Shabby Chic

December 22nd and counting.

So how are y’all doing?

If you are unable to be of good cheer do the best you can not to be homicidal.

Christmas should come with a warning label on it:
“Be aware that for certain individuals Christmas may induce depression, holiday hysteria and feelings of uncontrollable inadequacy. These side effects should not last long,if they do, please consult a competent psychiatrist as soon as possible, assuming you can find one.”

At this time of year people fall into a few very basic categories: the desperately depressed, the panic stricken, the last minute lunatics and the smugly well prepared. I make a point of not associating with people of the last category as I find them to be very annoying. No matter what category you fall into, take heart, this too shall pass.

There are times when accepting the inevitable is the only option open to us. (disclaimer: Although the foregoing sentence may remind some people of another more disturbing saying, ” If rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it”, please be assured that Shabby Chic is not implying that dear old Santa is a pedophile or a rapist. That would be too dark even for me.) So, the bottom line is we might as well do what we can to enjoy Christmas as it will find us no matter where we hide.

The good news is that with the price of oil these days, putting a lump of coal in someone’s stocking will be interpreted as a gift of generosity, as opposed to a moral judgment on behavior. Go onto the “I Am a Lame Shopper” website and see if they still have any lumps left. I’m confident that if you click on the Super Lame tab you can print out a gift certificate. That may be your only alternative at this late date. In this day and age of immediate gift gratification, you no doubt will be cast into The Super Lame Hall of Shame but take your lumps, you earned them.

Personally, I fully expect to receive a lump of cellulite in my stocking this year. Through personal experience, I have discovered that Santa can be a real twisted piece of work. Doing this sort of thing to the cynical and lazy citizens of his domain is what keeps him jolly.

Christmas warning!!! Do not, under any circumstance, check out the websites that inform on the number of calories lurking in the traditional Christmas food feast. The people who send us this terrifying caloric data are mean spirited and need to be destroyed. With all the stress of this season, the very least we should be able to do is inhale an enormous number of comfort calories in complete ignorance or denial of the inevitable consequences. Remorse will come later. That’s what New Years Eve is for.

So, Merry Everything Blogger Friends.

Til next time,

Susan, Shabby Chic

Where women are free to be themselves, together.

First thing this morning I checked my blog to see if anything was going on –something I do often these days to satisfy my OCD tendencies.

Oh joy, oh joy there were some new comments!!!!!!

One of the comments came from Anonymous. This must be a very popular name these days as I hear from a lot of people sharing that same name. I find it to be an odd name choice for a parent to make, but who can argue with trends? Undeniably, it is easier to tolerate than the drug induced names of the 70’s like “Rainbow” or Angel Sky”.

This is what Anonymous had to say on an 8:19 am comment posting this morning.

“So, I checked in and there’s nothing new. Are you hung up in your lights? Tease those keys and post something fresh. Time’s awasting!”

This was my response:

“Good God Anonymous!! Your comment was posted at 8:19 am!!!

Glad to hear from you but GET A GRIP!

Wonderful crazy person, what time zone are you in?

8:19 Eastern time makes it 6:19 am Land of Enchantment time. Was I tangled up in my lights? Hell no darlin, my lights weren’t even on!

“Regarding me teasing the keys and writing something fresh: To tell you the truth I was hoping I could get away with out and out plagiarism, worn out words and stale opinions. No one ever said I had to be fresh or original. Now you are scaring me!!”

Not wanting to totally disappoint Anonymous, I decided to give my worn out muse a bit of a break and publish a little chicken fun sent to me by my sister.

I feel I can get away with this lazy posting as it relates back to when Lauren named my blog “Shabby Chick” – a clear and undeniable chicken reference.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

DR. PHILL
The problem we have here is that this chicken won’t realize that he must first deal with the problem on ‘THIS’ side of the road before it goes after the problem on the ‘OTHER SIDE’ of the road. What we need
to do is help him realize how stupid he’s acting by not taking on his
‘CURRENT’ problems before adding ‘NEW’ problems.

OPRAH
Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why
he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken
learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I’m
going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the
road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

GEORGE W. BUSH
We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

ANDERSON COOPER- CNN:
We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been
allowed to have access to the other side of the road.

