The Tone

Inspirational song: Superstition (Stevie Wonder)

Most of my life is governed by reason, by things that can be empirically proven. I'm a big fan of science and fact. But being a fallible human, I leave room for a little looseness around the edges on special occasions, for things I can only verify from anecdotes. New Year's Eve is my very favorite holiday, based solely upon superstition and fancy. It means the world to me. Or more accurately, it means The Year to me.

I noticed a pattern in my early teens, that what I was doing at midnight on New Year's Eve set the tone for the entire year. I will allow it might be a self-fulfilling prophecy, but the coincidence level is very high on this one. It works very well. For instance, when I was thirteen, my mother and I spent the evening with one of her best friends, at a church group party. I remember looking at my watch, and seeing that it was midnight, and tugging on my mother's sleeve to point it out to her. The group was in the middle of a prayer, and my mother gave me the universal wave for "don't interrupt these people; we are guests." That year, I went through the classes required for all of us kids to join the church we normally attended, and with my classmates, I became an official member. A few years later, when I was a freshman in college, I was in the air at the stroke of midnight, flying back from a marching band trip to the football bowl game to spend what was left of my holiday with my family. That year, I was in perpetual motion, traveling with the grand freedom that eighteen year olds appreciate so well. A few years after that, well, let's skip the details and say that I spent a quiet holiday with my college boyfriend, and darned if we didn't become parents that year. Party evenings become social years, homebody nights become lonely years. It works every time.

I don't know how much of it is consciously my own doing. Sometimes I don't even recognize it until well into spring or summer, and when I see a pattern, it occurs to me the think back. I will try to remember to update you, months from now, if it works again this year. But for now, I have to dress for a party. Here's to a good year with friends and family!

Behind the Scenes

Inspirational song: Rocky Mountain High (John Denver)

I've been in preparatory mode for a few days now. I have projects to finish, and nesting to do. I can't say that I am the most interesting woman in the world right now. In fact, I suspect that if I were to cop to my neuroses, I would discover that I am the most average woman in the world. I have procrastinated, and let a few things pile up, and now that the man is due for his vacation soon, I'm realizing that I need help getting the house ready. I talked to someone on the phone this afternoon, who will come by tomorrow to give me an assessment and estimate for a day of cleaning, so naturally, what did I spend my evening doing? Cleaning up the house so that she doesn't come here and see just how bad it was. I mostly organized and filed my papers that had stacked up, which I wouldn't have anyone else do, and ran the vacuum a little, but the point remains. Even though I did a little panic tidying, I'm sure a stranger with a critical eye can come in here and instantly pick out all the things I've lived with for so long I don't see them anymore. I hope I can afford everything that needs to be done.

I have been trying to finish a handmade gift, and it is so close to done. It's something I started long ago, and to have it complete will feel incredibly freeing. I'm feeling good about how it looks, too, plus I have figured out how to make it a functional piece of art, rather than something that will have to compete for wall space. I wish I could show a picture of it, but as I said, it's a gift. Even though the holiday gift exchanging season will be officially over by the time we all get at it, I'd still like to pretend that surprises are welcomed.

I can't pretend I'm not getting ridiculously excited about the man coming home soon, and our upcoming vacation back home. I'm trying so hard not to overload him with plans and projects. He needs time to decompress and get reacquainted with all of us again. But lots of requests have come in for audiences with his grace. There's a lot of scheduling that has to go on behind the scenes, so we don't double book or make too many demands. I don't want to insult anyone by denying them access, but there is only so much time to go around. I hope he gets to rest at some point during the vacation. Just not on my time, right?

 

The House That Haunts Me

Inspirational song: Our House (Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young)

I've been in my old house--in my head--for the last couple days. I can see it clearly. I can smell it, and I can hear it. It hasn't been far from me for weeks, but lately a few things have picked me up and set me down squarely in the middle of it. I spent the last two days watching house remodeling marathons, wondering how weird it would be if I tried to recreate my childhood home in my next, and hopefully final, house. I think it would be fairly simple to achieve the tone of the house, without going overboard on details. I could paint rooms a similar color (pale blue-gray), and maybe go to a salvage store for some vintage hardware, like crystal doorknobs and long, rectangular strike plates to go on solid wood doors. Bringing back the particular resonance of walking on the wood floor, or tuning the back door to squeak and rattle exactly like my old one did, now that would be a hell of a trick.

