The Joy Journal

I'm exhausted from the persisting focus on the doom and gloom. The AIG bonus scandal dominates the news and apparently we've had to tell those taking stimulus money that it's not meant for building swimming pools and golf courses. Joe Biden is, to quote, "serious about this." I'm glad to hear it.

The exhaustion I feel does not preclude me from feeling concern for the people who are really struggling, but to the rest of us: enough already. Even Sooz, a true "snap out of it" personality, is dwelling in the dumps. With all the bad news and sad feelings, it actually feels inappropriate that I am in a good mood. But I just returned from a very nice long weekend with my parents and when I got back it was all sunshine and warm weather; Atlanta has made the switch to spring. Work is going fine, my husband is still the funniest person I know, it's Tournament of Champions week on Jeopardy.

Are our stocks down? Yes. Am I a smidge worried about my job? Sure. Even so, I'm abstaining from my favorite pastime of intense worry. What's the point? When my dad -- a loving but particularly gruff personality -- starts complaining (about anything) the family chants, "Time to get out your joy journal!" It's a therapist's method (or maybe it was from Oprah) for taking stock of the good things in life. I know, it's so good-natured I can hardly stand to write about it. But since it's the only tool I have right now, I'm giving it a try.

Today's joys (gag!) will include Obama choosing UNC as the NCAA champion, light traffic on the commute and, happening currently, watching a Jeopardy with my husband that I already watched with my parents and thus appearing as if I am really, really smart.

Yesterday the list included: America's Funniest Home Videos, the recent New Kids on the Block song and watching the cardinals on the bird feeder. It's the list of a loser. A happy one.

PS: My husband just announced he's making popcorn. Double joy.

PPS:
Hubs: Do you want some of this popcorn?
Smash: Not really, just a handful.
- Enter Popcorn -
Smash, tasting a piece: Did you put sugar on this?
Hubs: Yes, just a little.
Smash: But I hate sugar on popcorn.
Hubs: You said you didn't really want any.
Smash: Yeah, but just because I'm not having any doesn't mean you shouldn't make it how I like it.
Hubs, en route to basement: This is what I'm living with.

See? Joyful!

When It Rains It Pours

It should have been a fun weekend. After 8 inches of snow the previous Monday, the temperature hit 70 degrees on Saturday. My dad, who had been in the hospital earlier in the week, had rallied and seemed to be doing better. D had made it to New York City, albeit on a bus which traveled the last half of the trip with a flat tire. Friends were invited over for Sunday afternoon to watch the UNC-Duke basketball game and have dinner afterwards. It was going to be a fun, inexpensive weekend. Or so I thought.

On Saturday, while I shopped for the makings of my lasagna dinner, Joe decided to take our old Jeep, the one D uses, in to our local mechanic for an oil change, tire rotation and brake check. Fine, good idea. A few hours later the mechanic called to say that both the front and rear brakes, pads and rotors, need to be replaced. $700.

On Sunday, our friends arrived. We settled in to watch the game. At half-time, I stuck the lasagna in the (relatively new) oven. 45 minutes later I went upstairs to check to make sure that everything was okay. Inside the oven looked like a bang-up July 4th display. Sparks were flying everywhere, and the lower heating element was flaming. After a few screams, I cut off the oven, rescued the now well-done lasagna, and decided to deal with this problem later. However, I was overheated from the excitement, so went to the thermostat to turn on the furnace fan to blow a little air through the house. I pressed "Mode", the thermostat flashed, and then went blank. Another problem to deal with later.

Monday morning. When the cats came into the kitchen to be fed, I saw that one of the kitties had a red and swollen eye. I called the vet, scheduled an appointment, and took her in. An hour later I left the vet's office with my cat who has pink eye, three prescriptions, and $207 less in my checking account.

As I drove home, I noticed the car making a strange noise. I am ignoring that for now.

Back at home, I called for oven repair, but no one can come out until next Monday, so I'm left thinking about what we'll be eating for a week that does not require oven cooking. At the very least, I know the lower heating element will need to be replaced and I'm betting that will not come cheap. ARGGGG.

The HVAC company was able to send someone out this afternoon. He was just here. His diagnosis: a wire has shorted out that connects the thermostat to the furnace. We can either cut dry wall throughout the house to find and replace that wire or (he recommends) we can purchase and install a wireless thermometer for just $568. He will be back tomorrow for the installation.

I know that none of this is a big deal. Things break and need to be replaced. But that damn thermostat could be money left in the bank or, better still, the new spring Michael Kors purse that I covet. So, I'm feeling grumpy. And sorry for myself. And out of sorts. Welcome to my pity party.

