I'm going to tell you the secret behind successful holiday shopping. And it's contrary to everything you have learned.

They tell you that when you're giving a gift, you should give the other person what they like, not what you like. Well, that credo is exactly, one hundred percent, wrong.

I used to do my holiday shopping just that way. I'd pa.s.s up beautiful stuff that any sane person would love and I'd waste good money on stupid junk. The rationale was that if they were happy, I was happy.

But I wasn't.

I recognized this credo as codependency in disguise. I was enabling bad taste and bad judgment. Now, I am codependent no more. If they want Big Mouth Billy Ba.s.s, they have to buy it themselves.

And worse, I used to ask people what they wanted, which was the biggest no-no ever. Every Christmas, I would ask my mother, and she would tell me. Problem was, everything my mother wanted was impossible to find.

One year, she wanted a knit poncho. Another year, a nightgown with no elastic at the wrists. A third, a perfume she remembered from World War II, called Pois De Senteur, which I think translates to Peas of Health. I gave up after six stores and bought her a bottle of Joy. Her Christmas was joyless. I think translates to Peas of Health. I gave up after six stores and bought her a bottle of Joy. Her Christmas was joyless.

Then I wised up.

I stopped asking her what she wanted and started getting her what I wanted. And the ironic part is, I learned this from my mother herself.

My mother never gave me what I wanted for Christmas, but gave me only what she wanted. For example, when I was in middle and high school, she fell in love with what she called "estate jewelry." To this day, I have no idea what "estate jewelry" really means. I don't think she did, either. I bet she liked the "estate" part, which sounds cla.s.sy. If you put "estate" together with "jewelry," you get a mental image of glittery people in tuxes, swanning around mansions. But in truth, I suspect that the term refers to jewelry left by someone who has died, which n.o.body in her family wanted, even though it was free.

Do you understand the significance of this?

In other words, even if her family loved this woman, they didn't want that jewelry, which should give you an excellent idea of what estate jewelry looks like, or, at least, the estate jewelry that my mother picked out for me. She gave me a bronze brooch shaped like a spiked sun. A snake bracelet, complete with scales and a forked tongue, that curled around my upper arm. A pendant with a blue ceramic eye in the center.

The kind of junk that turned my jewelry chest into Pandora's box.

Back then, my mother gave me estate jewelry like it was going out of style, which it was, by definition. Undoubtedly, it cost way too much of her secretary's salary, so I opened my presents from her with a guilty and sinking heart. On the bright side, I had the best brooch collection of any thirteen-year-old, ever.

I know I sound like a terrible person, whining about this, but here's the point, about why you should buy people what you want: Because now, over time, my thinking has changed, and so has my taste in many things. Today I look at the jewelry she gave me through the lens of perspective and maturity. Do I still find it unbelievably ugly?

Of course.

I would sooner go braless in the emergency room than wear one of those brooches, and we both know how I feel about emergency-room bralessness.

But nevertheless, now I treasure each one of these pieces of jewelry. Each one of them has enormous sentimental value to me. Each one reminds me that my mother spent money on me that she didn't have. Each one tells me how much she loves me. Each is the best present I could have gotten, for that holiday or any holiday.

And why?

Because my mother gave me things that she loved. So when I look at all that awful stuff, I see what I love the most.

Her.

Holiday Guilt

We all have so much to do around the holidays, and it can be hard to prioritize. But I have a secret weapon that you might like, too, so I'll fill you in: My secret weapon is guilt.

I no longer try to free myself from guilt. Instead, I welcome guilt and put it to work for me. I built myself a Guilt-O-Meter with a 110 scale, which I consult whenever a task presents itself. If it's a task I'd feel too guilty to ignore, the needle on the Guilt-O-Meter goes to 10, and I do it right away. For example, work scores a 10 on the Guilt-O-Meter, so I work a lot. This is good for my mortgage payments, if not my social life, but whatever. Life is too short to live with guilt. I say, do what your guilt tells you.

Right now.

On my Guilt-O-Meter, all housework scores between 1 and 3, except for ironing or cleaning my closet, which are both 0. Recycling is a 10, but rinsing the bottles first is a 2. Working out is supposed to be a 9, but it's secretly a 5. Acc.u.mulating late fees at the library is a 7, but at the Blockbuster, it's a 2. Why? The former is guilt-inducing, and the latter merely annoying. This isn't about the Merely Annoying-O-Meter.

Of course, you don't have to agree with my scores. Use them as guilt guidelines. Feel free to customize your Guilt-O-Meter. them as guilt guidelines. Feel free to customize your Guilt-O-Meter.

Pimp your guilt!