I'm not the only one who can't let go of the old homestead. Last week, my younger daughter expressed a similar desire to recreate the house, but on a much grander scale. She would rebuild it from scratch, remaking the entire place. I suggested that if she do so, she should correct a few of the mistakes my grandparents made when they built it. As my mother has said often, there was not a single piece of the place where they didn't use the cheapest, least environmentally-friendly materials. It was as well-insulated as an old barn, and I'm pretty sure there were places in upstairs closets where you could see daylight through the eaves. It was heated by gas furnaces, some large units in the downstairs floors, wall units in each bathroom, and a little free-standing iron gas heater in front of a large sheet of asbestos paneling in the upstairs "play room." That's right, I said a sheet of asbestos, in a play room.

I was re-reading my story from the November NaNoWriMo challenge tonight, what there is of it. It is decidedly fiction, but I set it firmly in the real house I grew up in, from the time when I was a very little girl. I put so many details in the story of how it looked, of the dark yellow daisy print bedspreads in the room where I slept, of the sound of the swing on the screen porch, of the smell of mothballs in the toy closet in the den. I forgot when I talked to my daughter that so far, only I had seen all these things written down. As we discussed the house, I kept expecting her already to know all the things I had described. She only knew the house as it existed in the last couple decades, after a lot of those things were removed. If she does rebuild it one day, I call dibs on helping her decorate it, so she can experience it the way I did. But I promise, no asbestos.

Quiet Moments

Inspirational song: The Sound of Silence (Simon & Garfunkel)

Most days, I have the television or internet radio playing all day and most of the night. I need the noise, for the constant input of language and human vocalizations. Dogs and cats are endearing companions, but they are remarkably poor at meaningful conversation. I hear a lot from my family, but almost exclusively in text form, which is how I communicate best. So on rare days like today, when I leave the noise off for most of the day so that I can read, I have to steel myself against the feeling of the silence closing in around me. I'm not fond of it. Of course, it isn't true silence. There's always the sound of a cat grooming, or traffic on the street, and my ever-present tinnitis. Regardless, I get slightly agitated in a too-quiet house. I find myself talking to the cats or having imaginary conversations out loud, just to make sound waves bounce around the room. I can't imagine how useless I would have been had I lived a hundred or two hundred years ago, without the hum of machines and easy access to the sound of human voices that I have now. I probably would have descended into madness, and I'm sure my cabin fever would result in casualties, even if only the plant or furniture kind.

My older daughter swore to me that she could not exist without music playing constantly, especially while studying or driving. I think she has this far worse than I do. At least for me, the sum total of all my music is readily accessible on an infinite playlist in my head, and I am very good at bringing up songs to hear on the inside. I catch myself moving to my inner soundtrack sometimes, nodding my head or tapping my fingers to snippets of music no one else can hear. I don't think I hum along, but if I do, I am usually unaware of it. I miss performing music. I had started practising the piano again when we first moved here, but as with most of my creative pursuits, I got distracted by something else and let it slide again. Tonight, my daughter will be playing with the basketball pep band, as the alumni are invited back to help fill out the numbers during holiday games. I envy her the chance to do it. Even if my piccolo were still playable, I'm not sure I could sight read well enough to keep up anymore. I could sing the fight songs in my sleep, but I would need quite a bit of rehearsal to play my old instruments. I will listen on the internet, and hope that I can hear my kid on trumpet, as if I could pick her out from all the others.

Early this morning, the sun was streaming in the front windows, casting light through the leaves of my shefflera and creating a neat effect against the shadows in the corner. I tried to take advantage of a quiet moment while the dogs were on their morning constitutional to photograph it, but on two separate tries, my artistic attempts were thwarted by two separate but similar faces. I will share the results from each attempt. This is what passes for a peaceful morning around here.

