Where Will You Be Next Christmas?
On a discussion board I frequent, someone lamented how long Christmas took to get "over with" this year. Someone in a writers group I belong to posted how thankful he was that it's past - the sentiment was seconded; the motion carried. A friend called with exhaustion in her voice to say how relieved she was at the passing of the season - then was off to take a long winter's nap. (Isn't there a poem about that with a kerchief and a cap?)
What a shame, thought I, that we're all giving in to the media sensationalized syndromes of depression during the holidays and seasonal emotional disorders and whatever else "they" want to fling at our fragile states of mind. I mean, I'm unemployed, losing my house to foreclosure, and ready to run screaming from the person I was set to divorce seven months ago when the funds for that fell through...but...like the boys in Monty Python say, always look on the bright side of life. Spending Christmas in this house with an individual I can't actually speak to may seem horrific on the surface - but I spent Christmas calmly, quietly, in my own home. The bank won't take it for at least another 45 days, and I didn't have to sit snowed in at any airport on Christmas Eve. Like the Christmas Carol says: "all is calm; all is bright". I'm thankful for small blessings while I have them.
Maybe next year I'll rejoin the clanging throng of people hustling and bustling through the malls and post offices and train stations. Maybe next December 25 will bring me some new adventure and I'll drop into some easy chair that night saying "wow, I'm glad Christmas is over!" (But I kinda hope those words never escape my lips.) I'd prefer my Christmas next year not involve an oversized cardboard box on the beach with a t-shirt for a curtain, if you catch my drift, but, all in all, I think every experience has taught me to be thankful for the experiences to come. Next year, I don't want to catch myself sending the lyrics to "Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses as a pick-me-up to a friend on Christmas Eve. That's pure insanity. Jen, even if it's just a box on the beach, you're invited to my place, Darlin'! Maybe we'll listen to the song in remembrance of this year, and then go out to do something fun!
May your days be merry and bright...and may all your Christmases be white.
"Some days, you just want the dragon to win."
On a discussion board I frequent, someone lamented how long Christmas took to get "over with" this year. Someone in a writers group I belong to posted how thankful he was that it's past - the sentiment was seconded; the motion carried. A friend called with exhaustion in her voice to say how relieved she was at the passing of the season - then was off to take a long winter's nap. (Isn't there a poem about that with a kerchief and a cap?)
What a shame, thought I, that we're all giving in to the media sensationalized syndromes of depression during the holidays and seasonal emotional disorders and whatever else "they" want to fling at our fragile states of mind. I mean, I'm unemployed, losing my house to foreclosure, and ready to run screaming from the person I was set to divorce seven months ago when the funds for that fell through...but...like the boys in Monty Python say, always look on the bright side of life. Spending Christmas in this house with an individual I can't actually speak to may seem horrific on the surface - but I spent Christmas calmly, quietly, in my own home. The bank won't take it for at least another 45 days, and I didn't have to sit snowed in at any airport on Christmas Eve. Like the Christmas Carol says: "all is calm; all is bright". I'm thankful for small blessings while I have them.
Maybe next year I'll rejoin the clanging throng of people hustling and bustling through the malls and post offices and train stations. Maybe next December 25 will bring me some new adventure and I'll drop into some easy chair that night saying "wow, I'm glad Christmas is over!" (But I kinda hope those words never escape my lips.) I'd prefer my Christmas next year not involve an oversized cardboard box on the beach with a t-shirt for a curtain, if you catch my drift, but, all in all, I think every experience has taught me to be thankful for the experiences to come. Next year, I don't want to catch myself sending the lyrics to "Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses as a pick-me-up to a friend on Christmas Eve. That's pure insanity. Jen, even if it's just a box on the beach, you're invited to my place, Darlin'! Maybe we'll listen to the song in remembrance of this year, and then go out to do something fun!
May your days be merry and bright...and may all your Christmases be white.
"Some days, you just want the dragon to win."
posted by Sandy Lender | 6:41 PM
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