...and now the scratching starts...

Currently, as in all day today, I seem to be experiencing anger, frustration, anxiety, resentment, oh, just a whole heavenly host of Holiday hoo-has. Early this morning I managed a ride to Vernon where I have stuff in storage in a friend's barn. This was happy news. I hadn't been there in a couple of years, and the potential to locate missing items (as well as check on the collectible  movie posters) was heartening, But, as it turned out, Bob (the fellow being kind enough to give me a ride there and back) really didn't have any time available. It was grab and go. This did, however, turn up an item in the suitcase I grabbed... I mentioned the other day that my friend Tom Toth used to make Christmas cards featuring Carole Lombard. Here's the last one I know of that he did, and the least fancy (the others got printed in frames, with printed greetings, & etc.):

I did make a wee little change. Tom had it printed in sepia. I think t looks slightly better in black and white...

Anyway, after lots of strum und drang yesterday, I managed to get a Christmas tree. I'd come to the end of the paycheck until next Thursday, and there really just wasn't anything left. Last year, I noted that the Rotary and other Christmas Tree purveyors were sold out almost a full week before the holiday itself. So, after enlisting a friend with a car, I managed to get the Rotary guy to agree on a postdated check, and purchased a scrawny but full (from one angle) tree. I'd been sniffling and occasionally sneezing all day yesterday at work. Friggin people who sneeze on you.... The inside of one nostril felt swollen like it had a a blood vessel had burst. But it wasn't too bad. Until this morning.

Arrrghhhh! There''s only one string of lights left... Gggrrrrr.

I've been sneezing like a fairy tale dwarf all day. I am, of course, paranoid that I have now developed an allergy to Christmas trees and will have to put this one down. Or maybe they've sprayed some preservative on the tree so it will last longer or smell nicer that's the culprit. I do hope that's not the case. It was just one such sudden onset of swelling, watery eyes, and sneezing by my stepmother that was responsible for the premature destruction of one tree some years back when my father was still alive. The following year or two there was a mid sized artificial tree. When Dad started the six year slide into the finalities of prostrate cancer, she was too distraught to think about Christmas. I can't remember if she got a tree that first year or not. The next few years saw a minimally decorated 3 foot artificial tree. I would go "home" for the holidays, enter what had been my bedroom and find the tree, decorations, lights, and all, sitting on my bed. She'd pick it up, carry it back to the living room, find a spot for it, plug it in, and the deed was done. Quick, efficient. Not my style, but I like it. 

I'm still part way through putting the lights on this year's tree. I've been at it since about 10:30am this morning. Along the way there was a successful hunt and updated software replacement for my printer/scanner/copier. The programs on the new computer had more than enough stuff to run the show, but I liked the results of the program that came with the printer much better. I'm glad that's been taken care of. And there have been radio station phone calls and emails to deal with. And enough this's and thats's to drive anyone into bouts of delirium. Use the toilet, and the flush thingy beaks. Again. Take a few steps and the only belt I have stretches a little more and my pants start to fall down - again. And again. How do today's kids do it? I guess you have to have a bubble butt. I'm from a family of flat butts.

In an small studio apartment this size, there is little room for anything. Need the stapler? Move this there, that there, and viola! One stapler plus instant mess. This past summer I began rebelling against the spartan minimalism in which I've lived the past few years. As I closed the paid for storage place, I added a guest chair (the other one I had replaced my rocker office chair which, sadly, is no more), and my old art deco side table - the one with the etched blue glass, into the "living" room. I can not get everything I need to into the small storage space my apartment gets in this building's basement. The result has been stuff everywhere, especially as I've been trying to get the pre bleak winter deep cleaning and dust dinosaur eradication done. I'm putting the old dust catchers back into play, and it is making me feel better. There is absolutely no reason I should have or need to have an hour glass, well, more like a half hour glass, but it does reflect something about myself and I like having it out. Ditto the picture (really a xerox blow up of a polaroid) of my Dad from a Christmas long ago (c 1954).

Every step backward is met with an oops! Every reach to get something results in something else being knocked over. Every step into the kitchen or bathroom means moving the pumpkin which still hasn't been cut up for pie. (It sits in a corrugated cardboard box so I don't kick it to death - and I do end up kicking the box a lot). There is no place to put anything. There is no room for, well. there is no room. I've spent most of my life living in studio apartments. I'm sick of it. Having the space to have your stuff where you can get it without moving things around like a chinese puzzle box has become a luxury. I'm not poor enough to get anything better. As I get up to get a tissue to blow my nose, I trip on my cane. If it's Christmas can anyone hear me scream?

Well, I'm going off to make some shells and veggies for dinner. Then I'll move enough stuff to get into the built out closet where I put the spare Christmas tree light bulbs so I can replace the ones that didn't make it through to this year.

But before I go, here's a couple of scans I did this afternoon to test the replacement program. These are protective sleeves in which single 45rpm records were sold. And yes, I still have the records.