JOHN KERRY (remember him?)
Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against
it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken’s intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

NANCY GRACE
That chicken crossed the road because he’s GUILTY! You can see it in
his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN
To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART
No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a
standing order at the Farmer’s Market to sell my eggs when the price
dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider
information.

JERRY FALWELL
Because the chicken was gay! Can’t you people see the plain truth?’
That’s why they call it the ‘other side.’ Yes, my friends, that
chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too.
I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that
the liberal media white washes with seemingly harmless phrases like
‘the other side”. That chicken should not be crossing the road. It’s as
plain and as simple as that.

GRANDPA
In my day we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody
told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

ALBERT EINSTEIN
Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath
the chicken?

BILL CLINTON
I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of
chicken?

AL GORE
I invented the chicken!

COLONEL SANDERS
Did I miss one?

DICK CHENEY
Where’s my gun? Does it have a vest on?

AL SHARPTON
Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

Dat’s all folks,

Til next time.

Susan, Shabby Chic

Where women are free to be themselves, together.

For my BFs (blogger friends):

I want to thank everyone who has left a comment for me on my blog.

I really love hearing from you - no matter what you have to say.

I make this promise to you, if you send me words, I will send words back to you.

Knowing that what I write here is not just me talking to myself in print. matters.

You inspire me. You encourage me to get up and write.

If you have left a comment on any of my submissions, please click on the comment line at the bottom of the piece - you will see my response back to you. If I fall behind - yell at me - I will deserve it.

Let’s talk.

Susan, Shabby Chic

Where women are free to be themselves, together.

During this time of year thousands of people suffer from S.A. D (Seasonal Affective Disorder).

Seasonal affective disorder (SAD), also known as winter depression, is an affective, or mood disorder. Most SAD sufferers experience normal mental health throughout most of the year, but experience depressive symptoms in the winter or summer. Luckily, there are support groups for sufferers as well as several effective treatments to cure the symptoms.

From Thanksgiving to Christmas I, on the other hand, suffer form S.L.D. (Seasonal Lighting Disorder).

Seasonal Lighting Disorder (SLD), also known as grinchism is a chronic aversion to stringing any form of outdoor lighting on residential structures during the holiday season. There is reason to suspect that most S.L.D. sufferers do not experience normal mental health the rest of the year either. Because people of good cheer find them offensive and depressing, there are no known support groups for these poor depraved souls and no known cure.

I was struck by the late onset of S.L.D. immediately after separating from my husband. Up until that point in my life, decorating my home with lavish good cheer had been the norm. I take no credit for this personally, as it was a direct result of my being surrounded by demanding family members who forced me to do it. God bless them one and all!

When I first moved into my single woman nest four years ago, my incredible neighbor friends, Bart and Lulu, could not help but notice the cheer sucking darkness of my home during the holiday season. They assumed that I was either Jewish (best case), too cheap to pay for the electricity or simply strange. Being people of good cheer and amazingly tolerant of strange women, they befriended me anyway.

Time takes its toll on all of us. They were no exception. Two days ago I ventured out my front door to witness Bart erecting a wire Santa sleigh, complete with the desired reindeer accessory, on my front lawn. “Merry Christmas” he sang out to me.

So this year my grinch of Christmas past has been covered in beautiful white lights and harnessed to Santa’s sleigh. My SLD has been effectively treated – by the kindness of a neighbor.

Thanks to his act of unbridled generosity, I guess I am now more of a Ho than ever. Does he have any idea of what he has done? I doubt it. But, as the angels protect the pure of heart, he will be just fine.

So to my BF’s (blogger friends) I just have this to say,

“Merry Christmas to you all and to you all a good night”

Till next time.

Susan, Shabby Chic

Where women are free to be themselves, together.

During my “staring at my BB (blank blog) stage” I accessed a few established blogs to see what other people were writing about. Can’t say that I became immediately inspired by the ones I checked out. It may have been just my bad blog choices. Not that the writing wasn’t good, a lot of it was. I think it was more the subject matter that caused me to click on down the road. Perhaps, because I no longer have small children to talk about. I don’t know. Frankly,I’ve never really liked children that much, other than my own. I realize that most civilized people expect women,to like children. To admit that I don’t may not reflect well on my nature. In my defense I do like puppies and kittens. Trust me, I have a good and loving hearty damn it! Also, I might add that if asked, my daughter Lauren would tell you without hesitation that under the right circumstances I am very capable of being a real mother. So there you are. Anyway, as a result of this maternal deficit I was not transfixed by tales of other women’s adorable, or not, rug rats.

