Embrace The Suck

I'm dreaming of a low-key Christmas. Just like the ones I never had. I've been overwhelmed by the holidays for years. Call me Scrooge, but a white Christmas only means one thing - shoveling the driveway. I started looking at Christmas from a different point of view, when my children were young. At first, it's fun to be the adult at Christmas.  Like a magician who can change a silk scarf into dove, transforming my living room into a winter wonderland strewn with lights and filled with presents made me feel all powerful. But as the children grew and expected more, my super powers lagged. Erma Bombeck once wrote "There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child." Being an adult at Christmas is hard work. Hard work makes it difficult to see the magic and feel the wonder. One Christmas when my children were young and my then-husband had worked them into a let's-see-who-has-the-most-presents-under-the-tree-frenzy ...

I've watched a lot of Lifetime and Hallmark channel movies recently. In almost everyone, a miracle takes place and everyone lives happily ever after.  Christmas time is the season of miracles from the  baby born in  Bethlehem to a fat man that drops down chimneys, a singing snowman that become real, or a red-nosed reindeer flying through the night sky dragging a present filled sleigh. I believe each of us needs to have a something to believe in.  Life can get pretty darn hard without hope. And that's what miracles are - the manifestation of hope. We hear more about miracles in December because, let's face it, that's what sells Hallmark cards and wrapping paper. But what about the everyday miracles that happen right under our noses and we hardly notice anymore. Like the sound of a baby laughing, or babies in general. Like rainbows, and singing birds, and tulips. Like new hearts in old bodies, stroke victims recovering beyond all odds and then writing a book abo...

Sweetie asked me this morning about the ghost of Christmas(s) past that has me longing to be a child again. Before I could form an answer, my eyes started leaking. I could feel that little girl inside me longing for those days. There are only a few gifts that stand out in my memory - a baby doll and a cradle, my first pair of real stockings (with a garter belt - ooh lala), and a cedar lined hope chest. It's the feelings I recall most, that I long for. The anticipation. The excitement  of waking up on Christmas morning wearing pajamas we'd been allowed to open the night before. The self absorbed delight wrapped in pretty paper, oblivious to the tired red-rimmed eyes of my parents who had only gotten a few hours sleep. The sense of family (think Norman Rockwell here even though we were far from it) that hovered in the room where our stockings were hung. An afternoon spent playing with new toys, or feeling more grown up. My grandparents coming for dinner. Again, oblivious to my...

Johnson and I walk around the block every night with two of the slowest, nosiest, untrained walking dogs on the planet. Forget that the American Fox Hound just won top prize at a big dog show. Whatever fox hound DNA  Suzi has in her bloodline means only that she has to sniff every blade of grass she passes. Christmas decorations are already up. Inflatable Santas and twinkling lights. I was kind of considering not putting up any decorations. The idea of bringing down all the boxes, then going through them, and taking them back upstairs, only to reverse the process in a few weeks makes me tired just thinking about it. Yesterday Sweetie and I came home from visiting some old people and lo and behold there was not one but two wreaths all lit up and hanging on the front of the house. And Johnson had brought down all the boxes. I never even got a chance to declare this a No Decoration holiday. Johnson is an enigma to me. He swears like a sailor, has a shorter fuse than me, is very op...

I seriously thought I was back in the blogging mood when I got on the subject of light. I see now the last time I actually posted something - as opposed to thinking about posting something - was Nov. 13th. So here I sit at the end of the first day in December, look at how packed full the days ahead are and wonder where blogging  kind of writing will occur.  It's clear that my writing muse packed her bags for an extended vacation on a tropical island. I think she is taking long strolls on deserted beaches, swimming in crystal blue seas, sleeping with her windows open, the better to hear the waves as they lap against the shore. She's probably drinking rum drinks with little umbrellas, learning how to sway her hips to the beat of native drums, wearing flowers in her hair, and bright colored muu muus. I hope she comes back rested and full of stories. In the mean time I'm sewing bears. I love how sometimes the things I do just feel right. That's the way I feel about making...