My Guilt-O-Meter malfunctions during the holidays because there are too many tasks for its sensitive needle. There's no guilt like Christmas Guilt. Just ask Ebenezer Scrooge. And it's not only Christmas Guilt. I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood, and when my friends told me they got Hanukkah gelt, I thought they said Hanukkah guilt. Now I have Hanukkah Guilt, too.

During the holidays, my Work Guilt conflicts with so many other guilt options. Not-Sending-Out-Greeting-Cards Guilt is a 6. Cat-Hair-in-Scotch-Tape Guilt is a 5. However, Gift-Wrap-Without-Ribbon Guilt is a 0.

Let go of the ribbon thing, people. We can only do so much.

My Guilt-O-Meter failed me recently, and it was all because of the holidays. One morning, I woke up in a paroxysm of Gift Guilt because I hadn't bought a single present yet. A paroxysm is off the Guilt-O-Meter, scoring a 283,949. Paroxysms are usually reserved for Forgetting-Your-Mother's-Birthday Guilt, which I don't have, or Accidentally-Cutting-Your-Dog's-Ear-When-You-Clipped-Her-Fur Guilt, which I do.

Anyway, when I woke up in the paroxysm, I knew I had to get to the mall immediately. I hurried to the bathroom, where I noticed that the toilet flushed too slowly. I needed to get it checked, but calling a plumber scored only a 1 on the Guilt-O-Meter. I made a mental note to call him later, then clean my closet and iron something.

I dressed, hurried downstairs, and got a drink of water. Oddly, the garbage disposal was backing up, so I took another Guilt-O-Meter reading. A broken garbage disposal rated only another 1. I figured I'd call the disposal guy after I called the plumber after I cleaned my closet and ironed something.

So I went to the mall, shopped all day, and bought so many presents that my Gift Guilt fell to 0. My Credit Card Guilt upticked to 3, but that's comfortable for me. I left the mall happy, or in any event, much less guilty.

But when I got home, there was bad news. I'll try not to be disgusting, so I'll just say that the toilet had exploded and my first floor hallway was awash in human waste. I called the plumber and told him what happened, and he asked: "Is it an emergency?"

Hmmm. I knew why he asked that. Because he was taking a Guilt-O-Meter reading of his own, and Exploding-Toilet-on-a-Friday-Night Guilt was only a 2. Especially when it was Somebody-Else's-Toilet-Around-the-Holidays Guilt.

I bet I reached him at the mall.

For a crazy minute I was stricken with Asking-For-Help Guilt. My Guilt-O-Meter needle shot up to 8, and the wimp inside me said, "Lisa, you meanie, you're asking him to work on the weekend."

Then I flipped it.

I work on the weekend, so why shouldn't the plumber? Work = 10. His Guilt-O-Meter was clearly on the fritz. Anyway, I was pretty sure that if you looked up emergency in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of my first floor hallway.

I told the plumber, "You're darn tootin' it's an emergency, buddy." Then I put on my galoshes, grabbed the Clorox and a mop, and started cleaning.

So take a lesson from me. This holiday season, let your guilt be your guide.

Except when it comes to plumbing.

Thank You

Lots of people travel around the holidays, and I'm no exception. I've been driving around like crazy, and if I'm driving, that means I'm getting lost.

Luckily, my car isn't.

I have one of those navigation systems, so my car knows where it is at all times. Yesterday, when I missed the turn for I-95 and found myself in Saddle River, New Jersey, it told me to take two left turns and a right, which set me instantly back on track. It even located me near the rest stop, so I could go to the bathroom. I think it knew I had to go to the bathroom.

In fact, it's so smart it could probably go to the bathroom for me.

Not only that, if I press a b.u.t.ton, my navigation system will tell me where all the other rest stops are in New Jersey, so I have a complete array of rest stop options. After all, I may be feeling more Joyce Kilmer than Vince Lombardi.

I love my navigation system very deeply. It's always there for me, wherever I am. It asks nothing of me, but does its job competently and professionally. It even has a cute little accent, of indeterminate origin. And though it's always right, it never says I-told-you-so.

If I could marry my navigation system, I would.

I would even vow to love, honor, and obey it. Because the only times I've gone wrong are when I haven't obeyed my navigation system. In fact, my navigation system is the only thing in the world I will ever obey.

I feel almost as good about my cell phone. The other day I realized that I had forgotten the date of a doctor's appointment, but I didn't have the doctor's phone number to call them and ask. I called 411, but they didn't have the number either, for some reason.

Luckily, my cell phone is smarter than I am.

It remembered that I had called the doctor once before and it kept the number, even though I didn't. So I called the doctor and found out that I had missed my appointment.

If my cell phone had had the appointment, it would have been there.

And now there are cell phones that not only remember your doctor's number, but even have a navigation system. Those cell phones are going to take over the world. I advise you to get one, before it gets you.

