Some Thoughts on Thankful and Being More of It

I just had a 24-hour bug that racked my guts and left me praying to God that it would stop or that I would just die. Apparently I didn't die, but it looks a little like I did. Meanwhile Penny cried like a banshee and I kept asking Bryan, Can't we give her something?! after he already gave her something.

Her tooth broke-through her gums this morning and I broke-through my malaise of hopelessness to find myself several pounds less myself and also, more thankful than ever. Maybe a state of hell is required to really really appreciate, say fresh, cool, water, drinkable right from your very own fridge.

When my war-torn lips met the glass, and the cool oasis washed the torrid, sickly thickness from my Sahara-bruised throat, my first thought was OMG, Do people know water is this good? And my second thought was Well, I will write about it. Blogging as the proverbial hollering from the mountaintops.

For overhearing my declarations to God, my husband helpfully sided, Well, there are no Atheists in fox holes. Except for these Atheists in Fox Holes. And I agree with the exception. But there is some telling (my telling) about what happens when you have lost all hope, when you have no one to count on that might pull you through, like a solider with a gun, and it is this: people like me start babbling from the toilet and get on the verge of becoming as thankful as ever.

I diverge.

My brother sent me the photo above from France and titled it Restaurant of Death which, I might add, could not have come at a more opportune time. Poisson is Seafood in French, which could be mistaken for poison in English, which would be funny if it wasn't SEAFOOD that POISONED ME and made me wish for an untimely death. You see, I ate oysters on the half shell from a brunch buffet. It could have been just one bad oyster that sent me to hell. Or two. Or three. Or the whole dozen I ate, there is no way to know for sure.

As I write this, I realize selecting raw oysters from the plethora of other well-cooked items on a brunch buffet is a Bad Idea. Hindsight is a bitch. Guess I get my kicks where ever I can find them. In fact, I am feeling their ghost right now, squarely in my stomach and back.

And so I walk around, a shell of my former self, admiring all that is/was, amazed at this new, more thankful perspective, post purge.

So, should you poison yourself with poisson? Find God in a fox hole? Learn French? Drink water? The hell if I know.

Update 1/16: I love fact checkers in part because I am not one. My dear friend Laura read this post and immediately scoured a report by the GAO on exactly the topic of oyster poisoning. It turns out, raw oysters do not turn many stomachs. Only 32 people per year get sick from the bacteria (Vibrio Vulnificus, smarty pants) found in raw oysters. The report concludes that the FDA and Interstate Shellfish Sanitation Conference cannot agree on a common goal to reducing infections. I would say, if you can save just one person...Thank you, Laura, for saving me for oysters in the future.

Wheels Give New Life to Boring Things

I have been moving a lot of stuff in, out, and around my house lately. It is that time of year, to make room for the Christmas tree, the extra food, the in-laws. And through this process of negotiating the place for things, I noticed some of my stuff lacks the luster it once had. The kind of luster that kept me from just throwing it out and saving my energy from having to consider its presence each day. High maintenance is just one way of life. But is it too much to ask that the stuff in my life pull its own weight?

The big ticket items like the couch, for instance, I cannot replace and can hardly repurpose. So what's a woman to do, to put a little shock and awe back into her space without choking everything with flashing Christmas lights? Just add casters. This idea has come to fruition on several occasions over the years but I just now had the good sense to write about it. The possibilities are endless. Here are some ideas to get you rollin':

The couch. Can't decide between the fireplace and the tv views? Don't have to! Although you may have to negotiate with the other people sitting on the couch.

The coffee table. Roll that space hog away the minute the kids want to play and then put your cape on because you are officially Super now.

The highchair. Excellent for making the storage of the odd little chair a snap. I am not tempted to roll it around with the baby in it. No.

Bins. Take an old crate. Blah, blah, blah. You have heard this before.

The bed. Make watching the snowflakes fall outside your window from the coziness of you bed easy. Just push that bed right up to the window. Surprise your sleeping mate by turning the bed around so your feet go where your head once was. This has the positive effect of creating new synapses in the brain. Remind your sleeping mate of this, should they have the negative effect of complaining.

The toy box. Make any room an instant playroom. Keep your kids guessing on this front (hey, everyone needs a break from consistency to really appreciate everything else that is stable and fixed to the wall.) It could be a game for them just finding where all their toys have gone. Besides it would be super fun to chide Did you lose your marbles?! and really mean it.

Please try this at home only if your wheels have a locking mechanism. The beauty of rolling wheels is surely trumped by that of their ability to stop rolling.

Christmas Wishes-Cum-Candy Gram

For stocking stuffers this year, I am making candy grams. You remember the cutesy letters, typically reserved for Valentines, that had candy names worked into the bylines. Conveniently I am calling mine Christmas Wishes, which is possible the weakest premise there ever was for stuffing stockings with candy. Somehow the paper and words makes the candy gift more sophisticated, don't you think? Like candy presented this way might not even cause concern for cavities. Calligraphy would complete the ruse. At the very least the whole project makes use of the socks I have hanging above the fireplace. At most, the people whose names grace the socks will feel special. Maybe titters will wash over the group and someone will snort and the laughter will rise to a full-boil and our sides will hurt as we rock back and forth with our laughter trying to pull our lips over our candy coated teeth but failing miserably, which will fuel more laughter. It will be the Christmas Sleepover that everyone will talk about for years to come. As a general rule I shoot for the moon. 

I need six but my brain has stopped at a magic five. Help. (Use your imagination. Scrolling calligraphy, fine papers. Candy with wrappers so thin you can smell the sweetness about to beheld.) 

May you find [Mounds] of joy.

May you find your [Whatchamacallit] where ever you look for it.

May life be a box of [Chocolate-covered cherries], predictable and delicious.

There are many [Swedish fish] in the sea, may you catch your limit.

May you find your toes and sweaters [Lindt] free.