I had it wrong

What I saw: it was dark, and my alarm hadn’t gone off yet. The cat stretched out along the length of my body with his two front paws pressed gently on my chin. I was up early to drive the Bacon Provider to the train.

Late fall dawn, Bedhead Hills

What I did beforehand: dreamed about fence-building, and getting knocked over by an eagle.

What I wore: tiger t-shirt ("I just chugged four beers!"), TomboyX flannel jammies pants, insulated waterproof Irish boots, big parka, fingerless mittens.

Thinking about tree stumps today

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) November 17, 2015

Who went with me: my husband of thirty years. 

How I got a ticket: the last speeding ticket I got was about ten years ago. I was driving home from a part-time community college teaching job and failed to check my speed down a big hill past a familiar speed trap. Or maybe it was a couple of years after that, on 520 westbound, with the Graduate in the car. That time I was thinking about how bad things were, but also how much worse they could get. About this I was not wrong.

Why I saw this show: every minute I spend driving someone somewhere is another minute I don't spend wondering why I'm here.

Where I sat: behind the wheel, listening to Tommy Wieringa’s “These are the Names.”

Mom & Dad, 1970s Xmas

Things that were funny: the other day when we got our Xmas tree, I started thinking, as I do every year, about my mother's thing about Christmas. Her name was Sarah, and she would have been 76 today. When I call my brothers on Christmas, they will say, “Sarah Christmas!” to me. My cousins, my mother’s sister Mary’s kids, may text me, “Sarah Christmas,” too.

According to my Aunt Mary, and both of her kids and both of my brothers, the reason we say “Sarah Christmas” is because when Mary was only 3 or 4, she heard people saying “Merry Christmas,” and understood it to mean, “Mary Christmas.” And she felt, in fairness, people should also say, “Sarah Christmas.” I checked with Mary and both of her kids and both of my brothers about this story just the other day. Because, you see, I was writing down why we say, “Sarah Christmas,” and somehow I knew the story differently.

The way I understood it, it was my mother who wanted people to say “Sarah Christmas,” not Mary. It was my mother who wanted it, because she was jealous of her younger sister. 

Now, I have always thought this, as far back as I can remember. And I think I am wrong about this. Mary is still sharp as ever, and she remembers. Both her kids remember. And both of my brothers.

So, why did I remember it wrong? Did I learn it wrong? Or, was it that I was too distracted and impatient to listen to the story when I was little, and I never bothered to get it right? Or, did my mother tell me that in secret? Or, did I invent that version, to fit my outlook on my mother?

Mary on the left, Sarah on the right, with their Daddy

Things that were sad: I will never really know why I got it wrong. 

Something I ate: a mix of Bob’s Red Mill Honey Oat Granola and Nature’s Path Heritage Flakes with Stonyfield Farm organic 1% milk, with a large spoon.

What it is: something I will not argue I am right about, nor is it something I will revise my thinking about. It is, as they say, what it is.

My cat says, "I like being a cat because all my opinions are bizarre and everyone else's opinions are wrong."

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) February 20, 2016

Who should say it: all of us. We should all say “Sarah Christmas.” 

Things that were not funny: on the way to town, we saw a black car sitting on the shoulder of the road. Sometimes the local police wait for speeders under the nearby bridge, so I thought maybe it was just that. 

What I saw on the way home: I got a better look at it on my way back. The ground was all torn up from the skid, and its front bumper was gone. It had spun and wound up perpendicular to the road. Only the dense brush had held it back from falling backwards into a ravine.

If I am ever killed in a car accident, don't give the media my selfies for fuck's sake

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) April 13, 2016

I picked one.

What I saw: the trees that were left.

What I did beforehand: the last few years we lived in the country and found places to cut our own Christmas tree. It was never a matter of looking them up; there would be hand-lettered sandwich boards on the side of the road. 

This year, the Bacon Provider has been traveling so much I was worried we’ wouldn’t find time to get one together. 

I asked Google. It offered Hartsdale, NY and Danbury, CT, both of which stretch the definition of “near.” I revisited the garden center mystery, which I have  tried to solve almost monthly since moving here; where do my neighbors buy plants, I ask. I found one a bit over four miles away, on a road I haven’t driven. I called.

“Do you have Christmas trees?” I asked.

“Yes, we still have some left,” a woman replied. “But all of the 11 foot ones are gone. We only have the 9 foot and 7 foot trees.”

“What kind are they?”

“Frasiers.”

“What are your hours?” 

“9 to 5.”

Something I ate: cereal.

What I wore: jeans. Waterproof boots. My biggest puff coat. 

Why I saw this show: my mother’s love of archly tasteful Christmas decorations and slavish devotion to giving us what we asked for color my every Christmas impulse.  

