Eat it all, my lovelies

If you’re looking for a partner in crime to help you indulge in your every last craving this holiday season, look no further, kids, because I am your girl.

You want a candy cane? Suck away. You want gingersnap cookies? How can you not? You want a whole bloody cheese ball? Hell yes you do.

In my world, the very best thing about Christmas is the beautiful food, in large part because the very best thing about living is, again, the beautiful food. So if you feel like you need a green light? You feel like you need to blast away some guilt? You come to me.

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Let there be light

The lights hang in the kitchen.

The red lights hang in the kitchen.

The red lights shaped like bells hang in the kitchen.

The red lights shaped like bells affixed with gold bows hang in the kitchen.

The red lights shaped like bells affixed with gold bows that sing Christmas carols hang in the kitchen.

They sing Silent Night.

They sing Feliz Navidad.

They sing Good King Wenceslas.

They can flash in tune with each carol.

They are the tackiest purchase I’ve ever made.

At the same time, they may also be the best purchase I’ve ever made.

And that is what Christmas 2020 looks like in our house.

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Fitz and the car rides

About five months ago, our little dog Fitz decided he loved car rides. It happened suddenly one day when I was getting ready to run a stack of errands. As soon as I picked up my purse, there was Fitz at the back door in determined athletic stance. Then, he turned slightly, jutted out his chin and said, “Yes, mother, I am coming with you.”

So, I picked him up, put him in his car seat (yes, I’m that dog mum) and he immediately sat down, sniffing with satisfaction.

This incident came soon after the first time I took Fitz to University of Tennessee Veterinary Medical Center. Fitz hadn’t been feeling well for a while and, with the help of our incredible vet Dr. Hutchison, we got him scheduled for a brain MRI at UT. The imaging showed Fitz, just 3 years old, had a very large brain tumor, one that we subsequently had treated with radiation.

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Election reflections: Out of the wild blue yonder

It’s the morning of the election. Outside, it’s crisp and quiet, one of those clear days where weather feels permanent, like in a kid’s drawing with a house, a tree and a long-rayed sun in the corner. It’s a little ironic as I’m pretty sure most of us feel stormy instead, wondering what’s going to happen tonight and for the rest of the month.

I’ll admit I feel unqualified to write about the election, which is why I haven’t before. While I am a citizen, I am not from this country and feel like whatever I say will be laced with the bias of my birthplace.

And yet, how do I not write about the political landscape on this day? Do I proceed with the column about pencil sharpeners I’d had in mind? Do I pretend, as I have, that I’m bumping along happily during a pandemic, surrounded daily by political turmoil that doesn’t affect me?

That’s not honest. That would be like standing on the side of the Grand Canyon and electing not to look down. I am too tired — we all are — by the division that cuts through us to pretend.

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I admit it: I have grey hair

So, I was social distance walking (SDWing) with my friend Tina in our subdivision the other day. We’d just reached the halfway mark when a perky SUV slowed down beside us. I quickly recognized it was my extremely friendly neighbor, the same one who brings me fresh rhubarb every summer, the same one who shoots down mistletoe for me so I can use it as decoration for New Year’s Eve.

So, I was all smiles when he pulled up.

“Hey, Tara, you getting ready to sign up for Social Security?”

Confused, I social distance leaned in (SDLI).

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Are you getting ready to sign up for Social Security?”

Then he rubbed his hair with his hand.

And then, aghast, I realized he was joking. Joking about my head full of grey hair.

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What’s your scent?

I am a Coco Chanel girl. Have been since I was 20, have always been rather proud of it, have never thought much about switching. It’s the kind of perfume that makes me feel both fancy and hopeful that people will say, “What are you wearing? It really suits you.”

Because to suit something Coco Chanel is responsible for? I have no problem with that, letmetellya.

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Staring at the pandemic purchase

This afternoon, the dogs and I were in the driveway circling around the biggest box that has arrived at our house in a decade.

It is one of those packages that, even if light, you couldn’t possibly pick up because no one has that kind of arm span. It is almost perfectly square and the white pallet straps have bitten into the cardboard in a few areas. When one of the sweet neighbor boys rode past on his bike, he couldn’t help but ask, “What’s inside that thing anyways?”

The UPS man had delivered it rather stealthily and, frankly, I didn’t blame him. I can imagine with deliveries of this sort, there are plenty of requests from recipients for help, requests that start with “Do you think you could just …” and include the words “dolly” and “stairs.”

So, Tilly, Fitz and I were on our own circling this behemoth and Fitz, at least, was doubtful we were ever getting it inside.

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Ready for full-on foddershock

Over the past week, I’ve been staring at a flower pot on my deck. Not constantly, mind you, as that would be worrisome, but, if I’m honest, I’m out there looking pretty regularly. And each time I do, I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

The pot is filled with petunias, snap dragons, a dusty miller and, most importantly, a chrysanthemum I planted last fall that made it through the winter. For the past three months, that mum has been growing steadily and last week, well, last week, it started to bloom. Yesterday, it had one flower the exact color of Thanksgiving. Today, there are three.

To me, it is surefire evidence that fall is here, and I’ve never been happier to usher in a new season. Not just because I like fall in general, but because it means we’ve made it through another big block of pandemic time.

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Gatsby in a pandemic

When the pandemic is over, I’m just going to warn you: I’m going to be dressed up pretty fancy. And not just, like, the first day after. At the rate I’m going, I should have a solid six months’ worth of jazzy outfits ready to head out on the town whether I’m in them or not.

Why so? For some reason, I’ve started shopping for clothes.

To be clear, I have absolutely nowhere to go, unless you consider heading down to the basement an outing. But I’m shopping nonetheless. And, considering I’m a party of one, I’m having an incredible time.

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