life

A Better Way

The Postscript by by Carrie Classon
by Carrie Classon
The Postscript | January 24th, 2022

"You'll never guess what I did!" my husband, Peter, announced.

"You're right. I won't."

"I microwaved the masking tape!"

I can't tell you how pleased he was with himself.

My husband has a hack for everything. When I buy a roll of masking tape that is good for nothing but causing intense frustration, I am willing to give it up, toss the tape, and call it a lesson learned.

"Next time, I'm buying the expensive kind!" I said to Peter, after the tape shredded into itty-bitty bits just trying to get a few inches out to secure a box.

I was packing away the last of the holiday stuff -- rather late -- as I am supposed to be packing for Mexico. We are leaving next week and, so far, the packing has all occurred in my head. I know what I am bringing, more or less. Meantime, Peter has all the items he plans to pack laid out in a line that fills most of his office (aka "the brooding room") and new unidentified items are arriving in the mail daily.

"What is that?" I ask, concerning the latest mysterious package.

"It's a battery phone charger."

"For when there's no electricity?"

"Yup!"

"When will there not be electricity?"

Peter has some sort of plan in mind, and I will not be at all surprised when his battery phone charger saves the day. Peter is always thinking of a better way to do things, which brings me back to the masking tape.

"You microwaved the masking tape?" I said, not quite sure I'd heard correctly.

"I did!"

"And?"

"And now it works perfectly! It was just old. I microwaved it for 15 seconds and now look!" Peter grabbed the roll of tape and effortlessly pulled off several inches -- just for fun.

"Wow." It was impressive.

"I think you should go back to the hardware store and tell them," Peter said. "A lot of customers could be spared frustration if they just put their tape in the microwave!"

I considered doing this for exactly two seconds, and rejected the idea. I think the guys at the hardware store might think I'm a little odd already. This would seal the deal, so to speak.

But it's nice to have a husband who is always thinking of everything. We have every imaginable form saved to the cloud. We bring our own knives and kitchen odds and ends so we can cook wherever we are. Peter uses our departure on an extended trip as an opportunity to update his end-of-life instructions, should we both suddenly die or disappear in Mexico.

"I don't plan on dying this trip," I informed him.

"You should have seen how out of date the document was!" he marveled, ignoring me.

I used to think of myself as someone who was reasonably well-prepared for whatever life threw at me, but it would never have occurred to me to raise a roll of masking tape from the dead.

Today, I need to start packing. So far, my focus has been on whether I am bringing enough warm clothes to wear inside, as we will start out in the mountains, there will be no central heating and it can get chilly at night. Peter is not concerned about keeping warm.

"I'll wear my raincoat!" he tells me. And I know he will.

Peter will keep warm and he will make sure we have what we need. After a life of mostly taking care of myself, it's nice to rely on Peter to figure out a better way to do everything.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon's memoir is called "Blue Yarn." Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION FOR UFS

life

Eating Broccoli

The Postscript by by Carrie Classon
by Carrie Classon
The Postscript | January 17th, 2022

"I bought more broccoli because I knew you were coming," my mother informed me.

You can never get enough broccoli; that is my belief.

I am lucky in that I never had to acquire a taste for vegetables out of some sort of concern for my health. I have always loved vegetables. My mother has a picture of me at 3 years old, sound asleep with a serving spoon in my hand. I had apparently offered to finish up the remaining peas. I did, then fell fast asleep at the table. I think I could still do that today.

My sister also loves broccoli, so I am inclined to think it was our upbringing that instilled our love of vegetables. She remembers the time when she had dinner at a friend's house as a child and realized the modest-sized bowl of broccoli was intended to feed the entire table -- a bowl she could easily have eaten on her own. My broccoli-eating capacity exceeds my sister's, and this is why my mother (who prefers to buy things in small quantities) bought twice the normal amount of broccoli before my visit. We cooked it all. It was all eaten.

Eating vegetables is not something I have to worry about doing. I saw an advertisement for "vegetables in a pill" and was appalled. I have a hard time believing there is anything in those pills approximating a vegetable but, even if there were, why would anyone want it? Eating vegetables is one of my favorite things in life.