This Damn Economy

Given the financial climate, I guess we’re all hoping for a big win these days. Sooz spent the weekend wishing for an Oscars trip while I’ve faithfully logged on to enter the HGTV Dream Home Sweepstakes each day for the past month. I use it to cure insomnia, calming my mind before bed by picturing the dream home, thinking about how each spring we’ll head out to Sonoma to enjoy it, tour the wine country, and throw amazing dinner parties on the back patio where guests will perch on designer pillows made of bamboo fabric.

Then last week I panicked. What if I really win? I can’t afford those taxes! And how much would it cost to heat and cool the monstrosity? We could never sell it in this market!

The only prize I’m winning is for most paranoid person. It’s the uncertainty of it all that gets to me. Experts throw out “roller-coaster” and “unpredictable” and “I’ve never seen this before in my life.” So how I am supposed to know what to do? Even my husband, the absolute calm in all my storms, feels queasy.

Last weekend I handed over $8 and saw Confessions of a Shopaholic. (I felt ashamed that I had the $8 to spend but justified it since it was the matinee.) The message of the movie is that you don’t need things to be happy. And that’s true, but man did that actress have some nice things! I left the theater and went straight to the mall. More shame. More guilt. After all, people are losing their jobs, their homes, their retirement packages. I’m at Dillards gleefully sorting through the dresses.

According to my friends, I shouldn’t feel guilty about shopping since I am stimulating the economy. This may be true, but I hunkered down this weekend and didn’t spend a dime. Today, however, I’m back. After a multi-year struggle, a dear friend of mine just had her first baby and I plan on sending the first gift that strikes my fancy, whatever the cost. Her shiniest day has come despite these very gray times and I’m going to celebrate. In this damn economy, joy remains recession-proof.

And The Winner Is...

Yesterday afternoon my best friend Annie phoned and said "Quick! Go to Oprah.com and enter the sweepstakes to win a trip to LA and two tickets to both Oprah's After-Oscar party and to the taping of Monday's show." I rushed to the computer and entered the contest just as Annie had directed. Annie and I then chatted on the phone, deciding what we would wear to each event, and what we would say to our soon-to-be new best friends, Oprah and Gayle. We realized that we needed to do some shopping and made plans to do that as soon as we were notified of our winning status. Annie decided to visit her safe deposit box and get us a few pieces of nice jewelry (and Annie has plenty!) for the events. I fretted a little about having to cancel the birthday dinner for my daughter tomorrow night as well as my trip to North Carolina to see my dad on Monday, but decided they would both understand. Annie declared that she would just quit her job if there was any problem about her not showing up on Monday and Tuesday. We were ready. We both had really, really strong feelings that we were going to be the lucky winners. All that was left to do was wait for that exciting call this morning. Would it be Oprah herself? Or perhaps one of her producers? What tone should we take -- shrieks or calm thanks?

I actually made pre-trip to-do lists in my head before I went to sleep last night. And this morning I anticipated the ringing of the phone. Knowing that the day of shopping and packing ahead would be busy, I was up early and into the shower --- with the phone right outside the shower door. The phone rang -- Daughter D. It rang again -- Verizon wanting to sell me FIOS service. Another call -- Daughter J. I checked the Oprah website thinking there might be some sort of announcement. Nothing. But while on the website, I read the information about attending the taping of a show and noted that neither Annie nor I should wear white or beige as those colors interfere with the show's lighting. At noon, Annie called. When I saw her name on Caller ID, I thought this might be it! But, no. Annie said that she had actually received a wrong number call earlier and looking at the unfamiliar name on her Caller ID, she had felt faint. Annie also confessed to listening to her own dial tone several times to be sure her phone was in service. We had been so sure that we were going to win.

As Annie and I talked, her husband, in the background, laughed and said we were "misguided." But I don't think that's right. We were exceedingly hopeful, and I don't think that can ever be a bad thing. Plus, we had such fun anticipating and planning the trip, and isn't that an important part of any getaway? Anyway, realizing that the winner had no doubt already been notified and sadly it was not one of us, Annie and I jumped right into discussing how Oprah had really missed out on a good thing. We talked and laughed until I was almost crying, and I was reminded once again of how great it is to have a really good friend. We may not be attending Oprah's party, but we had a great time.

Let Me Eat Cake

If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that birthday cake always tastes better when eaten with a plastic fork.

I'm struggling with this post. I've written and deleted several times now. It's my birthday, and naturally I'm filled with thoughts of getting older. Being old. Yikes. But my day has so far been filled with sweet cards, calls and messages from the people I love, so who can go wrong with that? Age really sneaked up on me. Whew! Time has flown by. Yet how lucky I am, because I have everything I've ever wished for.

