Casa Walsh

Here’s something I wrote on the train last month. Sure, it’s not new content, but it’s new to you!

I’m traveling down to own to New Jersey today because my family is throwing my grandmother a party for her 95^th birthday. Grandma has four children, seven grandchildren, 10 great-grandchildren and a score of great-nieces, nephews and cousins. I didn’t bring her a present, just a card. I called her the other day and asked her what she wanted for her birthday. “Oh, dear, you know I don’t want anything.” I’m taking her word for it this time. I thought it would be nice to bring her some pictures, but she’s run out of space in her small apartment. Every surface, the fridge, the desks, the dresser, the table and walls are all covered with framed photographs of her ranks of small family members. There’s a picture collage on the wall in her bedroom; all pictures of me as a baby and toddler. That’s my corner. I don’t want to take up more space than I’m allotted. The last time we visited grandma gave me a small stack of old photographs of me. “I thought you might want these,” she said.

I thought of bringing her a batch of pepparkakors, the spicy molasses cookies she used to bake me, my favorite. But I couldn’t find the recipe she gave me. And I thought it would draw attention to her inability to do any baking these days. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive, but I felt similar guilt choosing a birthday card. I didn’t want to go the hallmark route; the sappy poem embossed over the pastel sunset. All the cards in the small boutique stores in Cambridge are directed at a certain type of person – that is, someone with a sense of irony, or of misplaced nostalgia. Have you seen these “retro” cards? Tinted vintage photographs of women in modest bathing suits, the “modern” kitchen, families eating TV dinners. These cards are not meant for people who lived out these scenes, as the captions usually boil down to, “can you believe people once looked like this?” Also out, all the cards mentioning “kicking ass”, getting drunk, or making fun of old age.

I chose a beautiful card; screen-printed flowers on recycled paper. A simple “Happy Birthday” message in script on the inside. What to write? Dear Grandma. Happy Birthday. I love you. XOXO Amanda. Anything else seems wrong. “Many happy returns?” The woman is 95, maybe she doesn’t want many happy returns. I respect the living history of my grandma, but I don’t feel the need to point it out. Hey, you sure did produce a lot of people. Most of the people at the party wouldn’t be alive had grandma not been born in 1908. That’s something to put on a card, eh?

Here’s something I wrote on the train last month. Sure, it’s not new content, but it’s new to you!

I’m traveling down to own to New Jersey today because my family is throwing my grandmother a party for her 95^th birthday. Grandma has four children, seven grandchildren, 10 great-grandchildren and a score of great-nieces, nephews and cousins. I didn’t bring her a present, just a card. I called her the other day and asked her what she wanted for her birthday. “Oh, dear, you know I don’t want anything.” I’m taking her word for it this time. I thought it would be nice to bring her some pictures, but she’s run out of space in her small apartment. Every surface, the fridge, the desks, the dresser, the table and walls are all covered with framed photographs of her ranks of small family members. There’s a picture collage on the wall in her bedroom; all pictures of me as a baby and toddler. That’s my corner. I don’t want to take up more space than I’m allotted. The last time we visited grandma gave me a small stack of old photographs of me. “I thought you might want these,” she said.

I thought of bringing her a batch of pepparkakors, the spicy molasses cookies she used to bake me, my favorite. But I couldn’t find the recipe she gave me. And I thought it would draw attention to her inability to do any baking these days. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive, but I felt similar guilt choosing a birthday card. I didn’t want to go the hallmark route; the sappy poem embossed over the pastel sunset. All the cards in the small boutique stores in Cambridge are directed at a certain type of person – that is, someone with a sense of irony, or of misplaced nostalgia. Have you seen these “retro” cards? Tinted vintage photographs of women in modest bathing suits, the “modern” kitchen, families eating TV dinners. These cards are not meant for people who lived out these scenes, as the captions usually boil down to, “can you believe people once looked like this?” Also out, all the cards mentioning “kicking ass”, getting drunk, or making fun of old age.