Time to go get a motherfucking Xmas tree

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 11, 2016

Who went with me: the Bacon Provider was delighted to go. We took the truck. It seemed grumpy about starting, because of the cold. The steering wheel squeaked familiarly as steered out of the driveway. We talked about when we will get a new truck. 

How I chose: I didn’t know where to park since ours was the only vehicle. We were greeted by a guy in work gloves who seemed relieved to have a customer. He apologized for how few trees they had left.

“We only need one,” I said, though on the way over we had discussed the possibility of getting two.

When the lion was sitting I thought it was stuffed. It startled me when it moved. pic.twitter.com/DeZ0JgFTx3

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 12, 2016

Things that were funny: the Bacon Provider always wants a perfect tree, and will gladly spend 20 minutes considering every angle of every tree available, including the ones that are clearly too tall. He and the guy who worked there stood trees up for me to look at. After the fifth tree I went back to the first one. 

“This one is the best,” I said. I didn’t mean it. I was bored. All trees are somewhat imperfect. As long as the trunk is reasonably straight, you can find a presentable side.

I opened the tailgate of the truck and went to look at wreaths.  

Things that were sad: another couple arrived, he a tall, dark-haired capitalist in a navy cashmere overcoat, she a gently aging blond trophy in a quilted Barbour jacket. They considered whether the enormous 48” wreath was the right size for what they needed. I tried not to smirk. A very pale, older woman came out and caught the capitalist’s wife’s eye. 

“Oh, hello!” said the capitalist’s wife. “So nice to see you. How are you?”

“Not well,” began the older woman. “I lost my son.” Tears poured from her eyes. 

The capitalist’s wife hugged her. 

I turned to the little live trees and engaged the attention of a third employee. 

“Do you have a matching pair in this size?” I asked. 

“Yes, we do.”

“Do you know how big they will get? If I put them in the ground, I need to know how tall they will be. You, know, eventually.”

Things that were not funny: when we went inside to pay, there was a stack of photos of the dead son. He appeared to have been in his early 40s. The sad, older woman came in. I told her how sorry I was. She told me he had run the business, and had done all the ordering. Then, he had gotten sick, but not very sick. And then, he had died. Just in a matter of days. The whole family had had to come and pitch in. She said everything felt like a dream.

 

http://schwartzville.tumblr.com/post/154335523042/mid-december-thing

 

Where I sat: I had driven there. The Bacon Provider drove back. I had to tell him which way to turn. I said that I thought that Christmas would be forever sad and ruined for the family that owned that garden center.

 

http://schwartzville.tumblr.com/post/154336355522/the-secret-to-having-a-stable-tree

 

What it is: my mother’s birthday is 9 days before Christmas, and so, though she died in April, for me the holiday season is as much about grieving her as anything else.  

The ceilings at the 80s Museum we call home are not quite tall enough pic.twitter.com/JnH9XjRzgj

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 11, 2016

Who should see it: we haven’t started decorating it yet.

Schwartz moves in for his inspection

What I saw on the way home: the Bedhead Hills Office of Gravel and Thoroughfares regraded the dirt road on the way to our house, but I realized that they left many of the potholes intact. They function like speed bumps.

I cancelled everything

What I saw: Friday, I felt something itchy and found a tick on my leg. I was driving to Pilates. Somewhere near the church where I voted, I pulled it off and dropped it out the window of my car. I think that afternoon a tick began a comic book about a superhero arachnid who gets superpowers from biting a woman with a lot of energy and ideas. They named her the Amazing Woman-Tick. She wears 8-legged yoga pants and cusses.

What I did beforehand: walked the dogs in the woods. Because that’s where I live.

What I wore: Sweaty Betty yoga pants, Lululemon top, grippy socks.

Captain asks, "WHAT DO?"

Who went with me: an audiobook recording of Tom Ryan reading his book about his dog, "Following Atticus." Recommended for dog owners and hikers. Books about dogs are always sad, and this one has sad parts, too. 

How I got a tick: I walk my dogs almost every day.

Why I saw this show: because life is unfair.

Where I sat: driver’s seat.

Things that were sad: I have gotten good at pulling ticks out of my dogs, so I know how to do it so their heads don’t come off.

Things that were funny: I went in the kitchen at one point and found that Captain had stolen the butter off the counter and left it in his kennel.

You can't blame the doll this time.

Things that were not funny: I had a busy day on Monday, with a mammogram first thing and several other appointments. By the second appointment of the day I was feeling weird and dizzy and out of it. Nauseous, even. I woke up on Tuesday with a very unhappy belly, but went to my riding lesson because riding usually makes me feel better. I had a tough lesson; my horse could tell I wasn’t 100% and took advantage of it. It was as close as I’ve come to crying in a lesson in a few years. I went home and got in bed. 