Wrecked

Inspirational song: Waiting for the Mail (Charlie Robison)

I feel like I should give an update, after expressing my despair last night over how slow my mail delivery has been. Of the two packages that were still missing, one did finally show up. It was predicted to arrive on the 21st, and today it suddenly popped back up on the radar, and the tracking said it was headed my way. I'm glad it made it. It was a new abstract painting by my favorite artist. Quelle surprise! It is lovely, and I can't wait to get it framed and to find a place of honor for it. The lines on it are very bold, and it's striking. I am really enjoying getting to know it. It always takes several viewings to see it fully, to develop a relationship with it. This process is so much fun.

I'm developing other relationships too. I am finally starting to see the end of my stint as an elderly shut in, and lately I have been reconnecting with some movie buddies, and gaining a new one. The youngest Bonfire came over tonight, and we had dinner (I am an excellent cook!) and watched the first Anchorman, so we can go see the second one with all the original jokes fresh in our minds. Perhaps not the most highbrow entertainment we could choose, but it was absolutely necessary. And once the bottle of wine was drained, and the movie was over, we switched to getting her caught up on a little pop culture. I couldn't believe she had never seen or heard Wrecking Ball, not the original or the Chatroulette version. (Seriously, if you haven't seen the Chatroulette version, look it up. And then tell me that this guy is not Keith Moon reincarnated.) It was so nice to have a night to relax and be silly and to be no one but myself.

I get the idea that I failed at physical therapy this morning. I was only assigned exercises, but they were to be done at home, not in the clinic with their machines. I think if I had had more supervision, I might have either seen more progress, or known sooner that it would end this way. But I am not so surprised, if I am to be honest. I am a little stronger, but I still can't walk more than about 20 yards at a decent pace without feeling like I have just hit the corner of a coffee table at a dead run. It's so depressing to be hurt someplace where no one else ever gets injured, and no one knows how to treat. I'm a wreck.

News From the Old Country

Inspirational song: Desperate Times (Charlie Robison)

Is anyone surprised that I am glad Christmas day is now past us? I'm ready to get back into my regular routine. The monotonous day in, day out was comforting to me, and this season of parties and cheer threw me off stride. I was counting on the routine to make the days pass at a steady clip while my man is working this assignment. I didn't want to buy anything, I was hesitant to make things, and I was uncomfortable with the concept of exchanging items, even as I was wrapping up gifts for strangers. It was difficult to remain calm, and not get agitated this year, when I was surrounded by the trappings of the season. I really hope I don't feel so desperate to get away from it all next year. I'd prefer to be in a middle-of-the-road frame of mind, rather than riding a pendulum all the way to the other extreme, of buying out the stores for everyone I've ever met. But feeling up to hanging lights on the house and mailing out cards would be nice.

I got storm damage photos from my mother's house today. Over the summer, I told the story of a pair of trees we brought to her years ago. One was a hazelnut we sprouted from a nut, growing in a pot. The other was a long-needle pine that planted itself in the same pot. They grew intertwined, one short and round, the other tall and shaggy. My mother referred to them as Danny and Arnold, after the movie Twins. Last week, multiple waves of snow and ice blanketed the plains states, and the big fluffy pine tree was coated in more ice than its branches could support. A large branch broke off and hit the ground. Of all the trees in the country, I get sadder when those two suffer damage than any other I've ever seen. And this is coming from someone who is as emotionally invested in all the trees she's planted as an elementary school teacher is in her students. As far as I have been told, Arnold the tree will survive, but there was another in her outer park that was totally topped. (I haven't decided whether to post the picture of that tree, since she captured her little dog in the process of claiming the downed branches as his own property.)

I have heard on the news of the major shipping companies having lots of delays delivering packages, based on weather and volume in the last week. I am still waiting on two things that were mailed to me in the USPS. I am starting to get nervous about the delays, particularly after hearing about the theft my friend suffered from her porch. I checked the tracking on the one from my mother, and it dropped out of sight after being sent to a sorting facility seven days ago. I don't know what I should assume. Is it better to think of it as lost, or stolen? The other item has come from much farther away, from my man. The one he sent to the kids has already made it, days ago. In the greater scope of things, it might appear just to be stuff, but I still get a desperate feeling, thinking that concrete representations of good wishes from my loved ones have gone astray.

