I cannot be the only one. (Wait... is there seriously a font called "Trebuchet"? Can you only use it to hurl insults? Never mind.) Anyway.
I cannot be the only one who walks into Papyrus and within minutes stands convinced there is no more perfect piece of wrapping paper than the hand-printed, marbled blue sheet draped over the little bar behind the counter and thinks "Oh yes, it will be mine!"
I cannot be the only one who willingly plunks down $7.95 (a veritable bargain for an artisan, hand-crafted sheet of paper this lovely!), rolls it carefully inward and places a thin rubber band (not too tight!) around it and carries it home like a Ming dynasty porcelain teacup... and like said teacup, takes it out occasionally to look at it, but never actually use it.
Once I saw a shirt in a Public Radio catalog that said "Glitter is My Favorite Color". Indeed. You slather some of the sparkly stuff on a piece of handmade paper, and I'll gladly fork over megabucks for the chance to disperse that glitter all over my face, clothing, purse, rug, and eventually D's clothes and face by sheer proximity - not unlike Lush Bath Bombs (but that's another story).
It's impossible to wrap actual presents with it, of course - I've tried Elmer's Glue, Superglue, Gorilla Glue, double-sided tape, invisible tape, not-invisible tape - you name it... even Hollywood Fashion Tape, which is designed to prevent wardrobe malfunctions and/or toupee slippage - a bizarre and slightly disturbing combination when you think about it.
Eventually, I settled on double-sided tape and the "mad dash" method. That is to say, you wrap the gift without taping anything, take the tape to the location where you're giving the gift, secret yourself away to the kitchen (or restroom in a public establishment) where you proceed to tape that sucker out the wazoo, leaning in on it like an overstuffed suitcase, and then RUN to the lucky recipient and hand over the gift so they see it in all it's perfect, shining, glitter-shedding glory before it pops like a Christmas cracker and disrobes itself faster than Jenna Jameson.
It doesn't matter. I love it. All of it. The glittered ones, and the printed ones. The marbled ones and the retro ones. It's a little piece of art - art you can touch without the ubiquitous navy-blue uniformed museum guard scolding you!
I can't be the only one who takes photos of their wrapping paper - the really good ones that you know you (eventually) have to use or they will turn to dust, so you try to capture that je ne sais quoi that convinced you to fork over the beaucoup bucks in the first place.
By the way, turns out that some glitter is made from mylar - and mylar, turns out, sets off airport bomb detection equipment. And no, I'm not explaining how I know that. Just trust me - save the glitter paper for 'domestic' gifts...
Thursday, January 10, 2013
A Fresh Start, or, How to Appreciate Your Partner
Like many of you, I was stricken with a hideous cold this week. Flat out on the couch for three days. Unmentionable gross stuff clogging my head.
On day two, D evidently went out to the store at some point because I woke to the sound of chopping noises and the smell of homemade chicken noodle soup boiling on the stove. He saw my misery, and being a man he wanted to do something to help. Something to 'fix' it. To make me feel better. He'd bought giant bottles of orange and red and green foul-tasting liquids and boxes of technicolor capsules, all of which foundered when faced with "Coldmageddon". I still felt awful. And so, the chicken soup cometh.
In a post I read today, a young woman complained that her husband was not pulling his weight at home. Reading her complaints, it felt mostly like poor communication - she'd have been better served simply talking to her husband than writing an advice columnist. (That this is anyone's first thought is a whole other issue....)
ANYWAY, I know how it goes... you come home and there are food wrappers and bottles.... The place is a mess. Shoes in front of the door; laundry piled on the floor. Why couldn't he just take a second to pick it up? What if someone drops by!? Your mind "goes there". Why does he expect you to pick up after him? You're not his maid or his mother! A full-blown fit is coming on.
It is soooo easy to 'go there', isn't it?
But isn't that a pile of mail you left on the table? Your dishes on the counter? A few pairs of shoes pushed under the coffee table? A roll of wrapping paper on the dining room table waiting for you to wrap one last gift? I'm sorry you had a crap day at work, you're hungry, your feet hurt, and you have a 7am conference call - and are most decidedly NOT a morning person. Please don't take it out on me!