That it not to say that I won’t relate enormously embarrassing childhood stories about my grown-up girls. I will of course. But that falls more under the category of me being a real mother.

What I did pick up from other bloggers was the bio thing. Seemed like a good idea for you to know a little something about Shabby Chic. I had planned to do that first. Seemed like an easy way to start. After all, most days I remember who I am. But then life or rather death intervened and I jumped head first into the Passing Words piece.

Now I will go back to the beginning.

My name is Susan. I am a 57 year old white (whoops should I say Caucasian? I can never remember) woman. Anyway, my skin is white - mind you, not as white as my daughter Lauren’s - she damn near glows in the dark (that is her Irish father’s fault), but white nonetheless.

I am separated ( 4 1/2 years and counting) from my husband/partner of 27 years. I do not live alone. I share my domestic nest with 2 persian cats. I used to live in this same cozy space with 4 cats and 1 dog. Knowing that I was precocious as a child, my friends accepted my herd of animals as my getting a head start on senility.The passing of 3 of my old room mates have made me seem somewhat less eccentric to the general public. Proof positive that appearances are usually deceptive and not to be to be trusted.

I was born in Canada eh, raised in Toronto and have lived in the States, LEGALLY for the most part, since 1981. To say that I was raised in Toronto is not entirely accurate - I was raised in the burbs -Cooksville back then, Mississauga now. Toronto just sounds sooo much better (read more sophisticated and interesting) and frankly, how many of you would know where Mississauga is. How many of you could spell it?
Hell, many Americans are not even sure where Canada is. I feel I should fess up to being a Burb Baby as it may, down the road, explain to you some of my social shortcomings. So there you have it.

I graduated with a BA in English and History from the University of Western Ontario in London Ontario. Why that particular double major? My mother wanted me to be a teacher. She somehow knew that her youngest daughter, would at some point, be in need of a stabilizing influence in her life. Upon hearing this from my caring and wise mother, I nodded pleasantly and after graduation went directly to Europe for a year by myself. That would not prove to be the last time my mother was appealed by one of my decision.

In 1981 I moved to Houston, Texas and lived there for 10 years (we can talk about that weirdness later). In 2001 we moved to Corrales, New Mexico ( a funky little rural Spanish village that hangs delightfully off the north west end of Albuquerque)and lived there for 13 + years. Presently, I am living back in Burbville, in the west end of Albuquerque. Yes, you’re right, there’s a story to that as well. Life is a roller coaster and apparently someone reserved the front car for my exclusive use.

I have been self-employed for most of my professional career - do not read unemployed into that statement. Since 1981. I have been a partner in a variety of oil field service/production companies. Why a variety you may ask. Are you paying attention? Remember the roller coaster comment a couple of sentences back? For the past decade I have run a oilfield service company in West Texas. I choose to run it from the Land of Enchantment rather than Midland because, although I may be a little crazy, I’m not crazy enough to live in Midland Texas. Toronto and Texas may start with the same letter but the similarity ends there.

Generally, when I tell people what I do they look at me strangely and say something like “That’s an unusual business for a woman. How did you get into it” I wonder if they think I’ve had a sex change operation or if my marriages have been a pathetic cover for some kind of dark less traditional lifestyle. Who knows? When asked, I look directly into their suspicious eyes and say ” It just appealed to my feminine side”.

In 2004, having been separated from my husband for 1 year, I decided to try being more professionally independent from my ex by taking a real job with an outside entity(my ex lived in another state, but was and still is my partner in the company). At the time I really didn’t mean it - I mean why would I want a real job? I hadn’t worked for someone else since I was 30 years old for God’s sake!!! So I talked about the idea to some of my friends and that was it. I didn’t send out resumes or make any other sincere effort at job hunting. I just talked about it. What’s the harm in that? My friends had never taken me seriously before. Why would they start now? I figured I was safe.