Schwartz thought it was glorious. When I woke up three hours later I took the dogs on a zombie-shuffle walk down the road and back up the road. I convinced myself that I needed to go to the doctor, and I hadn’t yet gotten around to getting the everything-but-the-lady-parts kind of doctor. I logged in to our medical insurance  company website and picked a doctor based on how close a practice I could find. Then I watched four episodes of “The Crown” on Netflix and slept another seven hours.

You ever notice how long the tea pot takes to boil when you're sick and only drinking tea?

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 7, 2016

On Wednesday I woke up at the normal time and texted 19 to ask him to walk and feed the dogs. I starting sending more texts to cancel my Wednesday things. I saw a Tweet in Chinese about my husband planting a tree in India and decided I should go watch more of "The Crown." My phone rang and it was the guy who was supposed to do some noisy work on the property tomorrow and he wanted me to know they had a change of schedule and were coming today. The trucks were rolling down my driveway before we finished our conversation. They left after dark.

I ordered some groceries to be delivered tomorrow, and this is something I am bad at anyway but I am especially bad at when I don’t feel good. And I really don't feel good. I think there is some oatmeal coming, but no tapioca pudding because they didn’t have it. Maybe I will have to make rice pudding for myself if I can summon the energy for the stirring. Probably, that won't happen.

In the afternoon, I went to the new doctor hoping to get a Lyme test and a prescription for doxycycline. The doctor was very nice, and completely certain that it was the wrong kind of tick because I wouldn’t have been able to pull out a Lyme tick in the car. Or something like that. He gave me a boyishly reassuring smile and said that I should let him know if I’m not better by Friday. 

All the things have brand names on them #doctorsoffice pic.twitter.com/pQR2nSM99R

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 7, 2016

Something I ate: a satsuma. A bowl of white rice.

What it is: a couple of sick days.

I had a vague goal to take a shower but decided that taking off my pajamas and getting dressed was like a dry shower #stillsick

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 7, 2016

Who should see the Crown: people who stop watching shows because of unnecessary rape scenes, those who were disappointed in the historical inaccuracies and extravagant melodrama of Downton Abbey, but appreciate castles and posh accents and clothes of a bygone era, connoisseurs of love stories and tales of the burdens of responsibility, fans of triple strands of pearls. 

What I saw on the way home: potholes filled to the rim with rainwater, because in my town the dirt roads are highly prized. When the colder weather comes, the water will freeze, white and flat, and the ticks  

I couldn't think of a better name

What I saw: in the woods in late autumn, the somber palette won out over fall's riot of color. It wins every year, taking hold as the days shorten. 

What I did beforehand: We had a second day of rain the day before and it seemed like we only had a couple of hours of daylight, around noon. It was pouring and dark before I realized I hadn't walked the dogs.

What I wore: who cares?

Who went with me: the dogs.

How I got permission: I joined the local trails organization as soon as we moved in. I have tags for my leashes. I almost never see any other people out there. 

Why I saw this show: there wasn't anything else on.

Where I sat (after): in the big bean bag chair in the living room, staring at the walls, wondering where the Bacon Provider was. Arizona? India?

Things that were sad: I got a tick bite on my leg.

Things that were funny: when we turned around and headed home, Cherry got a burst of enthusiasm for going faster. 

Things that were not funny: when the wind comes from the wrong direction, the freeway was louder than my thinking.

Something I ate: cereal, probably. Or toast. Maybe bread and cheese. A banana. Something like that.

What it is: gray. Brown. Brown-ish gray-ish. Dead leaf brown. Bark gray. Mushroom gray-brown. Dead moss brown.

Who should see it: persons with leashes and dogs attached to them. Subscribing members of the local trail system only, please.

What I saw on the way home: the weekdays (five deer that congregate on the property across the street).

I couldn't help but hear

What I saw: a layer of wet snow on the ground this morning. 

What I did beforehand: woke up early from a dream in which Beyoncé was complaining that she didn't want her children to wear saddle shoes because it would make them look like "black hillbillies." I asked her how she got her costumes to fit so well. I didn't argue with her about the saddle shoes. Or ask about "black hillbillies."

I dreamed that Beyoncé told me her favorite alterations place was called "Space-Time Continuum"

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 5, 2016

What I wore: the pink gown with the opening in the front.

Who went with me: three women who booked their mammogram appointments together every year.

The first of three sisters is here before the others today (they come get their mammograms together). #sisterhood

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 5, 2016

How I got a referral: from the Lady Parts Doctor, who told me she thinks everything is fine, nothing has changed, the lights are on and people are going to work and people really oughtta stop freaking out about the election. "The hate crimes will stop when the economy recovers," she told me. "When people have money they're happy," she continued. "This is why socialism doesn't work."

I didn't mention Sweden.

Why I saw this show: I was on time. Early, even.

