Day 87, Be Brave Project; Done with the Chestnut Roasting

Just spent the better part of an half an hour mucking about in the control panel "Internet Options" setting because blogspot here told me to enable java settings (that were already enabled), and muck about in the cookie realm.

Well, it's nice to do something that isn't connected with Christmas. Yesterday, as I roamed Broadway looking for a Best Buy store, I began totalling up the price of Christmas for me: Airfare, a little over $300 (used to be under 200). Tipping of the doormen: $200 (never had doormen before, and do not begrudge the tips for a moment--totally worth the $20 a month). Catsitter: $150. Taxi to airport: $30 (used to be able to take the M60 bus, right from my corner). So, before I've even bought a gift, Christmas costs me close to $700.

$700 before a gift is bought!! Holy crow. Is that not flipping egregious? And should Christmas alone not be able to improve our economy somewhat? In addition I have already made 2 trips to the dirty nugget of heaven that is Century 21, ducked into horrible Filene's several times, only to emerge foul-tempered and empty handed, strolled indifferently into Variazione and came out with the greatest dress bargains in history (2 black, boat-necked capped sleeved back-wrap dresses at $20 each, and one ruched jersey for $10). I've bought approximately 15 Godiva chocolate bars, and will buy more--their milk chocolate is absolutely sublime, with a rich caramel taste. I've seen one woman faint (Century 21), and two women fight (Loehmann's).

I'm ready for Christmas to be over.

Today I have to buy some nice hand cream for my step-Grandmother. She is a lovely southern lady who lives in a nursing home in Jacksonville, Florida. For decades she ran a funeral home down there, and Miss Flo was the most respected person in town: She'd hide bootleggers in the basement with the corpses, and she'd take in your dead daddy even if you couldn't pay to bury him. Now she has diabetes, and has lost one leg.

Once I find the hand cream, I get back here, wrap it and put it in a padded envelope along with a gift card for my father, socks, a 1940's game of skill & luck, and a German date-book. His wife gets a silver frame with pictures already in, earrings, napkins, and a cell phone case. Then I'll be meeting the cat sitter here, showing her around, and heading for the post office afterwards.

Oh the grimness of the NYC post office at Christmas.

One week from today I head to Chicago until the New Year: My poor cirrhotic mother will have a filthy house and a pile of chores to do; it will not have occurred to her to not drink so she would feel well enough to do them herself.

But I like Chicago, and I will try to make the best of it all. I will not drink (I hope and pray). I will see wonderful movies at the greatest neighborhood cinema in the world, The Wilmette Cinema, and I will drive around-- a lot.

But for right now I wish Christmas would come once every two years. That's enough.