Christmas, shishmas. I may actually round the corner of this insane holiday with some gas still in my tanks thanks to an unexpected day off from work. I am cleaning a toilet and having profound thoughts which often happens while doing repetitive maintenance tasks. Before enlightenment, we chopped wood and carried water and after enlightenment we chopped wood and carried water. I have tried to convince my husband of this simple phenomena but he chooses to remain detached. All Christmas purchases have been made and the MasterCard company has been keeping tabs on the crazy rising total and they will send me a fat and bulging envelope next month and I will need to sit down before I open it.
Wait, I'm not finished. I need to buy something for Dave's three older sisters and they don't need any material thing floating around this universe. In years past I have received from them Christmas Snoopy coasters, a cheese tray shaped like a Christmas tree with a light bulb knife (see December 2010) an ornament with a painted picture of the family home. It was a simple row house in a neighborhood inhabited by packing house workers, no masterpiece here.
My painfully logical mind thinks about buying battery packs for those girls or chapstick, lint rollers, or a package of ground beef, 93%, of course. My poor children suffered through a history of practical educational toys, magnets and models of the human skeleton, thanks to their overly teachery mother.
I like the idea of Christmas more than I like Christmas. It's a lot of work and people keep coming over and there's an abundance of bad food, cream cheese and sour cream and mounds of sugar and don't get me started on the cocktail weenies.But I need Christmas and if it didn't exist there would be a large hole at the end of my year. I require the sparkly stuff.
And I miss my mother. I follow recipes in her handwriting and tenderly unwrap ornaments she owned, and I remember a younger, painless version of herself and I am lonely for her.
So, cheers everyone. It's Christmas eve and I am balancing my checkbook and waiting for the frozen spinach to drain and wishing I could find one decent horror movie on cable. Damn the emotion and merry christmas.
Wait, I'm not finished. I need to buy something for Dave's three older sisters and they don't need any material thing floating around this universe. In years past I have received from them Christmas Snoopy coasters, a cheese tray shaped like a Christmas tree with a light bulb knife (see December 2010) an ornament with a painted picture of the family home. It was a simple row house in a neighborhood inhabited by packing house workers, no masterpiece here.
My painfully logical mind thinks about buying battery packs for those girls or chapstick, lint rollers, or a package of ground beef, 93%, of course. My poor children suffered through a history of practical educational toys, magnets and models of the human skeleton, thanks to their overly teachery mother.
I like the idea of Christmas more than I like Christmas. It's a lot of work and people keep coming over and there's an abundance of bad food, cream cheese and sour cream and mounds of sugar and don't get me started on the cocktail weenies.And I miss my mother. I follow recipes in her handwriting and tenderly unwrap ornaments she owned, and I remember a younger, painless version of herself and I am lonely for her.
So, cheers everyone. It's Christmas eve and I am balancing my checkbook and waiting for the frozen spinach to drain and wishing I could find one decent horror movie on cable. Damn the emotion and merry christmas.
5 comments:
I think a chunk of a person's Soul leaves when their mama leaves, and you just have to learn to live without it, it's gone.
Yes.
Christmas without Mom is like what Anita Bryant (that gay bashing useless brainless broad) use to say, "a day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine." Its the day after Christmas and my tree is down and packed away.
Moi aussi.
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