A Single Person

Inspirational song: All Alone at Christmas (Darlene Love)

For all that spending time with my Bonfire family has helped to keep the demons at bay, there is only so much partying I can take in one week. I did everything I could to be social today, but eventually the ghosts of Christmases past got me. It was quiet in the house this morning, just enough for my insecurities and hated feelings of being invisible to have caught hold. I spent the rest of the day trying to run away from the funk. Several key calendar days affect me this way, but I don't feel like I can adequately explain what it is that happens to me at times like this. It's the inner child that is voicing complaint, and the adult in charge here keeps trying to use logic and reason to counteract the crises. We're going to keep hashing it out in private, and let you stay out of the fray.

I did have a few hours of peace, spent at a noisy crush of a Bonfire potluck. The food was excellent, even if I think I did make some unfortunate assumptions regarding what is and isn't gluten free. The company was all I could hope for from my beloved local family. My host even had the exact same nativity set that my family had when I was little. But fatigue and discomfort and the argument between the grown up me and little kid me eventually sent me heading for home. I need sappy movies and a lap blanket and a cat or three purring against me until I feel better. And if I end up falling asleep on the couch, I'm totally fine with that. There's no one here to tell me I can't. Not even the grown up me.

Later On, We'll Conspire

Inspirational song: One More Sleep 'Til Christmas (Muppet Christmas Carol)

If one has to be away from family at the holidays, it helps to have a substitute family like I have here. I was kept far away from the lonely blues today. I hope my friends and the strangers who kept me entertained today know how much I appreciate them.

This morning's opening act was my first attempt at microwave peanut brittle in many years. I think it helps if you thoroughly stir the sugar and corn syrup before you start, rather than assuming they will combine with the heat. Turns out, it doesn't work that way. Lesson learned.  From there, I showed up for the last shift at the gift wrap table. We were kept busy the whole day, and brought in a decent jarful of tips for the club's operating budget. I talked to some cool people, including a man who lived in the same town in North Carolina as I did, at the same time as I was there, whose kids went to the same elementary school as mine and were patrons of the library where I worked. He even got his masters from the same university as I did. We high fived, and then he went on his way. It was an interesting connection. I also talked to a military man who had just returned from Afghanistan, and was buying a handful of gifts, and then driving to Atlanta to surprise his family who didn't know he was home. I enjoyed wrapping those gifts, even knowing the real present was the man himself. And of course, I got to spend more time with my buddy who is still deeply devoted to the club. She and I started out as vice presidents together, and she must have more fortitude than I to still be at it, while I had to take the last six months to be a hermit, to get my head on straight.

My evening is concluding with my local family, the Bonfires. The company here is unparalleled (even though they are grumpy with me for hiding in a quiet place to write). I needed a place to unwind, drink a few glasses of wine, and listen to tales of Christmases past. And as we all huddled around the fire, the cold weather I have been begging for all month finally arrived. It's chilly (44 feels like 39), and it is plenty warm between the fire and the friends. So as The Most Wonderful Time of the Year plays on the radio, finally I can agree.  I think I found my spirit, just in time.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

The Maddening Crowd

Inspirational song: Der Kommissar (Falco)

I couldn't stay holed up in the park all week. I had to get out and face traffic. I certainly didn't want to, but I ran out of dog food completely last night, and couldn't convince myself to drive to the pet superstore late at night. I couldn't convince myself to do it early this morning, either. The dogs were starting to get dancy, and my professional eater was starting to make the Wookiee sound when she decided I was ignoring her. I tried suggesting that it would be a great time to be fashionably thin like a greyhound. It would just take a few days of fasting, only until the holiday shopping season was over. They didn't go for it. They only barely stood still when I made them pose with my kill when I returned from the hunt. And it was very nearly a violent experience. Traffic to the shopping center where the Petsmart operates was backed up for about a mile and a half, and when I turned on my signal to get out of the lane leading to the interstate, I had to wait for ten cars to refuse to let me into the left lane. Finally, people were honking and I was cursing out the woman in the silver car who blocked me in. I ranted for at least three stoplights at her taillights. All I could think of was the time my librarian boss and I went to pick up a last few gifts at a discount store, and she let out a string of F bombs at the pedestrians clogging the parking lot that put Dennis Hopper's Blue Velvet performance to shame. The only thing I could think of to interject into the stunned silence was "fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la."

