Predictable me

If you have kids in your circle of influence, you're likely well acquainted with Gru, Vector and minions of myriad mannerisms.

Yes, I'm talking about the characters from Despicable Me.

While I had no familiarity with the Gru crew until Despicable Me 2 came out and I had the pleasure of viewing it at the theater with Bubby and Mac, I'm far more familiar with a similar sort I like to call... Predictable Me.

That would be, ahem, me. Try as I might to be mysterious and unpredictable in hopes of living a life large and thus worth writing (and reading) about, I'm pretty boring. And predictable.

A few examples:

Predictable Me's Proof of Predictability

• When visiting my grandsons, we always read bedtime stories together.

• I sit in the same general area — preferably the exact same seats — each time I go to church or the movie theater. (I blame it on Jim, but that's only half true.)

• Frittatas are my go-to meal when I don't know what to make for dinner.

• Talk of having a million dollars always includes mention of a monkey. And a dress any color but green.

• My feelings are hurt each time I ask Megan about experiences Bubby and Mac recently had with their other grandma and great-grandma — the fun, active grandmas who get to do more than just babysit.

• No matter how much or how little my mealtime glass has been filled, I will not finish the entire glass. And I don't drink until I'm done with the meal — which is perhaps why I don't finish it.

• My gift wish list always includes candles, books, cool socks and coffee.

• When in a conflict or argument with a family member, once things simmer down and I've walked away, hung up or stopped texting, I will inevitably return moments later with, "There's one last thing I just have to say about this and then I'm not saying anything else!"

• If I get up early so I have plenty of time to prepare before leaving for an event or trip, I always end up running behind... because I fritter away all the extra time I built in as I assume I have so much extra time.

• I tear up every time I hear Adele sing Someone Like You. Or Sinead O' Connor sing Three Babies.

• And I weep a tad every time I watch The Voice. Not because my favorite "voices" lose battles but because there's always at least one voice in each episode so passionate it brings me to tears.

• I strain my head to look out the vehicle's passenger side window when I'm not the driver. Not because there's anything interesting out there but because everyone else's driving scares the <cuss> out of me.

• When dining on restaurant food with friends or family — whether at the restaurant or carry out — I ask those with me, "How is your ______." Maybe I'm a pig who wants a bite of theirs. Or maybe I'm a Mom who wants to ensure everyone is satisfied.

• I take it personally when no one responds to me during Twitter chats and parties even though I tell myself not to and promise myself I won't.

• When I'm at a loss for something wise and witty to write about, I compose a list.

• I always end conversations, phone calls, emails, letters and texts with the folks I care most about with some version of I love you. Plus an emoticon/graphic/emoji goodie, when possible.

That's it. End of list. Thanks for reading.

Love ya! ♥

Oh, and Happy Halloween!

Today's question:

In what ways are you predictable?

7 things to shake a stick at

I've found that folks in generations above and beyond mine often use turns of phrase that make me ponder. Or chuckle. Or Google. Or all of the above.

The latter was the case the other night as Jim and I watched the news. A reporter questioned a not-all-that-elderly-but-certainly-older-and-more-folksy-than-me eyewitness to an event, and the guy mentioned there being "more than you could shake a stick at" of something or another.

Now, it's not as if I've never heard that phrase. I've heard it millions of times, as we all have — most often uttered by older folk. But as images of cavemen shaking their sticks at fire or herds of antelope or whatever else they drew on their cave walls swirled about my noggin', I wondered where the phrase came from. So I Googled it.

Turns out the "more than you could shake a stick at" etymology isn't easy to pin down. Nor is exactly what it once meant, only what it now means, which is in official terms, one heck of a lot.

With that phrase stuck in my mind, I began considering a list of the things in my life that are so high in number I could play caveman and shake a stick at them. Some perfectly fit the label as "more than I could shake a stick at" usually refers to a number so high it can't be counted. Others on my list, though, are high in countable number yet still make me want to shake a stick at them because, well, they're so high in number.

7 THINGS OF WHICH I HAVE MORE THAN I COULD SHAKE A STICK AT*

Pine needles. With more pine trees on my property than, well, I could shake a stick at, I have quadruple that number in pine needles that need to be raked up and gotten rid of. Jim and I will be busy this weekend (and will likely shake sticks at one another in our sure state of displeasure).

