I'm going to apologize now. This is NOT a sexy post - so - if you are looking for sexy, monkey-fucking-hot text, check out some of my other posts or, better yet, my books!! But THIS blog, This blog is about my holiday humbugs. I didn't used to have those bugs - in fact, I used to be Merry personified. Now, I have to be talked into putting the tree up, I postpone shopping until the last minute and I will not attack wrapping without at least 2 bottles of wine chilling.
The only thing I look forward to during the Happy Season is baking day (although last year was kind of a bust expect for my BFF Shari and her lovely daughter and boyfriend) 'cuz my sons' girlfriends and a few others have agreed to show up and help (including Shari - yay!!). I love baking day - filled with joyful scents and laughter. Generally, I pull off about 8-10 types of cookies (at least one is a complete FAIL) and 2-5 types of candies.
But why, you may ask, am I now afflicted with the Hum Bugs? I'm not sure, but this time of year my ghosts visit me and I miss them terribly. I miss my grandfather who used to think I was a princess, my Aunt Blanche who always made Chex Mix, my Aunt Rose who would say prayers with me and make me believe in Santa, my MeeMaw who was the most TOTALLY AWESOME woman to have ever lived, my Grandma who was the only person in the family shorter than me, my father who looked and acted just like Fred Flintstone, my only brother who was my hero. So far tonight, my mother has only called 4 times to ask about Christmas cards - yes, she has dementia and even though she drives me crazy, I'm grateful she remembers who I and my sons are (Okay, so she thinks Baby Boy number one is married when he really isn't, but she's right in thinking he's happy with his lovely girlfriend!).
I hear the echo of my sons' tiny little footsteps galloping on hardwood floors. I see the shadows of ridiculously large Christmas trees dropping carpets of pine needles on my hardwood floors. I feel a remembrance of warm, sleepy bodies lying against my chest as I carry my sleeper cloaked babies to their beds.
So I sit here, watching sappy Christmas movies and crying (yes, I'm quite, quite maudlin) and remember and wonder if I will ever find that joy that I once cherished. But then, my oldest sends me a fancy dessert, my youngest builds me a warm, my husband tells me he loves me and I realize just how lucky I am. I have so very much - absolutely wonderful sons, a handsome, intelligent husband, a lovely, Victorian home, food aplenty, a fat little dog, wine, exceptionally good friends. I've made incredibly stupid mistakes which I have learned from. I have lost much so that I appreciate what I am given. I have struggled so that I can enjoy a bit more ease. I have lost so that I can love truly.
I have so much to be grateful for.
My ghosts constantly trail behind me, but they wish me no harm. I do not fear them. I love them for what they have given me and what they continue to teach me. As far as those Hum Bugs go - well, they're still with me and they are annoying little bastards, but their bite is not fatal. I am stronger than they.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.
The only thing I look forward to during the Happy Season is baking day (although last year was kind of a bust expect for my BFF Shari and her lovely daughter and boyfriend) 'cuz my sons' girlfriends and a few others have agreed to show up and help (including Shari - yay!!). I love baking day - filled with joyful scents and laughter. Generally, I pull off about 8-10 types of cookies (at least one is a complete FAIL) and 2-5 types of candies.
But why, you may ask, am I now afflicted with the Hum Bugs? I'm not sure, but this time of year my ghosts visit me and I miss them terribly. I miss my grandfather who used to think I was a princess, my Aunt Blanche who always made Chex Mix, my Aunt Rose who would say prayers with me and make me believe in Santa, my MeeMaw who was the most TOTALLY AWESOME woman to have ever lived, my Grandma who was the only person in the family shorter than me, my father who looked and acted just like Fred Flintstone, my only brother who was my hero. So far tonight, my mother has only called 4 times to ask about Christmas cards - yes, she has dementia and even though she drives me crazy, I'm grateful she remembers who I and my sons are (Okay, so she thinks Baby Boy number one is married when he really isn't, but she's right in thinking he's happy with his lovely girlfriend!).
I hear the echo of my sons' tiny little footsteps galloping on hardwood floors. I see the shadows of ridiculously large Christmas trees dropping carpets of pine needles on my hardwood floors. I feel a remembrance of warm, sleepy bodies lying against my chest as I carry my sleeper cloaked babies to their beds.
So I sit here, watching sappy Christmas movies and crying (yes, I'm quite, quite maudlin) and remember and wonder if I will ever find that joy that I once cherished. But then, my oldest sends me a fancy dessert, my youngest builds me a warm, my husband tells me he loves me and I realize just how lucky I am. I have so very much - absolutely wonderful sons, a handsome, intelligent husband, a lovely, Victorian home, food aplenty, a fat little dog, wine, exceptionally good friends. I've made incredibly stupid mistakes which I have learned from. I have lost much so that I appreciate what I am given. I have struggled so that I can enjoy a bit more ease. I have lost so that I can love truly.
I have so much to be grateful for.
My ghosts constantly trail behind me, but they wish me no harm. I do not fear them. I love them for what they have given me and what they continue to teach me. As far as those Hum Bugs go - well, they're still with me and they are annoying little bastards, but their bite is not fatal. I am stronger than they.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.
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1 comments:
Love it as your personal story--lovely. And, I would suggest a reread of Dickens brilliant piece written not 30 miles from my birthplace. The fluff added to the original, I have a copy I'll lend you--trust--loses the original which really puts us in a reality check--wow they had a hard time. David Copperfield is even better Mr Macawaber!R.
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