I think everyone in the whole entire world (as my granddaughter Mylee would say) would agree that there has been nothing normal about 2020. Well, let me amend that statement a bit. There’s been nothing normal since mid-March of 2020.

I hear people say all the time that they can’t wait until they see the end of 2020. Heck, I myself blame 2020 for anything that goes awry. Alas, we all know that when the clock strikes midnight on January 1, 2021, nothing will magically change. COVID will still drive our lives. We will still be wearing masks. Our kids and grandkids will likely be looking at their teacher on the screen of a computer. If they are lucky enough to be in live school, they will still be wearing masks as they work on their math problems.

It’s no surprise , then, that many of us are looking at a holiday season that will be quite different from what we are used to. Our holidays have always been predictable. We spend Thanksgiving with our kids. For a long time, Bill and I hosted. When Jll and Dave redid their house, making it very conducive to entertaining, they took over as hosts.

I put up my Christmas trees on the day after Thanksgiving. Any or all of my grandkids help me decorate my angel tree. The lights go on our trees outside and my house is made festive inside. We celebrate Christmas with our Denver kids/grandkids the days before December 25, and fly to AZ for the winter/spring on Christmas Day.

This is what we’ve done for many years, but it’s not what we’re going to do this year.

For the first time ever, we will be in AZ for Thanksgiving. We have generally driven to AZ in October, and flown home before Thanksgiving. This year, however, our kids will be elsewhere for Thanksgiving. Not wanting to be alone, we decided to leave this upcoming Saturday, and drive to our AZ home. We will spend Thanksgiving with Bec’s son and daughter-in-law and their kids. We will fly home a week or so before Christmas, and then fly back Christmas Day.

I am at peace with our decision. But I had been feeling sad that I was going to miss out on our traditional Christmas activities, i.e., decorating my angel tree. Saturday morning, as I awaited the arrival of Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole, with whom I was spending the day, I had a lightbulb thought. Why not decorate the tree with the three grands that very day? Who says you have to wait until the day after Thanksgiving?

And that’s what we did…..

I thought about sending an email to my neighbors, justifying my early Christmas lights. But then I figured this would be the least of their surprises for 2020. And much to my surprise, as I drove the grands home that evening, I spotted a remarkable number of Christmas lights.

It’s 2020. What can I say?

The other day, I started counting on my fingers as to the number of places I have lived in my almost 67 years of life. I came up with a total of 12 places in which I have resided. That includes a dormitory and a sorority house, both which were very short-lived.

Don’t even ask what made me start counting. I have way too much time on my hands. After my daily chores are done, I watch my British mysteries and wonder how one gets the acting job of playing the lawyer, oops, solicitor (it’s Great Britain, after all) in all of the police programs. They literally do nothing but sit and stay quiet. The detective could take off his or her shoes and throw it at the suspect, and the solicitor would simply write a note on the ubiquitous notepad. I always wonder how much that actor gets paid.

But back to places in which I have lived. I spent the first 18 years of my life in our little house in Columbus. I never lived there again. Between my freshman and sophomore year, my folks moved to Leadville, Colorado. I bounced around a bit from one place to another, never really living anyplace for more than a few years.

At some point, I lost something very valuable. It had no monetary value, but I miss it more than I would have missed any of my jewelry (except my wedding ring). At some point, my mother went through all of our photos, and put together four photo albums — one for each of her kids — with family photos.

I suspect that I left the album in the storage locker that I leased during one of my 12 moves. There was a period of a month between selling the condo which I owned with my first husband and moving into the little house I had purchased after our divorce, so I needed to store my belongings. For that month, Court and I lived in the littlest apartment you can imagine, sharing a bedroom with two twin beds. I counted that as a place in which I lived. That month included a Christmas Day. It counts.

But I never saw the photo album again. It’s the only thing I’ve ever lost that meant a great deal to me. I guess I’m lucky.

A couple of years ago, I cleaned out my pantry. I try to do that every year. That year, for some reason or other, I decided to really tackle the expired items. That’s when I discovered that I had in the neighborhood of 20 boxes of teabags. I remember thinking two things: 1) Why did I have so much tea when I never drink tea; and 2) Given the expiration date on some of the boxes, I had moved them three or four times. And, see above: I don’t drink tea. Why did I move them? Rhetorical question.