I put in another shift at the gift wrap table today, and I have plans to do it again tomorrow. My friend who worked shifts with me last week, told me today that her holiday has taken a negative turn. Someone stole the presents her parents and in-laws sent off of the front porch. They took their dog for a walk in the area where a woman claimed she found a check from the in-laws, and found remains of several of their presents scattered in a ball field and wrapping shreds with her and her husband's names. I feel bad for her, especially since the police seem particularly uninterested in investigating, even with the discovery of the debris. It would be enough to make me feel uneasy about the packages I mailed today, if I weren't sending to PO boxes. I have been watching my porch closely, for the few things I know are coming here. So far, only one is still unaccounted for.

Not only did I brave traffic for dog food, and overcome a serious aversion to the post office (Don't ask why, I don't know. I just HATE that place.), but I even put up with the crowds at the grocery store. I must have been possessed to be out in the worst of it, all day long. I stocked up enough that I shouldn't have to go anywhere except to parties for the rest of the week. At least not as a customer. I promised to spend one last, hard shift as a gift wrapper, at a busy store on Christmas eve. I must be mad.

It's Wanting What You've Got

Inspirational song: Soak Up the Sun (Sheryl Crow)

It was another beautiful day today. It would have been great, if this were March. It's warm and humid and I have flowers blooming. I let the dogs spend about four hours outside this morning, and didn't worry that they would be too cold. And yet, this was the second day of winter. My parents and brother have been showing off pictures of snow and ice, and in some cases, ice damage, and here I was, wondering which windows I should open. I think next year, I would like a white Christmas. And yes, if by next year I'm living someplace where I get feet of snow (hey, it could happen), you have my permission to throw my words back in my face when I decide I'm tired of cold and snow.

I'm trying very hard not to fall into the trap of retail therapy. I have railed against consumerism often enough that I need to walk my talk. Yes, I replaced a few key pieces of electronics in the last few months, but for the most part, I have tried not to go and shop aimlessly. When one is alone and bored, flashy new clothes, or books, or colorful bits of plastic for the house can trick us into thinking they will bring joy and amusement. There might even be a little thrill from getting something at a great price. But this year, there just doesn't seem to be anything in it for me. I'm having more fun getting rid of things than bringing anything into the house. I'm even doing this with food. I am getting better than I ever have before of reminding myself to use up what I've got before I buy more. In the past, I let so much food spoil because I was bored with it and would buy more rather than eat something I already had. I buy lotions and candles and all sorts of things, and leave the last little bits of old ones in cabinets and closets all over the house. This has been my challenge to myself, to use what I have, and stop collecting. I'm slowly getting the hang of it. I'll let you know when I can actually tell that I'm saving money and space too.

The day was so nice, I made myself go out for an hour to do a little yardwork. I bagged up a couple large piles of leaves, and left another couple waiting for me to get a second wind that never came. For the record, I do not have any oak trees growing in the Park. (See photo) Not that it makes a difference, I suppose. Once they blow into my yard, they become mine. And if I am to be happy with what I've got, and stop buying for the sake of buying, I suppose I should take down the flag, and get out the darning needles. And maybe a little fabric paint to freshen it up. There might be a little life left in the one I already have. It will be great practice for kicking the retail therapy habit.

Io Saturnalia

Inspirational song: Ring Out, Solstice Bells (Jethro Tull)

There is something so incongruous about stepping outside to go to a Christmas party, and not needing a coat. Tonight was so warm and humid, even after dark, I wondered whether I would overheat in my little black dress, even though my legs were essentially bare. The night held steady at around 70 degrees, even when I left the party at 10. This is the first day of Winter? It can't be. I suppose I should stop complaining, knowing that the heating bill will be negligible.