Last weekend, I chose to take a walk through the woods with D instead of cleaning the house because let's face it, I will never say to myself ten years from now "Boy, I'm so glad I stayed home and vacuumed the house that day in January 2013". But I will remember walking in the woods, and laughing as we played "kickball" with a nut that fell from a tree on our path. D is unwavering in his support of my ambitions at work. He brings me my vitamin every morning to make sure I stay healthy - and when I am not, like today, he goes to great lengths to ease my suffering.
A messy living room is annoying, but it is not a character flaw. And it is most certainly not an indicator of his love or committment to you.
When something truly matters to me, he listens. He does not put the handmade pottery mugs in the dishwasher. He puts the bottle of red wine on a plate so it doesn't stain the tablecloth. He turns the TV off when we talk.
Here's the bottom line: would you be happier if you woke up tomorrow and he - or she - were not in your life? I know I would be devastated. I am grateful for all he does for me. Even if it's not everything I want, it's everything I need. It is the feeling of being loved, and loving, unconditionally.
Pick your battles, ladies.... as the saying goes, don't sweat the small stuff. Bon ani, einen guten Rutsch, and Happy New Year!
RECOMMENDED VIEWING:
"A Tale of Two Brains" (YouTube), by Mark Gungor
RECOMMENDED READING:
Why Men Don't Listen, and Women Can't Read Maps, by Allan and Barbara Pease
On day two, D evidently went out to the store at some point because I woke to the sound of chopping noises and the smell of homemade chicken noodle soup boiling on the stove. He saw my misery, and being a man he wanted to do something to help. Something to 'fix' it. To make me feel better. He'd bought giant bottles of orange and red and green foul-tasting liquids and boxes of technicolor capsules, all of which foundered when faced with "Coldmageddon". I still felt awful. And so, the chicken soup cometh.
In a post I read today, a young woman complained that her husband was not pulling his weight at home. Reading her complaints, it felt mostly like poor communication - she'd have been better served simply talking to her husband than writing an advice columnist. (That this is anyone's first thought is a whole other issue....)
ANYWAY, I know how it goes... you come home and there are food wrappers and bottles.... The place is a mess. Shoes in front of the door; laundry piled on the floor. Why couldn't he just take a second to pick it up? What if someone drops by!? Your mind "goes there". Why does he expect you to pick up after him? You're not his maid or his mother! A full-blown fit is coming on.
It is soooo easy to 'go there', isn't it?
But isn't that a pile of mail you left on the table? Your dishes on the counter? A few pairs of shoes pushed under the coffee table? A roll of wrapping paper on the dining room table waiting for you to wrap one last gift? I'm sorry you had a crap day at work, you're hungry, your feet hurt, and you have a 7am conference call - and are most decidedly NOT a morning person. Please don't take it out on me!
Last weekend, I chose to take a walk through the woods with D instead of cleaning the house because let's face it, I will never say to myself ten years from now "Boy, I'm so glad I stayed home and vacuumed the house that day in January 2013". But I will remember walking in the woods, and laughing as we played "kickball" with a nut that fell from a tree on our path. D is unwavering in his support of my ambitions at work. He brings me my vitamin every morning to make sure I stay healthy - and when I am not, like today, he goes to great lengths to ease my suffering.
A messy living room is annoying, but it is not a character flaw. And it is most certainly not an indicator of his love or committment to you.
When something truly matters to me, he listens. He does not put the handmade pottery mugs in the dishwasher. He puts the bottle of red wine on a plate so it doesn't stain the tablecloth. He turns the TV off when we talk.
Here's the bottom line: would you be happier if you woke up tomorrow and he - or she - were not in your life? I know I would be devastated. I am grateful for all he does for me. Even if it's not everything I want, it's everything I need. It is the feeling of being loved, and loving, unconditionally.
Pick your battles, ladies.... as the saying goes, don't sweat the small stuff. Bon ani, einen guten Rutsch, and Happy New Year!
RECOMMENDED VIEWING:
"A Tale of Two Brains" (YouTube), by Mark Gungor
RECOMMENDED READING:
Why Men Don't Listen, and Women Can't Read Maps, by Allan and Barbara Pease
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