Nobody has ever accused me of aging gracefully. I was dragged into my thirties, kicking and screaming the whole way, and I find myself once again on the cusp of a new decade. To say I turned 39 with dignity would be a bald-faced lie.
I started the week with my usual birthday trepidation—hiding in bed, weeping and lamenting my fate. How could I be so close to 40 and still not be rich and famous? My mother told me I could be anything I wanted to be—why wasn’t I an astronaut yet? This only depressed me further when I realized that had I become an astronaut, I’d be at retirement age by now. 
I called my (older) sister to make myself feel better. She tried to cheer me up by reminding me that at least I didn’t have to dye my hair yet (sure, there are a few gray hairs up there, but the blonde tends to hide it—or at least that’s what I tell myself.) Then she told me that one of her students thought she was 38. You know, younger than me.
Thanks, Kim.
Then I remembered when Kim turned 39. Her husband pointed out that age is based on years completed. So the day after you turn 39 is actually the first day of your 40th year. Why do I even talk to these people?
As I was glumly shuffling in to work, wondering if I needed bifocals, an angel from dispatch (you know her as Linda, my top commenter) reminded me about everything that is good about birthdays. Namely, cake.
I had coffee cake on Monday and a gourmet cupcake on Tuesday. The ladies in my department surprised me with Oreo cake on Wednesday, and there was enough left over for breakfast on Thursday. There was a coupon in the paper for an ice cream cake on Friday, and I thought, why stop now? I gorged my way through the whole birthday week. My pants no longer fit, but at least I’m smiling again.
Of course, birthdays aren’t just about feeling sorry for yourself. They’re also about family. My mother, for instance, who brought me in to this world.
She’s making me a cake on Sunday.
Speaking of Sunday, don’t miss my LIVE interview on Scary Scribes, when I discuss my fabulous short story “People Person” with host Kristi Petersen Schoonover. Then I'll talk about how fabulous it is to turn 39 and still not be an astronaut.  Bring the Kleenex!
Listen live at 6 p.m. Sunday, January 29 
here!
 http://www.blogtalkradio.com/paranormaleh/2012/01/29/scary-scribes

It's been snowing outside for five hours now, and I have yet to hear a snowplow drive by. I don't understand why the road crews are always so surprised and remarkably unprepared when it snows in New England in January. It's kind of like being shocked when Christmas arrives every December. You can count on it to happen, people!
This is the second time it has snowed this week. Personally, I fully believed the weather man on Monday when he said it would snow that night and in to Tuesday. I went down to Columbia Ford and they were surprisingly tolerant of my request to put snow chains on my favorite boots. I clomped back home, filled the car with windshield wiper fluid, and waited for the snow.
Over on Facebook, one of my high school friends complained that her children hadn't been able to try out their new snowsuits yet. I began to reflect on how nice it would be to be able to actually reach in through a computer screen and throttle someone. I tried it a few times, but just kept bruising my fingertips. Eventually, I just suggested to her that she bundle up the kids and take them to the freezer section of Stop & Shop. She 'unfriended' me an hour later.
Well, the snow did come. I used my new boot chains to stamp my way to the car (which Jason had cleaned off for me—hooray!) and drive to work. I smugly used my newly-filled windshield wiper fluid to clear off the glass, which promptly left a giant smear right in my line of vision. I'm not sure why that happens every time it's cold out, but it always seems to happen on the driver's side of the window. I crouched down to see through the one clear spot right above the dashboard, and made my way down the road. It took me three hours to travel twelve miles, but I made it to work right in time for lunch.
Jason called me when I arrived. He'd been in an accident on the way to work, and the car was in bad shape (luckily, he was fine). From the way the guys at the body shop were pointing at him and laughing, he expected it to be totaled. Just for the record: that is one death in the family, one three-week-long sinus infection, and now one car accident so far for 2012. 
Which is why I am perfectly content to stay in bed this morning and listen for snowplows. Unless Paula Deen is standing outside in my driveway with her fingers frozen around a giant chocolate mousse cake, I'm not cracking the front door open until I see some daffodils popping up.
See you in the spring!