I haven't been spending a lot of time with my man's coworkers from the home office, while he has been gone, but I did go back for the group holiday party. I think there has been a bit of turnover since last year's party. I recognized so few people, and many of the people I hoped to see had skipped the event because the onsite childcare fell through too late for them to make backup plans. I think I knew six, maybe seven, of the people there. Luckily, I knew two couples well enough to sit with them for dinner, and to play some of the party games. The food was reasonably good, and the liquor was flowing freely (once one paid for the "drink ticket"). It was a good time. My feet did wear out early, even though the heels I wore were modest. The event was held in a museum of fire-fighting equipment, and I enjoyed wandering off to look at the vintage fire engines. One of them was even from one of the little towns in Oklahoma where I lived, when I was three to four years old. Even though I missed many of the people I like from the man's work, I am very glad I went.

They had a large stack of gifts, to be used as prizes for the games and as doorprizes. There were only a few items in the stack that I found interesting, and none that I really needed. After looking at the selection, and listening to what everyone hoped to receive, I thought to myself, I bet I win the Keurig, since just a couple weeks ago, I replaced my old coffeemaker with a fancy new one that can make single cups or pots. The doorprizes were drawn through the entire evening, and the games were spread out as well. With each win, the winners drew envelopes at random to select their prizes. I stayed to the very end, the very last prize. Only the Keurig was left. I was sitting on a bench, watching them draw, wondering whether I should go ahead and stand up and walk toward them, or wait, since my feet hurt so badly. I could have gone ahead and put the pressure on my feet, because they drew my name, as I knew they would. They handed me the envelope that said Keurig. So I was faced with a quick decision to make. I told the man with the microphone that I had just bought one, and I reached into the cup of tickets, and gave it away before I could talk myself out of it in my head. The name I drew was the young man who I thought should have won the "wrapping the odd-shaped item" game, so I felt okay with it. I took a picture so I could show the man what I didn't bring home to clutter up the kitchen further. While I did, someone asked me why I didn't regift it if I didn't want it. Isn't that what I did?

Composition

Inspirational song: Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz (Sesame Street)

Every so often, I go back and read older posts. Sometimes I want to see what I was up to, or find the dates that things happened (like when I wanted to calculate Athena's age a few days ago). Occasionally I want to assure myself that I am on the right track, writing coherently or with humor that translates to everyone who doesn't live inside my brain. Today I went back to look after my mother's lifelong friend suggested that as the posts pile up, I will have plenty of material for a book. In my favorite fantasies, she is right, and I will be able to translate this into a book worth reading. I rarely get past a vague idea of a book suddenly coming into existence, into the details of how I would want it to look. I wouldn't just print out every single post, and call it done. I need to edit. I find typos in nearly everything I've published thus far. I blame most of it from typing on a touchscreen, but I'm sure waiting until late at night to compose, with the television blaring, helps to make me sloppy. 

I think I would want to give explanations and updates to each post I choose to include. I have been so vague, I might like to come out of hiding and include a few specific details so that everything makes more sense. Not sure whether I'm ready for names and faces, but I would consider it. The man and I have so many projects we want to do, it will make sharing easier if I can take his picture once in a while. Besides, my photographic series "A Boy and His Ladder" has proved popular. I owe it to the world to build on it.

Yesterday during the day, I read something my younger daughter wrote, and I remember thinking how perceptive and eloquent she had been. By evening, when both girls and I were in an extremely heated conversation via speakerphone, the topic of grammar came up. I did not realize the effect we have had on her, picking on her spelling and grammar, all the time. I was the consummate grammar nerd when I grew up, diagramming sentences for fun. I break the rules more for effect, less for ignorance of those rules. I have a hard time remembering that not everyone enjoys it as much as I do. And last night, it hit me just how much I pick on both girls, focusing on insignificant details like spelling, enough to miss the insightful things they are actually saying. I think it is time to back off, and spend more time noticing how smart and perceptive my girls are, even if they type "then" when they mean "than." They have a lot to say, and I'm ready to listen.

