Aggie & Don't-Call-Me-Grandma

It's Thanksgiving in Canada, and I am reminded of my mother and her quest to mark smoking pot off her bucket list… When my sister was in college, she had some interesting friends – one of which was a pothead from Ontario whose name was Ryan or Reed or something like that.  Anyhow, for one reason or another, she would regale us with tales of his adventures with smoking weed.  I didn’t care and to this day I don’t know why Mama was so interested.  My friend Kathy and I once took my mother to a Hall & Oates concert where the air had a decidedly sweet smell and all Mama did was shout “What is that smell?” over the music.  Kathy finally told her to just shut up, inhale and enjoy it.  Which might just be the reason why she was so interested in the unlawful exploits of my sister’s friend from north of the border…  Anyhow, one fall my mother embarked on a vacation to Michigan to visit my sister who was living off-campus at the time.  All Mama could talk about was meeting the pothead and “smoking a marijuana cigarette,” she’d say.  “I think they call it a joint, Mama,” I’d remind her.  My sister planned an evening get-together and Mama was beside herself with excitement.  “Well, have fun,” I encouraged her reluctantly.  I had horrifying visions of my mother’s mugshot and the headline “Hash-smoking Housewife Handcuffed” on the front page of the Grand Rapids Press.  I made sure I had enough money for bail.  About eleven the night of the big soiree, the phone rang.  It was my sister.  “Well?” I asked.  Apparently the evening went fairly well – or as well as a college party could go with Mama in its midst, constantly asking when they were all going to smoke pot.  I guess the Canadian finally got tired of her badgering and produced his stash.  “Not in my apartment!” my sister decreed and showed the bad influence and the would-be pothead to the laundry room in the basement.  My sister said that when the moment of truth had finally arrived, Mama made a face and said, “I’m not smoking that wet, nasty cigarette after you – that’s disgusting!  I want my own!”  Apparently, the pothead was not as well-connected as he had implied to his friends and he only had the one joint with him.  And so I don’t think Mama ever marked that particular item off her list of things to do before she died, but we always enjoyed retelling the story, laughing and teasing her over trying.


Reprinted from Dawn & Aggie, October 12, 2010

Yesterday was a day.  Ever have one of those?  The phone was ringing continuously, I was trying to deal with clients, the email alarm was dinging, my Aeron chair was wobbling precariously, my iPad was binging - you get the drift.  All I wanted to do was crawl under a blanket and cry.  But I couldn't, so instead, I was grumpy.  My thoughts were ugly, I felt ugly, I made ugly faces and it was an all around ugly day.  I still felt mean and ugly even after my daily client stopped by to bring me some papers and a watermelon lollipop.  When I was finally alone, I tried to figure out what was wrong with my chair and when I couldn't get the pneumatic lift to lift or figure out why it was wobbling, I gave it a good shove and retired to the living room.  I sat in my reading chair and burst into tears.

Amazing how a good cry clarifies things.  I had a good talk with myself, and a good talk with God, and realized that I was in dire need of an attitude adjustment.  I realized that my physical pain was the major source of my feeling so out of sorts - and I let it make my thoughts and actions pretty ugly.  Not the real me at all - especially not the me that my clients know and have come to expect to see every year.  I am blessed beyond measure with a good business; I've worked hard to build it, but it is still a blessing for which I am very grateful.  Every day that I'm upright and sniffing the air is a good one, no matter how my knees feel.  I'm blessed with four cats who love me unconditionally, keep me company and forgive my many faults and the occasional bad mood.  The more I concentrated on the good things, my ugly mood went away.  I picked up the book I started and read for a little while.  I indulged in a perfectly toasted English muffin full of those nooks and crannies that lend themselves so well to melted butter.  Attitude adjusted.

I apologized to my chair and ordered some replacement parts that it probably needs and resigned myself to sitting in a hard chair until it's fixed.  My penance for my ugly mood and taking it out on everyone and everything else - a punishment I richly deserve.

Sometimes it just takes a minute to count our blessings and if we all did it more often, there would be a lot fewer bad days.  At least I know there would be for me!

Okay - that's just a random photo of the view from my desk, but it is at least finished.  My word for 2017 is FINISH.  As an OCD procrastinator (I wonder what the clinical diagnosis for that is - probably 999.99 Nutjob in the DSM-5) I tend to leave things unfinished when I have become disinterested, frustrated or at a point of major decision.  As I pondered what one word would spur me on to accomplish my goals this year, finish came to mind.  I have already finished four books, but I don't think that counts.  I need to finish a couple of big projects I've been working on, finish my work in a more timely manner, and finally - and probably most importantly, finish my relationship with at least one person in my life.  I have learned over the years that putting an end to an alleged friendship or relationship isn't the end of the world, it doesn't mean I've failed as a friend, or that I am a bad person.  Hanging on to dysfunctional people or people who just plain make you feel bad about yourself is more trouble than it's worth.  These irregular people say whatever they want to you, under the guise of God knows what, and you just feel like crap.  And so I am going to finally put at least one deserving person in my FINISHED pile in 2017 and never think about that part of my life again.  What's your word for 2017?