Resolutions

New Year's Eve is a reflective time for me--like the year in review on many programs. I learned many years ago though, not to look back to previous resolution lists. It's just verification of all I haven't accomplished! My list comprises of things I believe are possible, like: loose weight, stay in touch with friends and family, pay off credit cards, finish my book, oh yes, and loose weight!
     This is also a time of gratitude for the well-being of each person in my circle. We all might have wished to win the lottery, travel to beautiful places, never have a bad day and look like Angelina Jolie (or Brad Pitt), but we're still here and not doing too bad!
     As much as I wonder what this new year will bring, perhaps it's best I'm not a seer--sometimes life is hard enough without knowing what's coming. How would I live if I knew I only had xx days to live? My natural inclination would be to jam as much living into every day as possible, but in reality I'd probably be paralyzed with grief at all I'd be missing and waste most of the time left. So, maybe the old paradigm of savoring each moment is still what life is about.
     That doesn't mean I'm not writing resolutions this year. I know this will be the someday I will fit in the closet-full of (outdated) clothes, finish my book and get a fabulous publishing offer and live happy ever after (or at least another twenty years). It all starts tomorrow.
     Happy New Year. I wish you life, love and laughter.

The Dirty Little Snowman

It’s a simple thing, hiding a dirty little snowman on a Christmas tree, but it has become quite a tradition for the Scott family.
     Grandpa Mel was the “hider,” and he was very creative at finding new locations to baffle the “finders.” His reward was seeing the excitement on a child’s face when the snowman was spotted. Our reward was the twinkle in Grandpa and Grandma Scott’s eyes.
     Surely the little snowman was new and clean at one time, but somewhere along the way it got shabby and dirty, and lost its hat and scarf. Being left out at the curb, tucked in its hiding spot on the Christmas tree, didn’t help its image. How frantic the search when after Grandma left us, we realized the little snowman had not been retrieved before the tree was put out for pickup. Searching along the gutter and digging through dirty snow and slush, Mike found the tree and dug it out. Even then the little snowman was not evident and all seemed lost until joyous shouts of “Here it is!” were heard.
     Since it is not possible for everyone in our family to have the original “Dirty Little Snowman,” we created “stand-ins” for each of our children. Our hope is for them to continue this tradition which delighted our family and highlighted Christmas get-togethers at Grandma and Grandpa Scott’s house.
     It would be wonderful to be all-seeing and all-knowing, so we could simultaneously visit each of our children’s homes and watch every grandchild discover “The Dirty Little Snowman,” and share the wonder of this tradition with them.
     Who knows, perhaps Grandpa and Grandma Scott are “stand-ins” for us.
Merry ChristmasLynda

I'm done! No, I'm not!

I walked out of the post office yesterday feeling rather smug. I was done wrapping, boxing and shipping presents to those out of state (and single-handedly supporting at least one postal employee for the day with the cost!). I smiled with smugness at those just entering the post office with armloads of packages, as I had minutes before. I was done waiting in line. The smug smile increased as I walked into the mall, luxuriating in the wealth of time to finally enjoy a movie, as I watched those just entering the mall, frantic looks on their faces. I was done shopping. Weeks of decorating, coaxing each light on a "pre-lit" tree strand to work, re-bending the fake limbs into some semblance of life-likeness, then filling every crook and cranny of branches with loads of ornaments and ribbon, writing Christmas cards, composing the annual Christmas brag letter, baking, buying, exchanging, and eating everything in the spirit of the season, filled me with smugness. I was done! And yet about half-way through the movie, irritating little thoughts kept interrupting: you haven't wrapped the gifts for those nearby; you haven't finished making the neighbor gifts; you haven't purchased new ink for the printer that inconveniently ran out as you tried to finish the Christmas letter; you haven't finished the house-cleaning put off for all those weeks you were working your Christmas magic--the toilets are still waiting!--and what are you going to get______?; etc., etc., etc. Then, that master of all nagging thoughts came to mind, almost ruining the gorgeous view of Johnny Depp (ALMOST, I said!): in three weeks you'll be undoing all this! At that moment visions of me turning into my grandmother MADE me focus all of my attention on the gorgeous Johnny Depp to drown out the bah-humbug thoughts! So, I am grateful for Johnny, who helped erase the smugness from my heart and the Grinch from my Christmas.
    By the way, I give two thumbs up to the gorgeous Johnny Depp (have I said that too much?), the beautiful Angelina Jolie (and yes I did walk my four miles today even though I realize if I exercise 25 hours a day I will NEVER look like her!), the wonderful views of Paris, the French countryside and Venice, but a thumbs down for rest of the unrealistic "Tourist."
     Also, for those of you just waiting to pounce on me for not going green this year (cards and letters printed and mailed!), please remember the age of this computer and its operator, who has not learned to paste those cute family photos onto the page so they will stay in place in cyberspace.
     Have a merry one!