To make a long story short I ended up getting a 2 1/2 year gig working for the Attorney General of New Mexico on her executive staff. Lesson: be careful what you blather about. People just might take you seriously. I became one of her speech writers and handled a variety of grunt type work. Prior to this experience my major outside interest in life had been business. After this gig I emulated my college days and ended up,once again, with a double major: business and politics - the incestuous cousins of the national family we call America.

I am happy to say that I am now back to having only one job - running my strange company and dabbling in the occasional political project. I am happy as a tick on a dog (disclaimer: this is a folksy Texas saying - although I freely admit to being a dedicated capitalist,I do not mean to describe myself as a bloodsucking insect that happily tortures man’s best friend. Remember I love puppies- for verification of this, if your eyes haven’t totally glazed over by now please reference paragraph 1 of this blog.

I spend my days in my snug nest office, doing my work, talking to myself, talking to my cats and now talking to you. Let’s see how interesting a conversation we can have together. Write comments to me. If you’re feeling nasty you are welcome to leave me a scathing critique of my writing ( I’m tough enough to take it and if I prove not to be there are pharmaceuticals for that). If you want to talk about anything at all jot it down on a comment and we’ll go at it. Let’s get busy. Let’s get interesting.

Til the next time.
Susan the Shabby Chic

Where women are free to be themselves, together.

Despite the fact that I am not Catholic, I am going to start my first blog with a confession. I confess to being a procrastinator.

I have been avoiding writing on this blog for weeks now. Put it off to performance anxiety. Contrary to popular belief men aren’t the only ones to experience this.

For clarification purposes, I want to point out that I did not jump into the blogisphere, set up my blog and then chicken out. My very own daughter set me up - literally in this case. After my enthusiastic endorsement of her establishing Woman Remodeled, she immediately set up a page for me. She called me saying “Check out my site I have a surprise for you”. Being a doting mother I immediately complied. And there it was - in full color - New Mexico Woman - words from a woman who has been there - or some such thing. My immediate reaction was to say “Thanks honey but you really shouldn’t have” My gut reacted as if she had given me a pair of black lace thong panties for my 57th birthday.What was she thinking? Oh well. she refused to remove it leaving me with this blank blog out there. How lame is that?

Not wanting to be a complete wimp I had her change the blog name to Shabby Chic. Sensing my inner fear she spelled it “Shabby Chick”, A tad passive - aggressive if you ask me . It’s not nice to publicly call your mother chicken. As I don’t believe in making hollow threats, I will post this blog and threaten to go on strike if she doesn’t change the spelling.

Ok, enuf about that

I have a friend in Toronto, who I will refer to as VF (virtual friend). She is not completely virtual as we have met and I spent a brief fabulously fun time with her during my last pilgrimage to Toronto (my home town)in October. Since that time we have been e-mailing damn near non-stop and as a result have become good friends.

Her partner’s mother died today.after a long illness. Over the last number of days I have been standing vigil over my e-mail inbox doing what I can to support her from afar. Despite my physical absence I was in that hospital room with her for 4 long days and nights. It has made me a believer in the ability of words to render comfort and companionship, no matter where they come from, no matter how far away they originate.

Despite the fact that I had not met her partner and did not know her mother, I grieve for her loss. The loss of any one’s mother pulls at us all. For those of us who have already lost their mother, it takes us back down that painful rabbit hole. For those of us who have not, it augers a time when we too will have to say goodbye.

Today the daughter asked all friends and family, where ever they happen to be, to make a toast to her mother’s life. As I did not know her mother I wrote a poem for all mothers and daughters. So I will say these words over my wine glass and dance a solitary 2-step in her honor.

Here it is

Passing Words

Her face shadows mine
The tint of her colours my life
Her voice whispers in my mind
Whether I want it to or not
In life I sought her and hid from her
In life I laughed with her and railed at her
In life I hugged her and pushed her away
That’s what we do
We daughters of women
That is how we love
Now that the day is done
I am free to embrace it all
I am safe to miss it all
And I will

Til next time

Shabby Chic

Where women are free to be themselves, together.

Thanks for breaking through the blogisphere and calling my name out loud. I can’t wait to see what I write either. To tell you the truth if I manage to write anything at all it will shock the hell out of me. This is all Lauren’s fault and she will be punished!

My name is Susan and this is my first blog attempt.

Where women are free to be themselves, together.