Hello, all-- I don't know if you'd call this a memoir, or even if it's very funny, but I thought I'd try mixing the two. What I got was this greeting card for you. Hope it makes you smile.
Happy Holidays, Season’s Greetings
Last New Year’s, I made the same resolution I make every year: to finish the quilts I inherited from my mother in 1976.
In February, I invented the most delicious chocolate cupcakes ever.
March is the balmiest, most tourist-friendly month around here. We had snow.
It rained in April. I stepped out of the car, and the wind blew my umbrella inside out.
I retired in May, again. This time, I think it’s for good. I started writing to kill the time.
In June, I discovered that I don’t enjoy gardening any more.
July came, and I didn’t watch the fireworks on the lake. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.
In August, I made a new house rule: no one under the age of eighteen is allowed to come over.
In September, I had a moment of nostalgia over the days when I taught school, but I took a nap and it went away.
October came and went, and I never got around to making the chicken costume I designed, complete with orange leggings and foam rubber feet. I didn’t feel like wearing my Killer Klown costume from last year, so I decided to wear my Minnie Mouse’s grandmother costume from the year before. Wouldn’t you know it—I caught a cold. Another resolution for 1915: make the chicken costume.
In November, it was back to Oklahoma for a visit. I bought another teapot.
And here we are in December. I turned twenty-one. Exactly fifty years ago. I celebrated all week long. On my true birthday, I went out to dinner and drank two (yes, that’s right—two) glasses of wine. I slept until noon the next day, and I only got up twice during the night.
Two days later, the Quail Country Quilters had their holiday luncheon. Of course, they didn’t know I’d had a birthday, so I had to tell them, but they were pretty nice about it. The food was quite good, too. I got a microwaveable plastic mug in the gift exchange. At the quilters’ guild! A package of needles would have been better.
Every year, it amazes me how few people really know how to give a gift. When we hear “It’s the thought that counts,” that means you’re supposed to put some thought into it.
And on Sunday, I hosted the Breakfast Club in a wine-tasting party. It was delicious. One of the guests remarked he wished he could fall asleep anywhere, just like me. In the spirit of the season, I refrained from hitting him. Now I know what my father meant when he used to say he was “just resting.”
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. JP