Christmas contest

We're having an office decorating contest at work! With prizes! So in my usual quirky way, I'm being as competitive as possible.

Here is my boss's approach - in his words, "Throw money at the problem."

Yes, he has laser lights, an inflatable Snoopy and even a cozy fireplace scene on his 40 inch monitor. Kind of hard to compete with that, unless you start having fun with Keurig cups. After all, who can resist ...

Christmas carolers in front of a cozy house,

Ice skaters out in the cold ... oops, one fell down!

The Pope getting ready for Christmas mass (sorry, a bit irreverent I know). And of course the decorations would not be complete without ...

A lovely manger scene.

Merry Christmas!

What's up?

I know you have all been wondering what the heck I am up to.

First I'm a nostalgic blogger telling charming stories about my New England childhood.

Then I'm a copywriter blogger giving tips on how to make a comfortable living in your pj's.

Then all of a sudden I'm a working woman blogger adjusting to the 9-to-5 routine while dealing with coworkers who I'm sorry I really can't tell you about because they just might stumble upon this blog but trust me I have some totally hilarious stories to tell you at some point. Trust me. You will fall on the floor laughing. I know you will.

In the meantime, here is what I have learned lately:

- Karma is alive and well in the workplace. As soon as I pounce upon a mistake made by a sincere and well-meaning coworker, I am bound to make a much worse mistake myself.

- There is no use trying to cover up my large, horrible, unforgivable mistake, even if it is a very small detail in 8-point font in the last disclosure at the bottom of the back page. The client will find it. They always do.

- An abject apology is a good start, but forgiveness is hard to come by. One mistake can wipe out an entire year of competence.

- Not that I've made any mistakes lately.

- But just theoretically, it could happen to anyone.

- Did somebody mention working in their pj's?

- That sounds awfully nice.

~~~

There's something wrong with my eyes

When I was 6, my best friend Lisa Donovan wore glasses. They were completely adorable - little pink cat's-eye glasses that made her look intelligent and girly at the same time. I was totally jealous.

Why oh why was I cursed with perfect vision? Lisa's glasses even had a little sparkle to them, which might have distracted from the uncontrollable, unruly mop of hair that was twice the size of my face. They would have transformed me from Little Orphan Annie to Shirley Temple. I was sure of it. I probably would have started tap dancing on the spot.

But no. I never needed glasses ... until now.

I got my first pair of "real" glasses yesterday, after several years of squinting and holding menus at arm's length and buying three pairs of readers for $12.99 at Costco.

My vision is now 20/20. I'm not so sure I like it.

Here's why:

1. My glasses have "progressive" lenses, which means I can only see clearly if I'm looking straight ahead. I'm constantly tipping my head, like those birds that bob back and forth taking a sip of water. Only without the water.

2. If I happen to be looking straight ahead, I see quite clearly. Like this morning, when I put on my glasses and then looked in the mirror. Enough said.

3. On the other hand, my new glasses are pretty snazzy.

4. They're not sparkly, but they are Michael Kors.

5. I can always take them off when I come close to a mirror.

6. If I stand far away and squint really hard, I look almost as cute as Lisa Donovan.

7. I think I should have gotten the pink ones.

~~~

Yoga 102

Who needs yoga classes? Why humiliate myself in front of limber 20-year-olds who think it's perfectly normal to bend in half, grab your ankles, bend in half again, stretch one arm towards the ceiling, open your heart to the sky, and rise onto your left hand in the position known as the Bean Sprout Rising In The East?

I can do all this at home, with my Yoga 102 Video from Target.

My video begins with peaceful flute music and a lovely blonde woman, sitting peacefully on her mat.

I can do that.

She begins very slowly, apparently recognizing my total lack of coordination. Let's breathe in. And out.

I'm doing great. In. Out. My confidence is growing.

Lovely Blonde Woman quickens the pace a bit, challenging the fledgling followers who were lured into purchasing her video by the 20% discount on a green flowered yoga mat that smells like a recycled Goodyear tire but is definitely an improvement over the disgusting black mats at the gym that smell like two year old socks that have never been washed.