I'm reading a book about habits right now. I hesitated to buy the book because I thought I had pretty good habits already, and I thought it would be about breaking a bunch of bad habits or training myself to eat broccoli.

But it turns out that habits are even more important than I imagined. A lot of habits don't pay off for a long time, which makes staying motivated to keep them hard. But habits will have more influence on accomplishing goals than actual goal-setting. Most of us have similar goals. Not everyone has habits that make accomplishing the goals possible.

The author suggests that, instead of celebrating big accomplishments, we should celebrate sticking to a good trajectory, staying the course, making and keeping good habits. It doesn't sound quite as exciting as celebrating a big success, but maybe that's OK because the morning after the big success usually means going right back to the boring habits that made the success possible. And that's a good thing. Especially if you like broccoli.

The year is still new, and I'm trying out some new habits. I want to read more. I want to spend less time scrolling the internet. I want to do more pushups. I want to try to learn a little more Spanish, since I'll be traveling to Mexico and I feel I've forgotten every word I ever knew. None of these activities will have any effect whatsoever if I only do them for a day or two. So I'm trying to get some new habits in my life and push out the things I'd be doing instead.

Progress in Spanish is slow, and pushups make me tired. I usually start too late in the day to get much reading done. But I am going to keep trying.

I like the idea that getting a little stronger or a little smarter or a little more fluent might become easier with time. None of these habits will ever be as fun as eating broccoli, but that's a lot to ask.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon's memoir is called "Blue Yarn." Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION FOR UFS

life

Fancy Dress

The Postscript by by Carrie Classon
by Carrie Classon
The Postscript | January 10th, 2022

I was excited to wear my new dress.

It was slimming, I thought: all black and covered with flounces from the neckline to the hemline. I wore it with high heels -- which I rarely wear -- and red drop earrings. I was feeling much more sophisticated than I usually do when I went over to my sister's house for dinner.

"Nice dress!" my mother said.

I gave my new dress a little twirl and set the ruffles flying in all directions.

"You look like a car wash," my sister said.

This is why it's good to stay close to family.

My husband, Peter, and I moved across the country to the Midwest in large part so we could be closer to family. It's good to see my parents on a regular basis. Peter's oldest sister is battling cancer, and we can now be near her. We have dozens of cousins, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, and now most of them live nearby.

My family members (and my sister in particular) absolutely do not care what I say about myself. They do not care about my New Year's resolutions or recent accomplishments or nice things other people might have said about me.

They remember when I was 13 and wore a green felt hat all the time out of some sort of weird superstition. They remember when Dad had to drive back two hours to fetch the green hat after I left it someplace. And they will never believe that the green felt hat-wearing person has entirely changed.

I look at pictures of myself as a young teen, very shy, trying to become invisible beneath my peculiar green hat and only drawing more attention to myself in the process.

There was a lot I didn't understand as an awkward teen. I didn't realize that lots of people were shy. I didn't know that, by starting a conversation with someone, I would be doing them a huge favor. I didn't know I'd see the relief in their eyes when they realized they could talk to me and forget about feeling awkward themselves. I didn't need a green hat to become invisible. To take the pressure off me, I just needed to direct the attention to someone else. If someone had told me that sooner, I wouldn't have had to wear that silly hat for so long.

I like to think I've changed quite a bit since then, but my family knows better.

I firmly believe in the power we all have to change ourselves and follow our dreams wherever they take us. I hope to continue trying new things for quite a while. But, while chasing my highfalutin dreams, it's good to have family around to keep me grounded. It's good to remember that, no matter what grand schemes I take on, there are people who have known me before and know me best.

They will always cheer me on, but they will also know that I am still the same person, in a fancy dress, trying new things, sometimes succeeding and sometimes failing miserably. And they still love me.

"It doesn't really look like a car wash," my mother said.

My mother has been saying reassuring things to me all my life. But I suspect, now that the image is in her mind, my fancy-schmancy dress will never look quite the same. And that's OK.

My self-esteem has come a long way since my green hat-wearing days. Nowadays, I can put on my fancy car wash dress with a pair of heels and not care who sees me.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon's memoir is called "Blue Yarn." Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION FOR UFS

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