A REAL Christmas

While at the glam/chic b Space Salon last Friday, enjoying the atmosphere, relaxing with the shampoo massage and getting the cowlicks tamed, I stole this story from Chad, my stylist, about the year his family decided to have a REAL Christmas:
     For Chad's family, a REAL Christmas meant tromping through the woods, finding the perfect tree, cutting it down, tying it to the top of the car and once home, decorating their OWN tree with the whole family involved. And they did. They found the most perfect tree in the forest--not too big or small or short or tall, and full and lush from all views. Perfect! And a fun family adventure in the process.
     Wanting to prevent needle drop for as long as possible, they cut another small piece off the trunk so it could drink tons of water in the next few weeks. The tree was placed in a stand, straightened and secured and all stood back to admire this beautiful tree. The reality that their perfect tree was in fact two trees became evident within minutes when with the shortened trunk, the two trees decided to part company and head different directions. Gasps and groans filled the room, along with a few tears of disappointment, before the two trunks were wired together fusing the tree-bond. The tree was again perfect and decoration began in earnest. This took some time as Chad's mother--the "by-the-ruler-ornament-hanger"--made sure the decorations were in fact as perfect as the tree. When the last ornament was placed, all stood back and did indeed pronounce the tree as perfect. Everyone marvelled at the beauty of their work and smiles and hugs were exchanged.
     An odd event occurred at this point. The family cat, as docile and arrogant as any feline creature, suddenly felt the presence of a looming, threatening object in the family midst and turned into super-cat. In attack mode it leapt to the center of the (twin) trees with such force, the tree and all the precisely placed lights, ornaments and trim, crashed to the floor. In anger and frustration Chad's mother picked up the tree and shoved it in the corner, where broken ornaments, lights and all, it remained throughout the holiday season. And thus ended Chad's family's REAL Christmas adventures.
     As I used this story without authorization, :} the least I can do is plug Chad's b Space Salon, 2315 S. Highland Drive, Salt Lake City, UT., 801.746.3059, bspacesalon.com  If you're looking for a beautiful, warm, fun salon with very talented stylists, I highly recommend it. Cheers! Lynda

Cowlicks

My old "friend" frustration came along today as I styled my hair. It doesn't seem to matter if I wash, blow-dry and layer it with goop and spray, thanks to cowlicks my contrary hair follows its own path. Most often the cowlick on the back splits into a chasm, creating the illusion I have just retreated from my pillow. And, I don't just have one cowlick, I have four or five, all competing for the most unusual design. Some days the result is so outlandish I start over, at least once, although in a fit of desperation I have been know to grab scissors. In fact I'm surprised I'm not bald!

How fitting a name is "cowlicks"? It's as if some celestial, cud-crewing bovine slurped its disgusting tongue over my infant head and the crud stuck its way into my hair's memory. Nothing can disrupt the predestined mold.

Mike (my husband) seems to have a circular hair pattern. It goes back on one side and forward on the other. Perhaps that's why the hair in the middle appears to have worn off in confusion. :}

Is hair an indication of life in general, does that mean Mike is destined to a revolving life cycle and me to a helter-skelter route?

A friend recently placed a book in my hand with an insistence to read it before I returned it to her. Anne Rice and I never crossed paths prior to this. Within an hour of beginning "The Witching Hour," every OCD particle in my body kicked in and withing days all 965 pages were turned. My lesson in this? I still don't like witches!

One element seemed repeated throughout the book, especially in reference to one protagonist, Michael--are the events of our lives planned, or predestined? I found myself wondering (as I have many times in the past) if there is not some master-plan we're following, something at work not only on my scalp but in my entire life?

It is common knowledge our decisions have the potential of changing every moment of our lives from that point on. Several years ago I interviewed a man involved in a traffic accident. When he was withing two blocks of his workplace, he pulled off the road to clean away the heavy snow accumulating on his windshield. "Why did I stop there?" he asked himself aloud to me. He indicated he could easily have gone the two blocks without cleaning the window, but that decision altered his life. Within seconds of his pulling back on the road again, a pickup coming the opposite direction lost control over a bridge and careened sideways into my witness. The side-impact of the pickup with the front of the witnesses vehicle caused an immediate explosion, killing the pickup truck driver and leaving the witness shattered as the scene unfolded before him. The nearest vehicles were a mile away in each direction. What if the witness hadn't stopped? It's a question he will ask himself for the rest of his life.