I wonder if Americans today move more or less than we did in the 60s and 70s. I bet it’s more often, because people work at their jobs for fewer number of years. Also, I’ll bet people are less inclined to feel the need to live by their family of origin. Talk to Grandma on FaceTime Kids.

Perhaps I should have majored in sociology instead of journalism. That, however, wouldn’t have helped me find my photo album.

The other day I received my delivery of the Christmas face masks I had ordered a week or so before from Old Navy. Last Christmas, I didn’t order face masks that showed my holiday spirit because last year at this time, I had never had a face mask on in my life. Well, except for the Cinderella mask I wore for Halloween as a kid.

Now, I’m matching masks to outfits. I pull up at the grocery store, look down at what top I’m wearing, and select an appropriate mask. I’m not the only one either. My sister Bec told me yesterday morning as we FaceTimed that she was disgruntled because she didn’t have any fall- or winter-colored masks. All cheerful summer fabrics. We laughed about becoming so accustomed to wearing masks that we are concerned about fashion.

As for Bill, he is as excited as a kid in the toy store at Christmas because he ordered — and received — what will likely be his go-to mask: a red mask with the Ferrari horse on it. I’m matching masks to sweaters; he’s matching masks to cars. I don’t think I have to wait for a Hyundai Sonata mask to show up.

Here in Colorado, masks are mandatory when in a public place. Mostly people obey the rule. I was in the grocery store a couple of weeks ago and saw a woman shopping without a mask. I have no idea if she was protesting the wearing of masks or if she simply forgot to put on a mask. I came thiiiis cloooose to going up to her and suggesting that next time she leaves her house, she might carry (and wear) a mask. I elected not to say a word.

It’s my new vow. I’ve mostly never been the confrontational type. My family will cheerfully disagree, pointing out the time when I was a teenager and was hiking with my family in the mountains outside of Aspen. I saw a couple of what we then called hippies toss a plastic cup onto the trail. I walked up to them and gave them the what-for about littering. They apologized profusely and have never littered since. Yeah, right. In my mind, anyway. I only vaguely remember the situation, but perhaps that’s what’s caused me to avoid confrontation whenever possible.

At any rate, I gave the woman wide berth and said nothing.

And speaking of masks, I’m happy to report that my granddaughter — the one who was notified last Thursday that she had been exposed to COVID — tested negative, as did her entire family. I was holding my breath because if she tested positive, I was also exposed since I had spent the day with her. As soon as we heard about her being exposed, we both put on our masks.

Mine was a fashionable leopard print that went well with my white shirt and khaki pants.

The other day, I looked out my bathroom window and spotted a squirrel at my bird feeder. Not just at the feeder, but hanging upside down from the top of the feeder like a Barnam and Bailey trapeze artist so as to access the few remaining sunflower seeds at the very bottom.

Without a thought, I ran downstairs, flew to the back door, and bolted outside. I was hollering and clapping my hands like I was at a rock concert begging for an encore. “SCRAM SCRAM SCRAM!” I was screaming. The squirrel looked at me and casually dropped down to the ground. I’m pretty sure he winked at me before he ran away. Oooo, I’m really scared of you.

I probably do that at least once a day. Obviously, it does no good. Squirrels steal from bird feeders. It’s what they do. I am convinced that there really is no such thing as a squirrel-proof bird feeder. Nevertheless, I buy feeders that promise the squirrels won’t be able to access. I have tried spraying the metal pole with Pam to make it slippery. All of it is to no avail.

I have never actually seen a squirrel getting onto the bird feeder. I don’t know how they do it. Do they jump from the ground like a cat? Do they take a running start and jump? Do they put on little rubber shoes to avoid the slipperiness?

But the real question — the question I asked myself the last time this happened a few days ago — is why on earth does it bug me so much?

In the cartoon world, squirrels are usually depicted as clever and fearless. Walt Disney’s famous squirrels — Chip and Dale — were cheerful and friendly. I never saw them stealing from the birds…..

Rocky the Flying Squirrel was brave and smart enough to outwit Boris and Natasha Every Single Time….

Still, the squirrels in my backyard get on my very last nerve. I dutifully fill up my bird feeder every week and wait for the house finches and the chickadees to look both ways as they peek out of the nearby spruce tree and then fly carefully to the feeder that is designed to prevent even big birds from eating the food.

And the big birds are sitting on the electric lines looking at the squirrels and asking each other, “How do they do that?”

