SHABBY CHIC NAILS

I have a French nail manicure. Kinda. The tips, usually painted white, are just devoid of polish. But I'm calling it Shabby Chic French Nails. Do you think it will catch on?

THINGS I DO WHILE WAITING FOR MY COMPUTER TO GET OVER ITS TANTRUMS

I pluck various hair in various spots on my face. They are black. They have no right to grow there. They must go. “I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows." (Janette Barber)

I sigh.

I paint my nails.

I press Alt-Tab.

Because I pressed Alt-Tab, in a sloppy angry way, I have to repaint my nails.

I drum my fingers on the keys.

I floss my teeth.

I get up and clean the cat box, thinking that by the time I get back the computer will be over its temper tantrum. Usually it is still holding its breath.

Because I cleaned the cat box with wet nails, I repaint.

I watch a rerun of "House."

After House has saved the person from leprosy or some other interesting disease I come back, and if the computer is functioning I have forgotten the story--email--blog and then I sigh and complain.

And then I go to bed. It is 1:00 AM. Or maybe 2:00.

THIS AND THAT--CHRISTMAS--FAMILY--OLD FRIENDS--FINGERNAILS--FATNESS

First of all, I apologize for the length of this post especially with NO pictures. You don't have to read it. Go fix yourself some hot buttered popcorn and watch a good movie.

Christmas is officially over when the last of the kids drove away. I stood in the driveway with ONE of the new cameras, taking pictures of their car until it was out of sight. It's was wise to keep my hands busy so I didn't cry. Until later.

I haven't read the many paged camera booklet yet and so don't know how to download photos. L. Bumhampton took pictures of every step of food preparation and everything else, including someones nose hair, and so there are about 500 photos to download. Goodbye computer memory.

Christmas Day was absolutely perfect. I hope yours was too. The kids laughed until I thought someone was going to need surgery for busted guts. ("Guts" is such a crass word but no other word works. "Intestines" just doesn't carry the same punch.) The food was divine. The house looked good. N. Giggleswitch and Phil decorated the tree on Christmas Eve while L. Bumhampton and I wrapped the never ending supply of gifts. We shopped late this year--what else is new--and so by the time Christmas was here we were exhausted and the house was undone. That's not all. I had the stuffing bread in the oven, drying on a low temp. and then I forgot about it for two days. Christmas Eve I turned the oven on and...burned bread. Black. The house did not smell like cinnamon and spruce! So, Stove Top Stuffing it was and I forgot to make mashed potatoes but the new yam casserole was divine.

I learned something on Christmas Day that is more precious than rubies. My children love me. Long story short: Gilmore Girl organized the kids to buy me a camera. She started this project in October. She was so excited to have me open it because she knew I would be so happy and so suprised. Trouble is, Phil didn't know about her plans so he got me one too. Then she felt their gift wasn't perfect even though it was perfect. Because of her sadness I learned something. She loves me more than I would ever have guessed. I learned what every mother wants to learn, but their kids usually don't even know how much they love their parents until the parents are dead ten years. I am so lucky to know this now. I cannot express this like I feel it. This knowledge is absolutely priceless.

An old high school friend of L. Bumhampton came the other night and visited for almost three hours. He said, "I can't believe I'm almost thirty and still in school and have a ton of school loans." And then he said, "But it doesn't matter, I am in school now and that's all that's important." And he's right. It isn't a competition. We aren't in competition with anyone else. Not even ourselves. We need to stop freaking out about our lack. Instead we should celebrate our wholeness. If we want to change something about ourselves, our behavior, our lives, we can, but I think we should be happy with who we are right now.

We went to a wedding reception tonight at Thanksgiving point and after we got home I looked at my newly painted fingernails--OPI's Dutch Tulips--red--and found nine nails polished, one totally naked. I am so proud.

At the reception there were only sweets, nothing savory; we sampled one of everything. Why? Because we're stupid. The pre-Christmas, Christmas and post-Christmas gluttony has me looking like the Goodyear blimp. Time for some responsible eating.

