I'm Following Your Advice

I'm spent.  

I baked and wrapped and wrote and printed and bubble wrapped and packing taped before I finally took both the giant IKEA bag and an equally humongous Crate and Barrel plastic bag to the Post Office where the Drop It In Here box was too full to open.

TBG ordered in and shared enough so that my I'm not really that hungry self was able to fuel the hangry person I become when unfed.

I need a bath and my pj's.  I'm going to believe you when you say that I should also take care of myself.

It's that or rant about the pumpkin brain's plan to revisit the Constitution.  

There will be lavender and peppermint along with the epsom salts to rid myself of thoughts like that.  

 

What I'm Listening to Now

I paid attention and did some exploring and I figured out how to create a playlist on Amazon Music, which may be a benefit of my Prime subscription or maybe not but it doesn't matter because I know how to use it and I'm well along in teaching my algorithm what floats my boat.

I can hear the music in my hearing aids.  I can't hear anything else, which is a problem for TBG when he carries on his half of a conversation and I ignore him completely.  It's not an issue for me, though.  I love the sense of isolation, surrounded by sounds of my choosing.  

It's helpful while I'm cooking.  It sets my mood when I'm working on The Brownie List this month.  I'm working my way through the Amazon curated Greatest Christmas Hits lists, choosing the ones I want on my personal playlist.  I am certain that my children (and probably most of you) have been doing this since the technology became available, but it's all a shiny new thing to me.

I'll move on to Chanukkah and Seasonal tunes and will rely on my children to amplify it as background for our holiday in Marin.

I've been listening to the game shows on NPR.  I've been listening to YoYo Ma on Instagram and YouTube.  

What I have not been listening to is the news.

I haven't watched the local news nor the national nightly news nor tuned in to NPR on the car radio.  I've deleted my New Republic and Politico and WaPo and NYT apps.  My Substack no longer includes Neal Katyal; I'm spending time with Sherman Alexie's poetry and JES's fiction rather than getting myself all worked up.

I have unsubscribed to all my political messaging bots.  I don't want any more political stickers adorning my car's sunshield. 

Like JannyLou, I can't abide the thought that four of my remaining years on this planet will be sullied by that bloviating buffoon.  I have to do what I can to control his access to my headspace.

Will I miss breaking news?  Sure.  I was surprised to learn that Assad fled to Russia this afternoon.  I spent a few minutes smiling about Sleepy Joe doing everything he can to destabilize Putin before January 20th.  That was enough.  Somehow the world is managing to turn on its axis without my incessant monitoring.  

I'm going to move on to podcasts about history after the holidays are over.  I don't see returning to the mainstream news media circus in my future.  I'm exploring BlueSky and MeidasTouch News  and 1440  to see if it's worth staying current.  

So far all it's doing is making me upset.  

I don't want to be upset.  I want to make good choices, just like Prince Scholars and my grandkids.  I think my immediate future is pretty clear.

If something really important happens I'm sure someone will tell me.  

And So It Begins

No, not my search for a way to log onto BlueSky from my phone.  No, nothing political.  For once, something good is starting.  I've begun The Brownie List.

TBG has crowned me Best Xmas Elf Ever;  ever has real meaning for me this year.  I started gifting brownies in fancy containers in 1981, before we were parents, when my list was small ,and, for the most part, local.  43 years later, the containers are less fancy, I'm sending them to my children's friends and their offspring, and my list is no longer small nor local.  It makes me very happy.

It's a fun kind of stress.  Do I have the requisite number of containers suitable for all the celebrations, with packing materials ready to hand?  I spent this morning realizing that I had no mailers and no bubble wrap; I added two post offices and Office Depot to my day.  

I hooked up the new printer so I can create the mailing labels  It was delivered overnight several weeks ago.... what was the rush?  I found the stash of note cards and gift tags and string.  Somewhere there is a sparkly red shoe box with embellishments; for the moment, it remains elusive.

Isn't that a lovely problem to have?  I overcame my anxiety about dealing with electronics and actually enjoyed playing with my printer's features.   It can even be a fax, which brings me back to the 1980's and just how long I've been doing this and how I have never fully organized the list nor established a routine.  Every year I find that the process has taken over and arranged itself appropriately, without much brain power on my part.

We'll be gone for the holidays so my decorating is minimal.  I opened an oversized storage bag and one layer of one box.  I brought in the containers I've accumulated over the year and set them up on the far counter in the kitchen, This area has become the center of operations without any planning at all.  It's convenient for filling the various containers, for wrapping the cooled confections, and for storing the giant IKEA bag that transports them to the post office.

Tomorrow I'll print out the Brownie List and the labels and get things going for real.  Tonight, I'm rewarding myself by playing with the packaging and thinking about the people who'll be opening their misshapen Priority Flat Mail envelopes, a feature that more than one recipient has mentioned in the mandatory thank you communication.  I've been hanging out with family and friends all night.

Did I mention that this makes me very happy?

Blog Spam

I'm always glad for another reader.  I'm always happy to see a comment.  I'm always glad that The Burrow flies under the radar, thus avoiding trolls.   

