren, this family that travels from all over the U.S. and Europe  to get together each summer for several days – and then includes pictures with their mailings – they’re  my new holiday newsletter heroes this year.

Last season it seemed there was less mail, and I worried about the people who always wrote, but then stopped.  But this year, they started arriving earlier than usual, and there are more of them.  I’m wondering if maybe this tradition matters even more during a time when so many people have had to cut back on so many other things.

Keep ’em coming.  Your newsletters will all receive a glad welcome here.

© Anita Garner 2009

The kitchen in the center of this old house

I’m still unpacking in this new-to-me-hundred-year-old house in the redwoods.  Every now and then I climb onto a stool in the very large kitchen, stir some cream into my coffee,  and count my blessings.  I’ve had galley kitchens, pullman kitchens and whatever other glorified descriptions we use for “too small.”  One of my favorite memories is of my  first kitchen as a family lady.  It was a big, square room in a very small house.   

Over the years we moved on up and up and up to modern and big and fancy – but nothing ever took my fancy again like that old kitchen where my daughter’s first birthday party took place.

Nothing makes home home-ier for me than a kitchen that is the center of everything.  Modern houses have plenty of designated spaces for appliances and a granite counter for homework and a breakfast nook attached, but in these old places you can’t get from one spot to another without  going through the kitchen and I like that fine. 

In this house the kitchen is by far the biggest room.  It’s not fancy, but it’s welcoming. It has some funky built-ins.  A pantry and some curiously made shelves.  Rustic?  Oh my yes.  It takes  special mojo to keep the pantry door closed and leveling the new fridge into its spot is a joke. Nothing is level here.  

A side note:  Speaking of old houses, writer, Edie Clark, shares information about her restoration of the vintage “Mary’s Farm” in New England – with all its attendant quirks.  She’s featured in Yankee Magazine as well as her own books, and she blogs regularly at http://www.yankeemagazine.com/blogs/marysfarm/ Edie’s stories are like fairy tales  for a Californian who loves history.  Not the ice on the pond and the shoveling of snow followed by the mud season, but the Currier & Ives  pictures that make the farm look like a Christmas card all winter. 

Back to my old house.  When this cottage was built, there weren’t ranch-style residences with a long hallway.  That was suburban architecture and back then there  weren’t suburbs. There were no family rooms.  No special acvitity spaces.  The kitchen was the only space large enough for the family to gather – except, I guess for the homes of the very rich  and their grand palaces, with which I have only a tourist’s acquaintance. 

I like to think this little house reflects the way many families lived in ye olden days – tight but accommodating.  The kitchen stayed warm all day, what with the cooking and the big table and the coffee and tea brewed all day long. 

I’m a decent cook.  Mostly Southern food.  I’m already stewing-up and frying up a mess-a-sumthin’, but my daughter’s a far more accomplished cook and I can’t wait to taste what she’ll make when she visits.  This Old House makes a person think of things like that. 

Ó Anita Garner 2009

Over the meadow and through the woods

In this story I am the grandmother and it’s my house that’s in the woods.  But that wasn’t where I headed for Thanksgiving.  I drove away from my northern California redwood forest, as I often do, to spend Thanksgiving in the city with my daughter and granddaughter.

 

Los Angeles was warm, leaning toward hot, the whole time I was there. It’s 400 miles from here to there on Interstate 5, which runs the length of California and then some.  On my drive south, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun was shining and everyone I encountered along the way was feeling festive.

 

During my visit, my granddaughter asked why I can’t live closer to her.  I said I wish that was possible, but I like cooler weather. In fact I love my Marin County fog belt. 

 

Two days after Thanksgiving it was time to come home and since it had been around 80 degrees the day before, it didn’t occur to me to check the weather before leaving. I don’t like to drive in the dark, but once in a while in the pre-dawn, when traffic is light, it’s nice to get an early start.

 

About 5 A.M. I headed north, leaving the lights of Los Angeles behind as I slowly climbed the mountain toward Fort Tejon. (For non-Californians, that’s where Christo installed his giant yellow umbrellas.)  Rain began to fall almost immediately. The side window felt icy-cold. I left the Valley floor wearing a tee shirt and I didn’t want to steam up the windows with the heater and besides, I thought, teeth chattering will help me stay clear-headed.

 

The Grapevine – the part of I-5 that goes over the summit and then drops you down close to Bakersfield – is generally picturesque.  This time I couldn’t see a thing because the rain quickly turned to snow.

