Year of the rat

My father always said that he and my mother stopped at two children, because he had read at the time that one in three babies born in the world were Chinese, and they didn’t want a Chinese baby. These were different times, and my grandparents were staunch Republicans.

Today is our annual pilgrimage to Uwajimaya, the Asian supermarket up the hill. My shopping list includes things the co-op is lacking, such as wood ear mushroom and lily pod, but I assure you, they're for a traditional dish, not for a witches' cauldron. The list also includes recognizable items like sake and fortune cookies (always add, “between the sheets” when reading your fortune).

Every year about this time, we get together with some old friends; she and I bonded when we applied for unemployment together after being laid off during the tech bust of ’92. We get together around this time of year because we love Chinese food, and we know that if we don’t schedule a date many months in advance, our calendars fill up and we’d never manage to see each other. The date has evolved from tossing a coin to see which yuppie couple buys the take-out to splitting up the menu and messing up one kitchen or the other. This year, they’ll have to clean up after my mu-shu.

I spent the last week doing what management-types call sharpening my saw: With the addition of more board work (Create new task: learn to say “no” more often), I simply had to get my ducks in a row. I’ve upgraded software, and for the first time since I got email (right about the time I was laid off), I have an empty email inbox. No, I didn’t throw out emails like soybeans to drive away the devil, I just learned to file them where they belonged—on a task list, not the inbox. I feel like a new woman, and fully intend to keep up this good habit.

I find that this is the time of the year that I tend to adopt new habits: The holiday frenzy has died down, and it’s a good time to curl up with my thoughts (and seed catalogues). Sometimes changes are seemingly small, like buying heads of lettuce instead of bags, sometimes of greater personal import, like controlling portion sizes (and losing weight) and emptying my email inbox so I can focus on what actually needs to be done. Perhaps I really was the third child: That would make this my new year, and what better time to make a resolution.