So let me say on this, my day, how delighted I am with my life. No one ever had a better husband. At age 19, I looked across the college library and met eyes with a boy I had never seen before. Time literally stood still, and I can still feel the moment. I knew he was "the one" and thankfully, he came and talked to me and that was that. And then, our girls. The joy, the fun, the frustration.....I would not trade a day. The girls are so different in looks and temperaments, yet each so perfect. Smash does not like the word "proud" but that is what I am.... I am proud of these so very lovely young women whom I so much adore. And I am so thankful for the close relationship I have with each of them. I didn't have that with my own mother, but having my daughters has made that not matter.

And, of course, the icing on this birthday cake is my granddaughter. Even though she loves her mommy the very best, and will barely give me the time of day when that mommy is around, just looking into her big brown eyes is a pleasure unparalleled.

I'm old(er) today. And I'm wrinkling, sagging, and filled with aches and pains. But man, am I happy. I'm holding the plastic fork.

Another Day, Another A

Thankfully, the phrase is the only thing left over from my first college boyfriend, a boy I once thought I would marry, and am decidedly glad I did not. These days I’m pulling mostly Bs and Cs which seems okay given that most people (Sooz included) are barely passing with Ds and Fs. Childishly, I actually felt left out of her last post. After all, everyone else’s bad news was included! But I don’t really have bad news and a B average means life is humming along as it should. But man, these days are dragging on…

Maybe it’s the weather, but nothing is holding my interest lately. Even finding something to post was a struggle. I work. I work out. I eat out. I sleep. Again. Again. Again. Even my body has the doldrums – the heartbreak of psoriasis is more painful than ever, my hip flares up with every temperature drop and my nose alternates between too dry and too runny. I am grouchy and judgmental. Chuck on NBC in 3D? Stupid. $1 photo valentines at the mall? Ridiculous. I sneer. I slump. I sigh.

The most telling symptom of my malaise is my bank account. Usually filled with debits from dinners out, new clothes and pedicures, my last three major purchases are as follows:
· Three 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles ordered online
· Overdue library fines (Who has the energy to return books?)
· An $85 bird feeder

The hubs almost fainted at the cost of the bird feeder, but I insisted. There is a fat red cardinal that I want to woo to our deck in hopes he brightens these winter days. I’m 30, living the life of a 90 year old.

My friends at work have expressed concern. Is it Seasonal Affective Disorder they wonder? Oh, if only it were something so topical and interesting. She’s too young for a midlife crisis, they verify. And work is going fine, so what could it be? One particularly kind friend emailed this weekend, urging me to discuss my mood with my husband. I take her advice and as I fold laundry while he packs for a trip I proclaim, “I’m in a major funk!”

“I know,” he says, without looking up, “That’s why we got you that bird feeder.”
Good enough. Another day…another A.

PS: Scoots, we know you’re reading. What we don’t know is: are you enjoying?

2009: Re-boot Needed

Usually I don't think much about the start of a new year. I've never been one for wild celebrations or resounding resolutions. I've always seen January 1 as the day which follows December 31, my only nod to the New Year being eating a meal which includes black-eyed peas. That is until 2008. 2008 was the type of year that caused me to long for a new calendar, a fresh start, a beginning of something better. Because 2008 was not a good year and I was eager to have it gone. My mother died in 2008, leaving my 95 year old dad and her husband of 73 years, alone and a five hour drive from me. The economy spiraled downward, taking a direct hit not only on our savings, but also on Joe's line of work. After a somewhat smug decision made in January 2008 (following a healthy 2007) to sharply raise our medical insurance deductible, I learned in 2008 that an MRI is really pricey, specialists charge an arm and a leg, and that physical therapy requires a lot of expensive sessions to effect even the slightest improvement. One of my daughters faced a huge disappointment in the fall, and the resulting sadness lingered. The roof leaked. The oven broke. Our stock portfolio only got worse. D came home from college for Christmas break and within hours was violently ill. On December 26, my son-in-law's car was hit by a red light runner. He was fine but the car was totaled. How many more days until 2008 is over?

So, imagine how I felt on the morning of December 30, when I awoke with a sore throat. Undeterred, I got up, dosed myself with zinc, vitamin C, and Advil and assured myself it was nothing. I would get better. I would in two days time feel great and welcome the new year with open arms, assuring myself a change of fortune and happier days ahead. I felt lousy on the morning of the 31st as well, but surely I would make the turn-around and be fine for the planned evening activities of a nice dinner and a movie. Okay, Chicken Out eaten while lying on the sofa was not what I had in mind, and I was in a feverish fog at midnight, but still I planned on waking up on January 1, 2009 feeling great and ready for a happy new year. Fast forward to January 10, ten days of misery and a Z-Pack later, and hello 2009. It's time to get this party started. But wait.... there's the sound of sneezing and snuffling. Joe is sick. And 2009 remains on hold.