 

It came on so fast, it was a shock. Gusts of wind made driving a struggle.  The lack of traffic was a liability because there were few taillights to follow.  The town of Gorman at the top is about 4100 feet and I don’t remember a Thanksgiving storm before that powdered the junction white in minutes.   

   

Snow piled up so the lane markers were no longer visible. Everything was fuzzy. I drove as slowly as possible, trying to get behind some big trucks in the right lane so they’d make a path I could follow.

 

Stopping wasn’t an option. Had I pulled over at the top, I’d have been snowed in and without chains, it could have taken hours to get out.  I said a prayer, fought the wind for control of my car, and drove on.

 

I sang loud to keep from getting dizzy and counted the minutes ’til the road begins the descent into the next Valley and there, at the truck stop where I like to refill my coffee, just minutes from the blinding storm, was the bright sunshine again.

 

The rest of the trip was uneventful and I looked forward to doing some Christmas decorating at home – stringing tiny lights that glow like a fairy tale in the northern fog.  Except when I got home there was no fog.  Only sunshine.  And no fog this morning either. And today is warmer than normal with a prediction of sun all week long. 

 

I want my seasonal weather back. I need to get in touch with Al Gore and see if he can do something about this.  

Ó Anita Garner 2009

Turkey, turkey, turkey for days.

Three evites and two phone calls and several emails this week reveal the plans of friends and family.  Ed and Barbara made reservations at the Indian casino near them in the wine country of Northern California.  They’ll share a restaurant meal with a son, daughter-in-law and grandson. 

Sue and John are headed (with lab, Lucy) to Santa Cruz for a long weekend. They’ll take walks on the beach, eat too much, toss the ball for Lucy, play board games with family and friends,  and then do it all over again.

Peyce in Los Angeles, an actor/singer/great Southern cook, has his gang of vagabond performers over every year.  Since I never make it on the day itself, I always hope to find Peyce at home a couple of days later – along with some of his leftovers.

This season never disappoints – no matter where my family has been and no matter how few or how many of us gather.  And there was that one year – a fluke – when plans changed and I found myself alone on turkey day.  Still, celebratory feelings prevailed.  I called Max’s Cafe , ordered one of their special turkey dinners to go, picked it up and kicked off my Christmas movie DVD-watching extravaganza. 

My daughter and I have often traveled to join the rest of the family at someone else’s house.  We’ve also gone the restaurant route with friends, and maybe we’ll do both those things again, but when we’re someplace else on turkey day, we start getting really excited on the way home because we know that we’ll end up cooking the whole meal ourselves within the next couple of days.  We crave the leftovers. 

Thanksgiving is a good time to express gratitude.  It’s a good time for hugs and memories and watching the Macy’s parade first thing in the morning, and it’s also great having all that food around over the weekend. 

Who are those people who claim they’re sick of turkey two days later? Most people I know have plans for the food they don’t consume at the one big meal.  You won’t hear us complain about all that turkey.  We’re not the ones asking the TV cooking show hosts for new ways to treat the food the next day and the next.  

I’ve watched my brother gleefully attach our grandmother’s (God rest her soul) old fashioned food grinder to a counter top as soon as the dishes are cleared so that he can claim some choice chunks of turkey for his famous turkey salad the next day.

I regularly bake too many pumpkin pies so we can have pie for breakfast for days.  

I don’t understand the need to disguise leftovers with clever recipes. If you’re concerned about the leftovers from your own feast, not to worry, send ’em on over here. 

Ó Anita Garner 2009

Curtains? Miles of windows to cover before I sleep. Help!

I just moved into an old cottage with oddly-shaped rooms and miles of windows of various sizes. Love the windows, but my $$$ total for curtains and rods purchased so far – for only two of these rooms – is scary. Winter’s here and soon family will visit and I’ve got bare windows.  I don’t sew. Any ideas for cheap solutions?  I’ve just posted this in the “wanted” section of Craigslist in my area:

Curtains? Does anybody have any neutral ones for sale? 

Tiers? Tab tops? Panels? Cafes? Just moved into an old cottage with walls of windows – all different sizes. The good part is windows are lovely. The iffy part is buying curtains to cover all. So I decided to just cover the whole dang wall of windows in something inexpensive-to- free. Anybody have any neutral colored tiers or cafes or even panels?

