The sun’s out the sun’s out the sun’s out. Melt thou most stubborn of snow, melt!
Merry Christmas! I’m feeling the good vibes now!
Yea!
Aaand, kind friends offered to drive me to their house for Christmas dinner. Yum! (Sun and good food — what more does this girl need at the moment? Nothing!) (Oops, afterthought: Add a few holiday drinks to the mix and I’m set!)
Today, I woke up in a better mood than I have in weeks. It’s a bouyancy out of nowhere, and I’m once again amazed by human resilience. There’s no reason for my mood, none whatsoever. It’s Christmas Eve and I’m snowed-in. We in my family won’t celebrate the holiday until this weekend — hopefully. I’ve been cooped up for 10 days, hiking to the grocery store, stewing in my juices.
You’d think given all this time, I’d have accomplished much writing. Hah!
Old-time Portlanders are talking about this snowfall as the worst winter in 40 years. All I know is that struggling through the snow, I meet up with fellow hikers who smile wide and offer benedictions like, Beautiful, isn’t it? even as they nearly fall on their bums. Smiles all around, shrugs, slips and slides — it’s a strange but welcome comraderie.
Today it must be 34 or 35 degrees — a step in the right direction — and when I opened the balcony window the lovely hush I’d gotten used to had disappeared, replaced by snap-crackle-popping, a most enlivening sound. Truth is, I’d never before heard the sound of a slow thaw. Ice and snow falling off the evergreens and telephone lines, snow pockmarked and slushy: unique to me.
It’s thawing out there; my heart is thawing out a little too. Time to ready myself for a bright, shiny New Year!
Though, more snow is supposed to be coming for us — one more bout before it lets us go. But I don’t care. Even if I’m snowed-in, it’s still Christmas, and Christmas was always one of the happiest times in my family. We did it BIG. Or rather, my father did it big and brought us along with him. The eight-foot tree with thousands of lights; the beautifully made nativity scene, hand-sculpted and -painted, the kind you don’t see anymore. Chipped as it was, I used to love playing with it as if it were a doll set. The multitudes of presents under the tree — too many really — maybe it was almost disgusting, but as I kid, what did I care?
I may be holed up, but it’s still Christmas.
Merry Christmas!
P.S. A few pet pictures, typical of the last 10 days.
Luna, the dog reminiscent of a cat, snuggling into the warmest spot next to my drying boots (in front of the space heater).
Trio, the cat reminiscent of a dog, playing in the snow.
I can’t help but laugh at myself when it comes to writing Christmas cards. I know we’re supposed to be merry and hopeful, but I love to write a good old-fashioned downer of a card. I mean, this is my life, right? Why do I have to be merry?
If I’m not ending the year on a high note, why fake it?
Plus, writing about my conflicts, self-doubts, angsts, and all that jazz is more fun. It’s like writing stories with good conflicts. Who wants to read a novel about a happy single girl? I’ll tell you: no one.
And speaking of storytelling in whatever format it takes, my stats have gone up on this here blog since my troubles began on November 21st. Why? Because people like stories with conflicts. Seems so obvious. But I’m not going to milk my woes for the sake of stats, just so you know.
Back to Christmas cards: I’ve received plenty of favorable reviews on them over the years. Some of my friends look forward to my cards. I can imagine some of them thinking, What kind of train wreck is Lisa going to describe this year? Must be a hoot for them, and I admit I play it up a little. I mean, I’m a writer, I can do that for the sake of fun and drama.
Problem with that is that some folks might get to feeling sorry for me. That poor Lisa, what a pathetic life. But I don’t care. I like writing my downer Christmas cards…
I was thinking about all this last night after reading the following on One Word, One Rung, One Day, a blog well worth checking out. Being that I was in the middle of writing Christmas cards, I cracked up, I couldn’t help it!
“Why is it the only time you hear the word tidings is during the holidays and in reference to the song. Can you have tiding of something besides joy? I think I’m going to wait until March or April and when something makes me mad I’m going to say I offer you tiding of pain and discomfort. Or the next time Whataburger screws up my meat and cheese only burger I might ask the doofus behind the counter, “Have you been snacking on tidings of stupidity again?” “
I always did have a special fondness for Eeyore.