Next year I will be finished with Christmas preparations before December 20th. Hopefully before December 1st.

All right. Who is laughing in such an insane and disrespectful way?

I almost made my goal of writing 100 letters. I only made it by about half. Every letter I did write I loved writing. I wanted people to know how much they were loved and appreciated by me. I hope I can do the same this year. There are a lot of people who are on my list I want to write to.

I hope everyone is filled with good memories of Christmas and looking forward to a fantastic new year.

Write a letter. Or do something else. Laugh and love and serve happily. You enrich my life with your blogs and your comments. Thank you for taking the time to do both.

May God bless you,
Lynne

MY GLAMOROUS SISTER and UNGLAMOROUS ME part 2

My sister, her Imperial Majesty wanted her hands to look slim and delicate but she bit her fingernails. She did this because she was a princess-of-the-most-high, housed in the body of a person who lived in a hick town and that was hard on her, secretly knowing she should be living in a palace and all. She had issues, I guess, and took her frustrations out on her fingernails.

She decided that if she painted only the middle of her fingernails her hands would look longer and slim. It was kind of like an optical illusion, if you looked really close you could see fingernail bits at the edges but if you looked really quick, like you were on a galloping horse—a favorite saying of Mom’s--, then they looked slender and lovely. At least that was her theory and if there is one thing about The Imperial Majesty it was that she stuck to her decisions once they were made. If you doubt that click here to read how unreasonable and stubborn she was about not letting her sad little sister read in bed.

She could paint the fingernails on her left hand but not the right. She cajoled me into doing that one. If I had been smart—which I was not—I could have gotten something out of her. Unfortunately, as soon as a compliment came forth out of the mouth of The Princess I became hypnotized and did whatever she wanted.

“Don’t paint the edges. I want my fingernails to look skinny.”

“Why do you want skinny fingernails?” She should certainly be happy enough with a skinny waist, I thought.

“You ask too many questions. Just paint the middle and leave an unpainted edge on both sides.” She paused, looking Heavenward, as if waiting for inspiration. “You paint fingernails so well. No one could do it as well as you. Bless your heart.”

“Bless your heart” is an expression that is used to soften the worst compliment in the world. It also softens criticism such as: “Your hair looks like worms, bless your heart.” You didn’t know whether to shave your head or be grateful that she cared enough to invoke blessings from somewhere, maybe even from God.

I unscrewed to top of the fingernail polish and immediately got to work. I painted the fingernails on her right hand but not the edges. I did such a superior job that it became my full time responsibility and from then on I had to do both hands because no one could do it as well as I could. Bless my heart.

I painted the middles of her fingernails three times a week. Once on Friday night so she could have slender fingernails for her many dates and again on Sunday, God appreciated skinny fingernails, obviously. I painted them once sometime during the week when she forgot her promise to herself and bit her fingernails down to nubbins because she worried about millions of things. She worried on a regular basis and if she didn’t have something to worry about she made things up or borrowed the worries of someone else. It was a trial for her, being a princess all bound up in a normal person’s body, living in a hick town, and having such a duffus for a little sister to boot.

I did not have the desire to have long skinny fingernails. I did not care about my fingernails at all. When I was little Mom would trick me into sitting on her lap and then she would produce nail clippers out of her magical over-the-arm-of-the-chair homemade fabric-thingy that had a hundred little specialized pockets that held everything but a glass of water. She would hold me down and clip my fingernails, which grew to Guinness Book of World Record length with nary a break.

My sister, the Princess sighed at my good fortune and bit her nails in frustration. Then she would feel bad because she had broken her promise to herself once again and then she would remove the old fingernail polish and file her stubby little nails smooth. I would then paint the naked fingernails once again—but only in the middle. That always cheered her up, having such a willing servant and restored her good humor and she took her skinny fingernails and skinny waist and went forth to charm and delight the people of the world.

I did not. Have not. Do not. But I sure can paint fingernails well. Bless my heart.