First is the kitchen with a wall of windows that measures 85″ wide x 34″ long. I’m flexible about fabric – just not too sheer. As for color -something that  doesn’t scream. White? Beige? Brown? Tan? Ivory? Cream? Neutral of any kind. I have tons of curtains in storage myself, but none fit this configuration. Ain’t it always the way? Thanks for your creative thinking.

 

Ó Anita Garner

 

No-Calorie Snacking Tips From Me & Stephen King

By Anita Garner

Here’s how I keep calorie intake low while enjoying all the foods I love.  If you eat it at a different time of day, it’s calorie-free.  Pizza for breakfast.  Leftover steak with Bearnaise sauce as  a mid-morning pick me up.   Pie whenever the pie mood strikes, except don’t call it dessert.  Only dessert pie has calories.

Stephen King covered a related topic beautifully in more detail and much better than I ever could in an article he once wrote for Entertainment Weekly years ago.  I’m going to go ahead and validate every one of his suggestions below.

Stephen King’s healthy entertainment diet

From the unbelievable-but-true department: Since my world-famous ”movie snacks” column appeared, a number of people have asked your Uncle Stevie for dieting advice. Me, a guy who never met a fat calorie (preferably deep-fried) he didn’t like. At first I thought giving such advice didn’t fit my job description as a commentator on the pop cult scene, but after further consideration, I decided it does. Because staying current with the pop culture is mostly a thing you do sitting down, right? And if you’re watching TV, listening to music, or going to the movies, you want to eat, right? So the question then becomes, ”Uncle Stevie, how do I maintain my keen pop culture edge without turning into a sumo wrestler who knows every single word to the Brady Bunch theme song?”

Luckily for you, I have some tips — stuff that would put Weight Watchers out of business. I’m taking a chance here; the Diet Police will certainly try to smear and discredit me in the press, but for you guys (he said modestly) I’m willing to take the risk.

First, know your enemy: the insidious calorie. You have to limit your intake of those little beasts. But does that mean you have to limit your snacks? No. Just remember to tap your food. When you sit down in front of FlashForward or Lost with a few doughnuts (”a few,” by definition, is six), remember to tap each one on a hard surface before starting to munch. Doing this causes the calories to sink (it’s simple gravity). Then, when you eat your doughnut, just remember not to eat the bottom part. Throw it away (or feed it to the dog), because that’s where the calories are. The rest of your doughnut is calorie-free.

You can food-tap a whole host of tasty snacks: popcorn, brownies (if they’re hard enough to tap without crumbling to bits), even ice cream bars (harder smacks on these are necessary to dislodge the calories). Tapping won’t work with cakes and pies, but fortunately for the devoted snacker, cakes and pies are what nutritional experts call baked goods, and when stuff is baked, the calories shrink from the heat and draw in to the center. So, when you serve yourself a nice fat wedge of chocolate pie, just remember to cut off the pointy end, because that’s where the calories are. When enjoying angel-food or Bundt cake, cut around the center ring and throw it away. The rest of the cake is calorie-free (except for the frosting, but you can’t have everything).

Oh, and never buy loose candy at the movies. Loose candy is a calorie trap. Buy your candy in boxes, then shake it — hard! — before opening. Shaking candy either knocks those pesky calories right out, where they stick to the cardboard, or kills them. And it doesn’t take a genius to understand that a dead calorie can’t make you fat.

Exercise, you say? I get most of mine in the car, using the technique known as seat-bopping. You’ve got to find something really fast and loud (I recommend the Ramones, early Elvis, or James McMurtry’s ”Choctaw Bingo”), then let the beat move you. Seat-bopping is dangerous in heavy traffic, but you can still clench your butt cheeks — like in the old Jane Fonda workouts — and if you’re on the turnpike, put your party wagon in cruise control and shake your shoulders as well. At stoplights, especially those annoying long ones where the arrows point in every direction except the one you want to go in, you can really let loose. I learned to do the Mashed Potato and the Watusi while waiting for various lights to change, and — not to blow my own horn or anything — I’m a killer dancer. Do you get looked at funny? Of course, but ask yourself which you care about more, staying slim or some stranger’s opinion that you’re having a medical emergency at the corner of Main and Broad.

When watching TV, strap five-pound weights to your ankles and do leg lifts during the commercials. Not only is this a good cardio workout, but each 60-second set of lifts burns a thousand calories or more.

One other thing: If you actually believe any of this stuff, I have a bridge I want to sell you. And I will take checks. Because remember: Every time you write a check, you burn 200 calories. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

******