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Winning Christmas

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This is the year I was going to win Christmas. Our house would be just like my aunt’s house in Mississippi when I was growing up.   The house where you were afraid to touch anything.  That’s what good taste means to me—the ability to make everyone else feel that they’ve done everything wrong.  The feeling that you’re only supposed to whisper.   As a grandparent, thats just what I wanted. Just one year in my life, I wanted our house to be so fancy it made kids scared. With awe.   Except now I realize that the reason I used to decorate the house like crazy is the kids.  After waiting years and years and years to finally get rid of the kids, it turns out they were of some use at Christmas.  I decorated for them.  Basically I didn’t care what the neighbors thought of our house—I cared what the kids thought!  Who Knew?   Unfortunately, decorating is one of those housewife things that I feel competitive about. Just once I wanted to...
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Halloween

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We drag our fire pit out to the front porch and wait like spiders for small children to come to us.  At least, that's what it feels like at our house for Halloween.   This year Clay helped pick out our Halloween candy.  As many wives of retired husbands find, having dad come with to Walmart is an alien experience.  It's losing control, it's having someone pay attention to something you've had to do most of your life that everyone just assumed you would take care of.  The biggest compliment was from Billy at 15 or so: "Mom, I just noticed we never run out of toilet paper."  So sweet, so thoughtful.   Having a husband with opinions in a grocery store is like meeting someone from a foreign country and finding out you both have a few ideas in common.  Like chocolate being the only real candy choice.  I've always felt a little guilty about picking out only chocolate because it's not the cheapest.  I think I've probably felt g...
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What Are My Commercials Trying to Tell Me

If for some weird reason I didn’t know how old I was, I could tell by the TV shows we watch. More specifically, by the commercials that run during those shows. Mostly they feature folks, either gray-haired or that vague blond color that you can’t tell what color it really is, in knit clothing two sizes too big, blue gray so they blend into the background, walking or playing with the dog, or watching the grandkids run through the sprinkler. Is there some significance in the sprinkler—like is my life quickly spraying away while the young dance around me? These old people are smiling big toothy smiles. And they’re fighting disease, usually diabetes, but cancer is also popular, as is erectile disfunction. That’s how I can tell that what we’re watching is being widely circulated in hospital rooms across the country. Because they’re hoping to get in that last shot at my cash before I check out. What appalls me is who the sponsors think I’m going to identify with. Do I really loo...
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