Blogpost February 2019
Dear family, friends and frenemies,
I started this blogpost in December, but I never got around to finishing it. My youngest daughter keeps nagging me to write a blog, so here goes.
The whole family was here for Thanksgiving. Despite their best efforts to ignore me or excuse themselves, I managed to convince (I just noticed that the word “con” is in that word..) my son-in-law Cody and my son Tim to clean out the attic. Their objections? Why doesn’t my husband do this? Where is he ? Actually, he was at Starbucks reading a book, but I just acted like I didn’t know where he was. I have allergies. ( Guess what? So do I. And I’m old, too. )It’s time for us to head home . (Are you telling me that after all I just fed you, can’t take thirty minutes to clean out the attic? Surely, you can’t be serious.) Molly tells me you need me in the attic. (Yes, that’s correct. Get yourself up there.) One needs to be firm and authoritative or infirm and whiny. I can go either way. Just ask them, tell them, or shame them. Do whatever it takes. So, what was up there? Treasures that Antiques Road Show could only dream of? Long-lost family heirlooms? No such luck. It was mostly boxes from bygone VCR’s, Dell computers, TV’s, and even a karaoke machine. Guess I never had to send any of them back to the manufacturer. There was also a crib and a playpen that, evidently, no modern child could safely spend one minute in without profound physical or psychological harm befalling him. So, after they unceremoniously tossed a few dozen boxes into the garage, they made excuses before I could think up any other chores for strapping young men, and they hightailed it out of town. My thoughts? Next year: the basement. Year after that : the garage. Then he boxes of photos. Do you think anyone will come back for the holidays? Eventually, I will get my life in order. I just know it. My aunt organized her photos in her 90s. That seems like a good plan to me.
I did have a bit of a “Tizhap” at our family holiday party. I was in charge of an activity for the grandkids. I thought I had the perfect solution. I had bought toy “eggs” which look like real fossil eggs. They were brown , hard and about twice size of a real egg.. Each came packaged separately with a direction sheet and a little chisel for the kids to chisel the egg and see what was inside. It could be a butterfly, a prehistoric spider, or some other little plastic creature which was then explained in a brochure. Well, I got all the grandkids – over twelve of them who ranged in age from three to twelve - chiseling away in my sister’s basement. Did I mention that she had had her carpets cleaned for the party? The kids were all having fun, but not making much progress. There was a huge dust cloud forming over the table from all their chiseling. I thought, “Wow, I am really getting my money’s worth as this is taking the kids forever and entertaining them.” I must admit a few of them were getting frustrated. Then one child – can’t remember which one – began to bang an egg on the table in an attempt to see what was inside. A few followed suit. Things were getting out of hand. Something possessed me to lean over and pick up a direction sheet off the floor. Hmmm . Seems that the eggs were to be soaked in water for five minutes before being chiseled. When this came to light, I had to run out and get bowls of water. Needless to say, the kids didn’t want to wait five more minutes. What a difference the soaking made. The eggs became more like mud, they chiseled out their toys in a flash, and Aunt Tizzie had once again outdone herself. My sister is still muttering about the mess that was made in her basement.
I got an Amazon Echo for Christmas. Why someone would think that I need even more access to instant information I’ll never know. Nonetheless,, Alexa and I have bonded. However, I do call her Siri once in a while ,and she gets made and ignores me. The hardest thing so far is trying to teach my husband to stop thanking Alexa.
You might be wondering what’s been happening lately. Well, I had to take the Walk of Shame this week and rejoin WW, which used to stand for “Weight Watchers”, but doesn’t any more. Like KFC and Dunkin', it’s been rebranded. They don’t want people to think about fried chicken, donuts, or dieting. Now we attend “workshops," not meetings, and not just to lose weight, but to feel good about ourselves. Yeah, baby. Can you tell Oprah is on the board of directors? Nonetheless, we still can’t eat unlimited numbers of chocolate chip cookies or even the dough. I’m back to counting points. Hopefully, I will soon be able to squeeze back into the cute jeans I bought last fall when I was a star pupil. Luckily, I have clothes in sizes 4-14 in my closet, so usually I can find something. Excuse me while I drink a sugar-free hot cocoa. Ok, I’m back. Wish me luck.
Well, I’ve been sitting here well over an hour, and, like you slackers, I need to get back to doing what we all do best: nothing. It’s time to measure out two cups of popcorn and exactly five ounces of wine and sit back and enjoy some HTT (happy tube time).
Eating but not cheating,
I remain
Tizzie/Tiz/Mom/Tizmom/Liz/Elizabeth/Grandma/Aunt Tizzie