Is it "coincidence" or "predetermination"? Can we re-route the events of our lives or are we lead to life-changing decisions? Can communication with a higher being effect the choices we make or are we on a pre-set course--much like my cowlicks--in which we follow a pattern established when life began?

It's a question as old as thought itself, with answers to match the number of years it's been discussed. What do you think? I'd love to hear from you.

Giving Thanks?

As we celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, I'd like to share a (true) story that will hopefully add to your thankfulness.

The minute Chris got out of his car and started walking toward his dad's house, he knew something was wrong. Flies swarmed nearby and as he got nearer an odor of death hung in the air. Chris warned his family to stay by the car as he stepped closer to the door to investigate.
     I just talked to Dad two hours ago when we left home, Chris thought, remembering his dad's hearty, "Happy Thanksgiving" greeting as he answered the phone. Everything seemed fine and his dad sounded excited over the new turkey recipe he found.
     As Chris approached the sliding glass door off the kitchen, the number of flies escalated and landed on him quicker than he could brush them off. The smell grew worse.
     "Dad," he called as he reached the door. "Dad," he called again as he slid the door open.
     "Close the door," Jim yelled, as he swatted at flies like a crazy autotron.
      The odor made Chris wince. At first he contemplated closing the door and remaining outside, but he stepped over the threshold and slid the door closed behind him. The look of terror and anger on his dad's face startled him.
     "Dad, what's wrong? What's that smell?" Chris asked, trying to cover his nose and wave away flies at the same time. "There must be 100,000 flies around here."
     "I don't know. It's been like this for an hour or more, but it's getting worse. I think something died in the house."
     Together they walked through the rooms, but Chris realized the smell and flies intensified as they got back to the kitchen.
     "Let's check the attic," Chris suggested. "I'll get the ladder from the garage." He walked out to his car and told his family the situation. Chris' wife Tina remained in the car with the windows rolled up, no doubt thinking of the invitation to a catered Thanksgiving dinner at a wealthy relative's house they declined for this. Their three boys, ages 6, 10 and 12 immediately clamored to go in the attic with Chris; only threats kept them from entering the house.
     With the boys hovering at the sliding door, each dancing a fly-swatting jig as they watched, Chris climbed the ladder, pushed the attic cover aside and disappeared. Thumps of footsteps echoed from one end of the house to the other, but when Crhis reappeared, a shake of his head answered everyone's question.
     "Maybe there's something under the house," Chris said, dreading the thought of crawling through dense cobwebs only to stumble on fly-infested remains.
     Jim offered some old work clothes and a belt to hold up the too-large pants, and Chris changed into the "hunting" outfit. As he walked out of the house and around the back to the crawl-space entrance, three eager boys shadowed his every step.
     "Dad, what do you think it is?"
     "Dad, can I go with you?"
     "Eww, dad. What if there are spiders and mice in there?" giggled the oldest boy.
     "Why don't you go instead," Chris frowned at him as he removed the cover.
     "No way!"
     "Not me!"
     "Yuck!"
     Chris put a stocking cap over his hair, donned a mask and work gloves, picked up the flashlight and took one more look at the clear blue sky before entering the dark hole. After wiping away scores of cobwebs, scaring off several mice and making his way through the various twists and turns of the crawl-space, Chris blinked his way into daylight again. "Nothing there."
     The boys made disgusting sounds at the cobwebs adorning Chris' hat, clothes and gloves.
     "I don't know what it could be, Dad," Chris said. "The smell and flies were worse in the kitchen. Let's go back in there."
     The boys followed the two adult men into the kitchen, seeming to hope they wouldn't get sent out.
    "It's strongest here, Dad," Chris said, standing before the oven. "What's in here?"
     "Just the turkey. I haven't put anything else in yet."
     Chris opened the oven door. A swarm of Kamikaze flies circling the kitchen raced to join the crispy-critter bodies of their comrades littering the turkey and the oven floor. The smell gagged everyone, and the boys couldn't make it out the door fast enough.
     "Eww. What did you do to the turkey?" Chris asked, holding his nose.
     "It's that new recipe I told you about, " Jim said, sounding offended. "I brined it in a bucket of salt."
     "Did you refrigerate the bucket, Dad?"
     "No. Was I supposed to?"

This year Jim ordered a complete "heat and eat" Thanksgiving dinner from a local restaurant.
P.S. Names have been changed to protect "Jim" from further embarrassment. :}

Sometimes it is more blessed to let others do the cooking.