I chose a beautiful card; screen-printed flowers on recycled paper. A simple “Happy Birthday” message in script on the inside. What to write? Dear Grandma. Happy Birthday. I love you. XOXO Amanda. Anything else seems wrong. “Many happy returns?” The woman is 95, maybe she doesn’t want many happy returns. I respect the living history of my grandma, but I don’t feel the need to point it out. Hey, you sure did produce a lot of people. Most of the people at the party wouldn’t be alive had grandma not been born in 1908. That’s something to put on a card, eh?

I spend a lot of time choosing my Christmas cards every year. I like a simple graphic, bright colors, and no religious iconography. This year I bought some adorable cards at Bob Slate: Tri-fold, tiered trees in two shades of green. Each card has a sheet of ornament stickers, for decorating the trees! I sacrificed one card for a field test. There are plenty of stickers to decorate all the trees. I meticulously arranged all the little ornaments for maximum prettiness, stood the card up on the table, left the house, and came back to a distaster. Most of the stickers fell off. Maybe the card is too glossy. I stuck the stickers back on, in a less artful way, and after a couple days the card looks like this:

Should I send them out with a disclaimer? Or a small bottle of glue?

I spend a lot of time choosing my Christmas cards every year. I like a simple graphic, bright colors, and no religious iconography. This year I bought some adorable cards at Bob Slate: Tri-fold, tiered trees in two shades of green. Each card has a sheet of ornament stickers, for decorating the trees! I sacrificed one card for a field test. There are plenty of stickers to decorate all the trees. I meticulously arranged all the little ornaments for maximum prettiness, stood the card up on the table, left the house, and came back to a distaster. Most of the stickers fell off. Maybe the card is too glossy. I stuck the stickers back on, in a less artful way, and after a couple days the card looks like this:

Should I send them out with a disclaimer? Or a small bottle of glue?

I spend a lot of time choosing my Christmas cards every year. I like a simple graphic, bright colors, and no religious iconography. This year I bought some adorable cards at Bob Slate: Tri-fold, tiered trees in two shades of green. Each card has a sheet of ornament stickers, for decorating the trees! I sacrificed one card for a field test. There are plenty of stickers to decorate all the trees. I meticulously arranged all the little ornaments for maximum prettiness, stood the card up on the table, left the house, and came back to a distaster. Most of the stickers fell off. Maybe the card is too glossy. I stuck the stickers back on, in a less artful way, and after a couple days the card looks like this:

Should I send them out with a disclaimer? Or a small bottle of glue?

A list of things I’ve done this evening instead of revising my essays:

1. Two loads of laundry, washed and folded


2. Tested the burnability and scent of Christmas candles


3. Flipped through cooking magazines, earmarking recipes for Festivus


4. Washed three dishes


5. Watched “24″ and “Celebrity Poker Showdown” simultaneously


6. Created vacation packing checklist


7. Updated blog

A list of things I’ve done this evening instead of revising my essays:

1. Two loads of laundry, washed and folded


2. Tested the burnability and scent of Christmas candles


3. Flipped through cooking magazines, earmarking recipes for Festivus


4. Washed three dishes


5. Watched “24″ and “Celebrity Poker Showdown” simultaneously


6. Created vacation packing checklist


7. Updated blog

A list of things I’ve done this evening instead of revising my essays:

1. Two loads of laundry, washed and folded


2. Tested the burnability and scent of Christmas candles


3. Flipped through cooking magazines, earmarking recipes for Festivus


4. Washed three dishes


5. Watched “24″ and “Celebrity Poker Showdown” simultaneously


6. Created vacation packing checklist


7. Updated blog

Hello, my name is Swans, and I’m an ultraholic.

It started innocently. I was lured in by the cute 10 ounce cans (”They make my hands look huge!”), won over by the sheer drinkabilty and manageable size, and eventually enthralled by the low-carb opiates. I don’t know what they put in place of the carbohydrates. Electrolytes? Endorphins? Oxycontin? Whatever it is, I’m hooked.

Hello, my name is Swans, and I’m an ultraholic.

It started innocently. I was lured in by the cute 10 ounce cans (”They make my hands look huge!”), won over by the sheer drinkabilty and manageable size, and eventually enthralled by the low-carb opiates. I don’t know what they put in place of the carbohydrates. Electrolytes? Endorphins? Oxycontin? Whatever it is, I’m hooked.