Boxes. I receive at least one package a day. I save the boxes because you just never know when you might need to ship something or box up something. So the closet in my study contains boxes stacked ceiling high. And not all neat and tidy. No, I simply squish in another box as it arrives at my door and is unpacked. So each time I open that closet to add another box to the batch, I could use a stick — not for shaking but for staking the stack to keep it all from falling upon my head.

Books. I have a lot of books. I love books. I don't read enough books. I don't get rid of enough books. Some of the stacks of books around my house — because there's no more room on my bazillion book shelves — rival my stacks of boxes. Perhaps I need a book closet to go with my box closet. (Or maybe I need to fill my boxes with books thus condensing my stick shaking.)

Music. Jim and I were avid music fans long before we knew one another. We both brought into the marriage lots of music... on records. Since our union 30+ years ago, we added to the records lots of cassettes (some, like the records, we still have) and CDs, plus music on iPods, iPhones and iTunes on computers. Music is all over the place — upstairs, downstairs, outside in the stereo on the patio bar, out in the garage in the stereos in our cars. I shake a stick — more like a fist — each time I want to listen to a particular album. Then I usually give up and turn on the radio.

Stairs. The upstairs/downstairs locations of our music really are a challenge for we really do have a lot of stairs. In fact, I once wrote a post about all our stairs right here.

Traffic. We live near a busy boulevard. One of the busiest in our city. It's loud. It sucks. It makes us shake our fists, our sticks, and wish we could shake the city planners who need to put up a sound barrier. If we didn't love our house so very much, we'd move where there's less traffic.

Miles. We could always move near our grandsons for a little peace and quiet, at least from the traffic sounds. But, as I've mentioned before, that's not gonna happen. So I shake my stick at the miles between my grandsons and me. At last count those miles numbered 812. That's more than enough to shake a stick at. I do inside, often.

There are plenty of other things that I have more than I could shake a stick at. But as time is not something I have more than I could shake a stick at — and patience with my inane list-making is not likely something you have more than you could shake a stick at — I'll put a stick in it and end here.

Thanks for sticking with me til the end. I ♥ you more than I could shake a stick at!

*Now, the title of this post really should be that, but it was far too many words for the space.

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

I have more ___________ than I could shake a stick at.

14 things I love about October... plus one thing I hate

My shortlisted October loves... in no particular order:

1. The sun has shifted south. Whereas summer months had the sun blazing into my window first thing in the morning demanding I rise and shine, now the mellowed sunrise fills my room with a pink glow that soon changes to golden. The gentle light begins my day with a caramelly richness unlike any other time of the year.

2. The windows can be opened during the day without consequence. Fresh autumn air fills each floor, each room, each nook and cranny.

3. Pumpkins. Glorious pumpkins.

4. Blankets. Extra covers have been added to the beds, making them all the more perfect for snuggling under with a good book before lights out.

5. Football in full force. Though I know diddly — and only diddly — about the game, I enjoy the gatherings of family, food and fun that focus on the sport. And I love hearing my oldest spout stats and such about the sport, outsmarting every football fan in the room.

6. Honeycrisp apples and homemade caramel dip never tasted better.

7. The autumn palette. The colors of fall comfort me so, they're the scheme I painted my family room for year round pleasure.

8. My grandsons have a starring role. I see my grandsons every October, the only month in which a visit has become a sure thing.

9. Lady In White. October is the perfect time — the only time — to watch this fall favorite of mine.

10. The primary regional guessing game regarding first snow. No matter the age or how jaded, residents up and down Colorado's Front Range predict and prognosticate on when the first measurable amount will arrive. Easy rapport and conversation anywhere you go.

11. The secondary regional guessing game, this one on Halloween coverups. Parents up and down the Front Range must predict and prognosticate... and figure out how to incorporate a jacket (and hat and mittens and boots, too) into kids' holiday costumes. Love this only because I no longer need to worry about this.

12. Dancing leaves. On the trees, in the street, on the rooftops.

13. Candle-lighting season. The scented candles come out, filling the house with Home Sweet Home, Pumpkin Spice, Cinnamon Stick.

14. The potential to experience three seasons in one month. Depending on the day and Mother Nature's mood, October in Colorado can feel like the hottest of summers, the coldest of winters and the finest of fall — all in a span of 10 days or so.