Where I sat: in the waiting room, where I heard one of the receptionists discussing medical insurance providers with a patient, and referring to one of the offerings as "Obamacare."

Things that were sad: the sound system. The pictures of flowers. 

PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH DIAL !

Things that were funny: when the third sister went to get her mammogram, the two remaining sisters lowered their voices and continued to talk about their legal and accounting issues. Everything they said was perfectly audible to me, though most of it didn't really make sense. 

"You should talk to Little Carmine," said one sister. "You need a corporate accountant....And, not Brian! He's fresh out of school. He's a little pecker-head." 

"I'm writing 30 checks a week, and he wants two thousand. ...And he says, 'Whatever.'

'It's not whatever!' I said. He said, 'Well, we'll find out.'

"I'm going to Florida February 1st for fiddy days. I gotta be able to write checks. ...but, you know what?  Life don't work that way."

Things that were not funny: I'm pretty sure I haven't heard anyone called a "little pecker-head" before. Maybe I've been missing out.

Something I ate: cereal when I got home.

What it is: is it eavesdropping if it's so loud you can't not hear it?

Who should come up with an emoji for mammograms: you.

What's the emoji for mammogram? 💥👙💥?

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 5, 2016

What I saw on the way home: fine rain falling that would wash away the snow before the morning was over.

I saw “Vietgone”

What I saw: “Vietgone,” a play with some songs, dancing and rap at the Manhattan Theater Club City Center Stage 1 on W 55th between 6th and 7th Avenues.

I forgot to get a picture of the cookies. 

What I did beforehand: went to a German Xmas party at the apartment of  French friends where we admired the view, drank glühwein, and exchanged stories about near-accidents involving our children. 

What I wore: Fluevog boots, brown tights, Lilith pinstripe dress that is difficult to zip, my mother's gold bracelets, my own gold bracelets, my grandmother's watch, mascara. 

Who went with me: my friend S.

How I got tickets: online, very recently, since this plan was hatched only once I realized that the Bacon Provider would be on yet another international trip where he would lose two weekends--one getting there and the other getting back.

Why I saw this show: I read a review that said this show was an excellent companion piece to Viet Than Nguyen's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, "The Sympathizer," which I read on the recommendation of a woman who I sat down next to in a theater earlier this year because she was reading it on her phone and could barely put it down.

Went to another play about refugees tonight. A love story. About people. Because refugees are people.

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 4, 2016

Where I sat: A 108, or thereabouts. A woman next to us orchestrated a three-way trade so she could sit next to her husband, who had a seat in the same row. Everyone was more than happy to re-arrange themselves.

Things that were sad: the show closed 12/4/16.

Things that were funny: a character named "the playwright" starting the show by scolding the white audience for accepting racist portrayals of asians. Jokes about life in a refugee camp. A fight scene with slow-mo punches and ninjas. A dance number about wanting to have sex. More cussing than #ragecook burning dinner. 

Things that were not funny: the two delicious lead actors had more chemistry than all the other couples that were supposed to be in love in all the plays I've seen this year put together.

Something I ate: German Xmas cookies.

What it is: a very funny, profane, slightly uneven, but lively and likable show with rap, singing, and some dance, running over two hours with a 15 minute intermission. This show features actors using contemporary slang to depict events in various locations in the U.S.and Saigon in the 1970s.

Who should see it: people who can tolerate not always being perfectly clear about when scenes take place.  Audiences that are prepared to revisit what the Vietnam War means as a metaphor.

What I saw on the way home: a buck with huge antlers on the shoulder of the Saw Mill Parkway, trotting in the direction of traffic.

Just imagine the deer

I let him have it

What I saw: Captain having the new dog toy.

What I did beforehand: the Bacon Provider got home from a business trip in time to catch a late dinner with me. Then, he had to unpack (and re-pack) his suitcase.

What I wore: dirty jeans and the sweater of intermittent self-pity

Who went with me: Captain and the Bacon Provider and even Schwartz.

How I got Captain: we took in Captain as a foster dog in the fall of 2008. 

Why I saw this show: a colleague of my husband who I met on election night gave him a gift, saying it was "for his dogs."

Where I sat: on the floor because I didn't want to miss any of it.

Things that were sad: that this made me feel better.

Things that were funny:

 

http://schwartzville.tumblr.com/post/153928449822/someone-got-us-a-toy-for-captain

 

Things that were not funny: 

Something I ate: toast.

Time for TOAST

— Hamsteria d'Relish (@hamsterRelish) December 1, 2016

What it is: a stuffed dog toy of ordinary durability, in the grip of a dog that is determined to rip the face off of every toy, empty out the stuffing, and pull out the squeaker.

Who should see it: as of this writing, 65,228,264 American voters, or, 2,554,576 more than the "winner."

What I saw after: Schwartz made his inspection.