99 New: December Friday Round-Up

I got my meal prep wings yesterday. My flight up involved two Nescos, a slow cooker, three pots, two giant casserole pans, nine packages of pre-cooked, sliced roast beef, six large bags of mashed potatoes (who knew mashed potatoes came in bags?), 18 cans of corn, 75 pretzel rolls, and 150 pats of butter, all packaged in individual containers with a fork, worth mentioning because it’s the hardest thing to remember, packed into insulated  bags that were so heavy I practically had to drag them to the truck. The meals were eaten last night by homeless friends seen by the Street Angels outreach team. I always envied people who could wrangle big crazy food like that so now I’m one of them. Plus the gravy. Extra credit.

Michelle Obama’s description of falling in love with Barack Obama is worth the price of the book. She tells a story that is physical without detail, a story of yearning and comfort, of being totally at home with a person while feeling awed and almost paralyzed by his sense of direction, the power of his seemingly effortless confidence. How not to be swallowed up in that is the question she asks herself. And us, I guess. How do we respond to people who have that light – do we go toward the light or take cover?

This week I am revisiting the old adage: People treat you the way you allow them to. This allowing business is sneaky, you might not even notice what you’re allowing until you wake up one morning and realize you’re not happy with how you’re being treated and that you’re responsible because you let it happen. That’s a long sentence but one worth sorting out if you’re being treated in a way you don’t like – quit indulging bad treatment. Slam the door on it and go have a good time.

It occurred to me today that I can’t get a letter to the editor published. I’m in the writing doldrums, floating off the shore of a small, unpopulated island where a single coconut drops from a palm tree. But the wind will pick up, it always does.

My granddaughter, who is 12, went to a dance at her school tonight in a pair of black pants, one of my white dress shirts, and a white fedora. I ask you this: who wears a white fedora? Who even owns a white fedora? And who, on top of all that, really wants a pair of white gloves? Fred Astaire. It just came to me. She’s channeling Fred Astaire. How rich is that?