The reality is that at this time of year, it shouldn’t matter to me that the squirrels are also eating the bird seed. After all, God’s creatures are getting ready for the cold winter and eating as much as they possibly can. Perhaps I just hold a grudge for the spring that I came home from AZ only to find big holes in the chair cushions that I had forgotten to put away in the fall. The squirrels were building their nests, and the cheap foam in the cushions was exactly what they were looking for.

I’m either going to have to let nature take its course or stop looking out my windows. The squirrels will win every single time.

My grandkids are growing up. The eldest is 17; the youngest is 6. I know that the four McLains didn’t go out trick-or-treating — the first time no one went out for 17 years. I haven’t gotten word from Vermont as to whether the two boys trick-or-treated, but my suspicion is no. So that leaves Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole. They did not leave their house; instead, they celebrated with their mom and dad at home. Still, they dressed up mightily…..

I asked Kaiya if Cole even knows who the Marshmallow Man is. After all, he wasn’t even a gleam in his parents’ eyes in 1984 when Ghostbusters was released.

“Nope,” she said. “He has no idea. But our original plan was a Ghostbuster theme, with Mom and Dad being the ghostbusters. It never happened.”

Do you see the resemblance?…..

Have a great weekend.

We Make Tacos
Bill and I don’t go to a lot of fast food places. Maybe McDonalds for breakfast on occasion when we’re craving grease and scalding hot coffee. Don’t laugh. It happens. Anyway, one fast food joint we visit more than others is Taco Bell. It’s not that we think the food is scrumptious. Of course it’s not. Many years ago when there was much hulabaloo when people learned the quality of the meat that was going into Taco Bells’ crunchy tacos, my sister Jen pointed out, “The taco is 99 cents. Are people expecting Wagu beef?” But it’s near our home, its inexpensive, and their crunchy tacos are, well, crunchy. At any rate, weekend before last, Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole spent Saturday with us. I was contemplating dinner choices, and Mylee begged me to let her have a bean burrito with red sauce from Taco Bell. What the heck? Bill and I could just dine on Taco Bell. I got two crunchy tacos, and Bill got a bean burrito with green sauce and a chicken soft taco. No problemo. The next weekend (which was this past weekend), I wanted to grab something cheap and quick for lunch, so I went through Taco Bell’s drive-thru. “A chicken soft taco,” I said into the box, as I began my order. “I’m sorry,” the box replied. We don’t make chicken soft tacos any more. “Okay. A bean burrito with green sauce,” I went on. “I’m sorry,” the box replied. “We don’t make green burritos any more.” So I improvised. When I got to the window, I politely asked, “When did you stop making soft tacos and burritos, because I got them just a few days ago. “I KNOW,” the woman said. “I just came to work today and there was a notice that we no longer made those two items.” Well, people, if you can’t count on Taco Bell in 2020, who can you count on.

Face Masks
Yesterday I stayed with Kaiya while her mom and dad went to a surgical center so that Court could get some outpatient surgery. Cole and Mylee were at live school, but Kaiya doesn’t go to live school except on Thursdays and Fridays. So I stayed with her to make sure she actually did the school work she was supposed to do. (And, by the way, she did.) About 1:30, my telephone rings, and it’s Kaiya’s mom. “I have something to tell you,” she said. I braced myself to hear that something awful happened on the operating table. “Court’s fine,” she quickly said as she heard my gasp. “But I just got a call from Kaiya’s school. She has been exposed to COVID. Someone she sat next to in school has tested positive. Yikes. Kaiya and I both threw on our masks, and I went to pick up Mylee and Cole from school. The initial plan was to take all three to get tested, but the doctor suggested that they wait until today (Friday) to get the tests done. I’m waiting to hear if she tests positive. I don’t think she will (please God!). Fingers crossed.

Pizza Pizza
I got home from babysitting around dinner time with not a single plan for dinner. What sounds good to you, I naively asked Bill. Of course, his answer was pizza. I was getting ready to order from our neighborhood joint, when Bill said that deep dish pizza sounded good to him. Now, he hails from Chicago, but grew up on the south side where pizzas have thin, cracker crusts, Italian sausage, and the pieces are cut in squares. As I wondered who this person was and what he did with my husband, it occurred to me that Bec had heard recently that Domino’s Pizza makes a really good deep dish pizza. So I ordered Domino’s, and guess what? It was really good! Who knew?

Ciao!