My TV is a brainiac, too. I was watching it when all of a sudden a little sign came on the screen, reminding me that I had wanted to record a show that was playing on another channel. Of course, I had totally forgotten that I wanted to record the show, but my TV remembered. Unfortunately, it couldn't remind me why I had wanted to record such a dumb show. But that may be too much to ask of a TV.

Until next year.

Then, our TVs will record shows that we meant to record, but forgot to. And shows that we didn't want to record, but should have. And shows that they don't even make, but they should. Like funny ones.

The other day, I got to thinking about how lucky we are to live in a country in which we are so well taken care of. Our navigation systems, cell phones, and televisions are working hard for us, when we aren't. They have our lives in hand, so we aren't bothered. They ask nothing in return. They don't even resent us when we don't say thank you. live in a country in which we are so well taken care of. Our navigation systems, cell phones, and televisions are working hard for us, when we aren't. They have our lives in hand, so we aren't bothered. They ask nothing in return. They don't even resent us when we don't say thank you.

They free us to do what we want to do.

They give us peace of mind.

This holiday, we'll all be giving gifts like crazy, tons of navigation systems, cell phones, and TVs. I'm going to be giving them, too, so my family and friends will always be able to see whatever dumb show they want to see. So they'll be able to talk to whomever they want to talk to, and say what they want to say. And so that no matter where they go, whenever they get lost, they can always find their way back home.

And this holiday, when I give gifts to the people I love, I won't forget for a minute the people serving so far away in Iraq, Afghanistan, and all around the world, who are giving all of us the gift of their very selves.

They do not ask to be thanked, but that doesn't mean they don't deserve to be thanked. They are paying for our gifts with something far more precious than money.

Thank you, soldiers everywhere, this holiday.

We love and appreciate you.

May you find your way home soon.

UnResolutions

This is the time of year when people make New Year's resolutions, but I have a better idea. By definition, a resolution is something you want to change about yourself, something you've done wrong in the past that you want to start doing right.

Boo!

I think we would all be better served if this New Year, we made unresolutions. That is, let's make a list of things we've been doing and we'd like to keep doing.

Who needs negativism around the holidays? Times are tough, and why should we make them tougher? Especially on our favorite people in the world, namely ourselves.

Let's give it a try, shall we?

I'll go first.

UnResolution Number One. I sleep in my clothes, and I resolve to keep sleeping in my clothes. I know this sounds weird, and it helps that my clothes are fleece pants and a fleece top, because I work at home. Sometimes I even wear a fleece hat to bed, like a nightcap, because I like my room cold but not my head. Bottom line, I never have to worry about what to wear, and I'm already dressed, all the time. So now you know. have to worry about what to wear, and I'm already dressed, all the time. So now you know.

UnResolution Number Two. I kiss my pets on the lips, and I like it. I know people say it's unsanitary, but they're no fun. All of my animals expect me to kiss them on the lips, even my pony. And if they balk, I grab them by their furry cheeks and force them to stand still. I'm paying the room and board, and all I want is a little smooch. Ain't nothing wrong with that.

UnResolution Number Three. I don't own an iron. It's not the worst thing in the world if my clothes are a little wrinkly. No one really notices, or if they do, they're too polite to say so, which is the same thing. To me.

UnResolution Number Four. I talk to strangers. I get this from Mother Mary, who, when we went into the Acme, talked to the produce guy, the stock boy, and the cashier. She was always up in their business, and in time, they were up in hers. It turned every errand into a little party, a reunion of old friends, but there just happens to be a cash register in the middle.

UnResolution Number Five. I make too much food. If I serve dinner and no one at the table says, "You made too much food," then I feel like I failed. I love the idea that there's a lot of food on the table. I want everybody full and happy, and I always give the leftovers to the dogs and cats. You know what comes next. (I kiss them on the lips.) .

UnResolution Number Six. I wear flats. I used to always wear high heels, because I'm a shorty. I thought I felt more powerful in heels, but all I really felt was more painful. It was daughter Francesca who got me started wearing flats, and it changed my life. My toes are always happy, and I'm still a mighty mite. felt more powerful in heels, but all I really felt was more painful. It was daughter Francesca who got me started wearing flats, and it changed my life. My toes are always happy, and I'm still a mighty mite.

UnResolution Number Seven. I buy too many books. I love to read and have hundreds of books overflowing my bookshelves and stacked high on my dining room table, in piles. I love living around books, and reading is like traveling without baggage claim. Who needs a dining room anyway?

So maybe now you understand why I'm single.

Which brings me to UnResolution Number Eight. I live alone, but I'm not lonely. I know lots of you live alone, whether by choice or by circ.u.mstance, and you may be lonely, especially around the holidays. I'm not saying you're not allowed to be, all I'm saying is that the fact that you live alone doesn't necessarily mean you're lonely. It means you're free to wear hats to bed.