Blog Spam does appear from time to time.  Hawking sex drive enhancements or nutrition supplements, often even written in English, I delete them as soon as I notice them.  I try to keep our Burrow neat and tidy for you.

Yesterday, though, there was something new:

albertDecember 3, 2024 at 11:39 PM

comprare una pistola al mercato nero.
comprare una pistola
pistool kopen
comprar armas
glock 17
glock 19
glock 20
glock 21
glock 22
glock 23
glock 26

ReplyDelete

Not exactly what I wanted to see besmirching my Comments.  

I wondered for a while about the algorithm that linked albert's never posted upon blog to mine.  I'm having a hard time figuring out why Mercato Nero decided to pitch seven different versions of the weapon that killed CTG and perforated me.  I examined the addresses but I didn't click through the links to see the prodotto.  The words were enough.  

The interwebs are a dark and scary place.  I'm not happy that someone saw fit to interject violence into my emerging holiday spirit.  The kitchen is filled with brownies and brightly colored containers.  The Burrow has Permanently Deleted/ cannot be retrieved that missive.  

It's good to be able to remove something offensive, and to write about it with carols dancing around in my head.  If only real life were as powerful as Blogger.

Picture Fix

For the 15 of you who read today's post this morning before 8am Arizona time*, I fixed the picture so that you can see her in all her isolated glory.  

Apparently my phone does not like the way I added the picture when I wrote the post in the airport.

Alas.

*Don't ask me what time it is where you are.  I never can figure out the time zones once the clocks move back and forth at the solstices.

Even Kindergarteners Know This

Six year old Giblet had a 3 day fever this weekend,  replete with coughs.  He rarely had to be reminded to cover his mouth.  His sweatshirt was washed quite often, to kill the germs on his sleeve. 

We are sitting in DFW, waiting for our connecting flight home.  It's a friendly group in our little section of seats, all of us of a certain age, smiling at one another as an occasion warrants.  The little girl chasing her daddy gave us all grins. 

And then there's the slightly younger than we are,  nicely dressed,  page boy adorned woman who has not stopped coughing since she say down. 

No one is sitting near her. 

She has yet to cover her effusions. Those germs are sent floating into the air the rest of us are breathing,  and she doesn't seen to care.  She volunteered that it was allergies, but who cares?

 

Polite is polite. We are all in this together.  Looking out for one another is a basic tenet of a civilized society. 

When I moved my seat, the ladies in our pod began to laugh. When I said (not as lodly as I wanted) that even kinder kids know to cover their mouths,  everyone's head began to nod. 

She's still coughing.  She's still not covering her mouth.  And no one has stayed in any of the seats around her for very long. 

I'm trying to figure out a way to blame the Orange Menace for this.  It's that or throw my suitcase at her disrespectful head.  

I can't wait to get home. 

Pardon Me

I'm sorry.  Spare me the bs about Hunter Biden's pardon. 

There are no rules anymore.  When one side torches the play book, it's foolish for the opponents to laminate it. 

With an authoritarian Cabinet and sketchy people in charge of just about everything else, anticipating a rule based future is absurd. 

The Presidency is basically ungovernable by the other two branches, all thanks to the Supreme Court. You know,  the Court that's the final arbiter of what's okay.

Ivanka's father-in-law got a pardon and an appointment as our Ambassador to France from our Wannabe Dictator, Daddy Dearest. 

Kash Patel has Jack Smith in his sights.  Given that absurdity,  President Biden was absolutely right to put his kid permanently and completely out of harm's way.  Anything else would have been child abuse.  

When there are no rules,  there are no rules.  Fighting fire with flame retardant makes perfect sense to me. 

Pardon Me

I thought that politics would just be a miserable subject this season.  I couldn't imagine anything that could brighten my world. 

Then a newscast broke into the football.  President Biden pardoned his son,  Hunter.

Happy Happy Joy Joy. 

Those bogus charges were retaliation for verifiable charges against the Wannabe Dictator.  They were brought because Hunter is Joe Biden's son. 

I have been advocating for President Biden to send the Orange Menace to Gitmo for his role in the Insurrection.  Or, since the Supreme Court has given the Presidency virtually unchecked powers.  I couldn't see any reason why sending Seal Team Six to finish him off once and for all wasn't on the agenda.

But that's spiteful me.  Gentleman Joe took advantage of his powers to rescue his son from the maw of the Republican hooligans.  

He is a much better person than I am. 

The Day After

Happy Thanksgiving

Spending time with Little Cuter's family has cut into my blogging. 

Brother drove down from Chicago for the day, brightening my world.  

Giblet and I went to the trampoline park where he ran and flipped and jumped for 90 solid minutes,  bringing smiles to everyone around him. 

There was soccer and drawing and hide and seek. 

It's quite different from our Arizona life.  I'm very thankful for that.

I'm taking the rest of the week off ... it doesn't seem like there's much to write and the company is quite distracting. 

I hope that your holiday weekend is all that you want it to be.  I know that mine will exceed expectations. 

I'll be back on Monday.

Leaving on a Jet Plane (or Two)