Why do we make New Year's resolutions? This is the question I wail in to my pillow every night. I always start January with the best of intentions, only to fail miserably by Jan. 4th. Let's look at my resolutions for 2012 (may they rest in peace):
1. Go on a diet. Who didn't see this coming? I'm a card-carrying member of Weight Watchers, and a "boredom eater" (you fellow flab fighters know what I mean.)
But see, when I logically know I should go on a diet, but I'm not mentally ready to go on a diet, a funny thing happens. Food that has never appealed to me in my life suddenly finds its way into my belly. I went to the grocery store last weekend with every intention of buying fresh fruit, vegetables, and whole wheat wraps. Lo and behold, the manager's special of the day was cherry almond muffins. I hate muffins. I find them dry, unappetizing, and not worth the 750 calories a pop. Unless they're chocolate with chocolate chips and frosting, I'm not interested (and even then that would technically be a cupcake, not a muffin.) But, knowing I  was trying to watch my intake and shed a few pounds, I suddenly decided I had to have them. Cherry almond? What a novel flavor! Surely these muffins would be better than any muffin I've ever eaten and been disappointed with in my life! I bought two packages of four, and threw some Slim Jims in the carriage for dessert. I'm up six pounds this week.
2. Get a sassy new hairdo. It's a new year, and now I need a new 'do to distract people from the six pounds I've just added to my neck. I decide to go for a chic layered bob to add volume and encourage Meg Ryan comparisons. I can't go to Dara at Cutting Crew because she always criticizes me for not moisturizing my split ends. Brenda at Modern Hair is out because she yells at me for trimming my own bangs. I almost make an appointment with Jodi at the Sears salon, until I remember the time she made fun of me for plucking my eyebrows unevenly. I don't know what makes hairdressers so critical, but I don't need that kind of negativity in my life. I've decided that 2012 is the year I will start wearing more hats.
3. Renew friendships with old friends. Doesn't that sound nice? Reaching out to a few friends who I don't see enough, emailing them more, sending them cards, and making time to meet them for lunch? It's a lovely thought, but reality is an ugly thing. I work full time, serve on two different boards, volunteer for the annual MS Walk in April, do all of the cooking and most of the cleaning in my house, edit part-time, and I'm writing a book that should be out in the first half of the year. Who has times to reconnect with old friends? I'm sure the reason why we lost touch in the first place is because they didn't like that I had no time for them. Who needs friends like that?

There you have it: three resolutions, all of which I have spectacularly failed. Next year, I'm resolving to continue to not get enough exercise, or to ingest more caffeine. At least that way, I'll be setting myself up for success!

My great-aunt passed away on New Year's Eve. Besides being unexpected (sort of—she was 93, but she was still chopping firewood and painting wall murals at the nursing home where she lived) it left our family in a quandary: who would be the next matriarch to lead our family? Because no matter how you slice it, and with apologies to my father, ever since I was born I've been aware that it's the women running the show in our clan.
My grandmother and her two sisters used to sit in grandma's kitchen, playing cards and plotting the future of our family. Over this innocuous bridge game, important decisions like who would host Easter in the upcoming year and when was cousin John going to meet a nice Greek girl and settle down were decided. (Aunt Demi and 1987, as it turned out.) There was no doubt in our minds as kids that any decision we were eventhinking about making had better have the blessing of these three women before we moved forward. This may be the only reason why I didn't have multi-colored Cyndi Lauper hair as a teen. My grandmother assured me that she would roll over and drop dead immediately, and my  great-aunts would both die of mortification, if I dyed my hair like a rainbowed skunk. I certainly wouldn't have been able to live with that kind of guilt, and looking back, it really wasn't the best fashion look after all. Thanks, Grandma.
As I got older, first it was Aunt Georgia, and then Grandma Annie who passed away. But the matriarchy still stood firm. Auntie Demi was around to keep us all in line, and by golly, we all made sure to go visit her, send her cards and photos, and call her when she required it. We all got married and moved around a little bit and got new jobs, but my mother, my aunt, my cousin Lori, my sister and I all stayed part of our little clan. (We had two male cousins in there, but they have opted to fall by the wayside. Too much estrogen, perhaps.) 
The first question that came up after Auntie Demi passed away was that of who would assume the role of matriarch next. Cousin Joanne? Aunt Georgia's stepdaughters?
My mother called me to let me know that while it was my decision, it would be nice if my sister and I came to visit her over the weekend and go through some of my great-aunt's things. No pressure, but really, I should be there. And maybe I could bring a platter of some of those sugar cookies that everyone enjoyed so much at Christmastime. You know, if I wanted to.
I think our little matriarchy is going to be just fine.