I see you connecting with your inner rhythms, LBW.

I admire your ability to contort your body into the ShmarmaBarmaPharmaDownwardDog position.

I even enjoy your video, which I am watching from the comfort of my couch with a bowl of popcorn on my lap as I type this blog post.

I think I'm getting the hang of this yoga thing. It's a spectator sport, right?

Got it. I'm with ya. Breathe in. Breathe out. Downward dog. All is well.

~~~

Yoga 101

Some things in life are exactly what they seem to be. Take, for instance, a two year old who wants to eat cookies for dinner. She makes it perfectly clear what she wants.

"Cookie?"

No, we're not having cookies for dinner.

"Cookie??"

No, mac and cheese. You love mac and cheese.

"COOKIE!! COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE!"

As the mac and cheese goes hurtling across the room and splatters all over the wall, the two-year-old continues to communicate quite clearly.

"COOKIECOOKIECOOOOOOOOKIEEEEEEEE"

At this point, most normal parents scramble to the pantry, throw open a bag of cookies, and dump them all onto the high chair. This is not giving in. This is basic survival.

You are probably wondering what this has to do with yoga. Let me explain.

Yoga instructors are the cosmic opposite of two-year-olds. I learned this over the weekend, when I came up with the extremely bad idea of trying a basic yoga class at the gym.

Here's what yoga instructors say - and what they mean:

"welcome. sit quietly on your mat in whatever position is comfortable."

This is going to hurt.

"breathe in and out. cross your legs in a simple, relaxed position. like me. one over the other. you can do it."

I see you in the back row. You can't even cross your legs. What are you doing in my class?

"now stretch forward, bringing your legs into the upward downward sideways dog position while rising in slow motion onto one hand and lifting your right arm towards the ceiling."

I've been pretty bored this week. This should be really fun.

"as you inhale, cross your left arm over your shoulder and grab hold of your right ankle."

Perfect. I heard something crack.

"pay no attention to the people around you. enter your own private space. dwell in each breath. in. and out."

You still breathing, there in the back row? Here comes the grand finale.

now pull your ankle in towards the center, exhaling as the gentle motion rolls you over onto your side, in a graceful arc that mirrors the rotation of the earth"

Ha! There she goes. I love my job.

(You just wait, Yoga Instuctor. I bought a Yoga video at Target yesterday. I'll be ready for you next time.)

~~~

Sick day

(keep watch, little puppy. my little puppy is sleeping.)

Gramma, thanks for coming over.

You're welcome sweetheart, your mommy had to take Jules to get her immunizations, right?

Yeah. And I'm sick. I threw up, did you know that? It was disgusting.

Yes, I heard. You look a little tired.

No. I'm not tired. I'm a puppy.

Oh, ok. What does the puppy want to do?

She wants to wear a princess dress.

Ok.

And you need to make her a leash. With a collar.

Ok.

And then you be the mean person, and trap her, right here, with this blanket.

Ok.

She's going to take a little nap. I don't like to take naps. But the puppy wants a nap. You be right there. Don't go anywhere.

I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise, puppy ... puppy? You there? Puppy? I love you, little puppy. Sleep tight.

~~~

Preschool

(finger painting ... it's about more than fingers)

My 4-year-old granddaughter started preschool this week. Amazing. Some of my first memories are of preschool.

I remember a big red "barn" where the outdoor toys were kept. If I hurried outside at recess time, I could get the tricycle before anybody else grabbed it.

I remember the swings, where I could have happily spent an entire day. My teacher told my mom I was amazingly good at "pumping" for my age. This was my first and last athletic accomplishment.

I remember finger painting, with the squishy paint covering my hands. It smelled great. The best part of finger painting was, there was no wrong way to do it. You could work really hard to make a painting that looked like something. Or you could just enjoy the smell, the feel, the fun of smearing gooey paint over the slick paper, making rainbows that blended into houses that smeared up against clouds that looked like nothing in the real world but felt like a brave, brand new world you had created all by your little 4-year-old self.

That's all I remember. But it's enough. It was a good start.

~~~