Time and Place

Inspirational song: Touch of Gray (Grateful Dead)

I saw some pictures this evening. My brother had been down to supervise some maintenance work on our family cabin, and he put up several shots to show the condition the place is in. It needed a new roof, and some significant repairs to the kitchen. His photos made me so happy, even the ones that showed the big mess the roofers made, and the junk on the porch. So much of my life took place in that cabin, and I don't want to forget any of it. I loved the memories the images brought back, of parties with family and friend-- Easter sunrise services, Fourth of July picnics, my mother and stepfather's wedding reception. Some of the memories were harder to handle-- arguments I had with my man when I was staying there and he wasn't, the last gathering with my great-aunt when her dementia made it hard for her to recognize me and my children, the condition the cabin was in after we rented it out to the son of a family friend who might have been cooking meth when he dragged the burning couch outside and reduced it to springs and ash. I take the good with the bad, and choose to be pleased that I can remember so much about it at all. It is difficult to maintain a property like that when there are no full-time residents either in it or near enough to it to keep a close eye on it. I always imagined I would live there in my golden years, but that dream has faded as bits of my family's past have been sold off or lost. This is all that is left in that area, and it is unlikely that it will remain with us forever. These pictures may be all I have in a few short years.

The part of Christmas I like best, during those years that I feel it at all, is the feeling of wonderment the whole season evokes in a child. Everything is magic, from flying reindeer and gifts that appear while you sleep, to the cold windowpanes that fog up when you stare out at night, looking at your neighbors' lights and wishing you could see snow start to fall. Pajamas feel better during the week of Christmas. Hot chocolate tastes better that week. And the sound of a jingle bell makes your heart beat faster and floods your soul with dreams. Those days between the last day of school and Christmas Eve take forever, but when your cousins or grandparents are with you, the extended time is welcomed. The anticipation is more than half of the fun. When you are no longer the child, but instead are the parent, the holidays may bring extra stress, more cooking, cleaning, dealing with the daily habits of others. But planning surprises for everyone, especially your own children, makes up for the stress. I loved getting fanciful with the stories I told my children, my misdirection to throw them off the scent of whatever we had planned, or just silly tales to make holiday memories. For instance, there might have been the suggestion that Santa Claus takes bribes, and that was why toys in Grandpa's neighborhood were always bigger and better than the times we were at our own house. (Since we also swore the Tooth Fairy set prices based on the way ivory was trading in the commodities market, it was consistent with our pattern.)

Someday, after I have stopped pretending I'm not going gray, we will be the grandparents hosting Christmas at our house. I wonder what stories we will tell then, tales of magic and intrigue, to throw off clever guesses to our Santa surprises. I want to make their memories of holidays and gatherings as strong as mine are for my own special places.

Right in the Feels

Inspirational song: O Tannenbaum (Ernst Anschutz)

You know that feeling, when someone surprises you with a gesture so sweet, simple, and so unexpected, that you find yourself entirely overwhelmed, and wondering whether you are really a worthy recipient? There I was today, back at the gift wrapping table, trying not to suddenly start crying because I was given such a nice holiday wish. My buddy, who manned the gift wrapping table with me last night, was there again today. She had listened to me talk about how hard it was to find my holiday spirit this year, with my family all spread out and us all stressed to the edge. She knew how little I had decorated. So today, she handed me a little two-foot tall table top tree, a pack of colored lights, and a box of red ornaments. She even gave me unbreakable ornaments, pointing out that the kitten can't break them (or so we assume). She remembered that it was baby's first Christmas. I'm still getting a little choked up, six or seven hours later. I know she will read this, and all I can say is, Thank you, friend. You made the Grinch's heart grow three sizes today.

As we predicted, the kitten has already investigated the little tree. While I was determined to keep her out of it, and had to get the squirt bottle to reinforce my directives, I was very amused that I have a miniature tree to tempt a miniature cat. She is all of six months old now, and she is showing no signs yet of being a very big girl. I hope she does stay little. My Minions of Chaos, the two closest to her in age, are giant bruisers, and I like them that way. I like variety, and I am happy to have a tiny little fuzzpants in the Pride as well. She can be a challenge, acting a little bi-polar and bitey, but when she wants to be sweet, there is no more affectionately cuddly baby than she. It's like watching a generally naughty toddler try so hard to be good for Santa. She has been making eyes at me all week. I guess Santa may have to come to our house after all.

I need to take tomorrow off from gift wrapping for donations. I need to get my own presents finished and in the mail. I'm starting to think that my craft item is not yet at the right concentration, and now I need to figure out how to get more of the raw materials, that I had ordered off the internet, in time. Buying retail is going to be spendy. But if I pull this off, it will be worth it. Tomorrow I will be back to my new motto: Art Harder.