Plus the one — the only — thing I hate about October:

The month lasts only 31 days, which I find so very unfair.

 

Today's question:

What do you love about October? What do you hate?

12 things I'm not that I hope my grandchildren will be

1. Fearless

2. Musical

3. Able to swim. Or run a mile.

4. More educated — especially regarding history and geography

5. Unflappable

6. Tireless

7. Well-traveled

8. Multilingual

9. Civic-minded. Or (more) politically aware.

10. Able to parallel park. Or change a tire. Or drive a manual transmission.

11. Green-thumbed

And most of all when mulling over what one may not be:

12. Self-compassionate

Today's question:

What are you not that you hope your grandchildren (and children) will be?

5 things I do different in an empty nest

My nest was full for a good 20-plus years. Then one by one, my three girlie birds flew away.

It took a while to get used to the empty spaces and absent faces, but I'd say I'm now past the mourning phase and well into appreciating that my husband and I have the place all to ourselves.

Things are different in an empty nest. It's not only the fewer family members kicking about the place, but the activities that happen at home now that make for a wee bit different way of life. To wit, the following.

5 THINGS I DO DIFFERENT IN AN EMPTY NEST

I grocery shop only when absolutely necessary. When my nest was full, I had a regular shopping day. Every single week for a bazillion years, I'd make a list, gather my coupons, then head out the door for the chore I hate most: stocking the fridge, the pantry, the bathrooms and more. I'd walk the grocery store aisles and fill my cart on shopping day whether the cupboards were empty and we really needed food or not. Now that the nest is empty, I shop when the fridge features little more than a few shriveled grapes, a jar of pickle relish, and two bottles of salad dressing that likely should have been thrown away months ago.

We eat dinner in front of the television... a lot. When my oldest daughter was about five years old, we moved our big television (ya know, the one in a massive wood console cabinet and weighing 10 tons and having a UHF and VHF channel changer thingee yet no remote) out of the living room on the main floor where it was visible from the dining room, and into the family room in the basement. Watching television during family dinners did not fit my idea of what family dinners should be. So the TV went down the stairs and conversation between family members became the goal. Every once in a while, we'd have a night featuring pizza and movies, a night when it was okay to sit in front of the TV in the family room while eating. Now that the nest is empty, Jim and I have many nights when it's okay to sit in front of the TV while eating. (The TV is still downstairs, though, as I still consider having it visible from the dining room verboten. Interestingly enough, our dining room features far less actual dining than it did in the past.)

I run around the house naked. Okay, I don't really run around the entire house naked, but I do a nude dash from the bathroom to the bedroom to get my clothes after I shower. When my girls were at home, I brought my clothes into the bathroom (not the master bath, which is Jim's... and we don't share a bath... which is one reason we've managed more than 30 years of marriage... but that's another story for another day) before showering, so I could get dried and dressed before even opening the door. I could still do that but I don't. Partially because racing from my bathroom to the bedroom — which involves climbing a flight of stairs — is sometimes the only exercise I get for the day. Plus, as I get a package delivered nearly every single day, I enjoy the challenge of hauling <cuss> before a delivery man appears at the door. (Thankfully for said delivery men, I have never, ever not won the challenge.)

I make my husband breakfast on weekdays. When our children were at home, said children were my primary focus morning, noon and night. Poor Jim never got breakfast on school days unless he was willing to have a bowl of cold cereal — which he hates and I've never seen him eat in all the decades of our marriage — or a bowl of hot cereal, which he hates, too. Those were the main menu options on school days, along with Johnny Cake now and then (carbs were our friend back in the day). Now that the nest is empty — and I'm a work-from-home freelancer — I feel pretty guilty lounging around in my jammies as Jim heads out the door to toil away on bringing in our only stable income. The guilt is compounded if he has nothing in his tummy. So I make him coffee to take with him. And I make him breakfast to take with him, too. Mostly something featuring carbs because though they're no longer our friend, Jim loves carbs. At least he no longer goes hungry on weekday mornings.

And, of course, we eat funnel cake for breakfast, if we want. I admitted this yesterday. Carbs. Grease. No justifications. Enough said.

Today's question:

What do you do different in your empty nest (or hope to do once it empties)?