Keeping It Real

I share these moments of angst in the spirit of keeping it real. Because I have a feeling I'm not the only person going through some sort of pre-holiday frustration and I feel your pain. I've heard it all: "Don't do so much." Duh. But maybe you've experienced some of this and even if you are way more together than me (in real life, not what-I-see-on-your-blog life) I also have a couple of fun video links you might enjoy if nothing else! 

And yes, sprinkled with a tree or two throughout -- just to show you that I am making progress!

Do you send things to lots of out-of-towners? That's probably 85 percent of my holiday shopping. There's the wrapping -- not bad. And prepping them to mail. I can't find boxes the right size -- every box I've saved for the past year is way too big or way too small. A nail breaks off (below the quick, which hurts) while trying to open the box with the wrapping paper. Everything's a weird shape. Shopping isn't done. And I look at it all and think "Why does it have to be so hard?"

I'm also frustrated because I'm cutting back on everything this year and I want people to understand and hope they realize it isn't personal. And that at least my shopping will bring gifts a little better than this...

And I realize that probably people won't care what it looks like. I don't. I appreciate the effort but the wrapping isn't the thing. Even the gift itself doesn't matter. It's the being remembered that counts.

Letting go of your inner Martha is hard. And the fact is, I was never a Martha. I was and am a faux-Martha, and not even a very good one at that. This area by my dry sink looks great, all holiday festive!

Next to it -- this corner. The dishwasher padding Rick hasn't found time to put in; a temporary "holding spot" for the cookbooks I couldn't fit anywhere else when the cookbook case fell down. It also held the wine racks and now there's no place to put them with Christmas and no shelf. Pictures taken off the wall to put holiday pictures in their place. (Note -- I did tidy that up a bit today -- hid the dishwasher insulation, moved the pictures...)

While we're at it, let's not look in the corners of the ceiling where the cobwebs have set up their own home sweet home. 

The vacuum cleaner decided it wouldn't pick up anymore and after two hours trying to tear it apart to see where it was clogged, I made the determination that I can live with cat-hairy floors for awhile longer. Meanwhile, the puppy pads continue to lay by the door to the garage, since Lizzie has decided to forego the pleasures of using her box for #1 but loves the pads. It beats using the carpet. So, we co-exist. This is her feeding station.

And blowing out the circuit that serves the plugs for the fireplace lights and family room Christmas tree isn't fun. There is now a super-long orange code threading its way into another room. I'll deal with an electrician in the new year.

And we won't talk about the Fibber Magee closet.

More concerning, I'm forgetting big things like PT appointments and did I take my meds? I'm juggling too many things in my head and I skip from one activity to another without finishing anything. I worry about my challenges walking and the pain that comes along with it while still gamely trying to take the stairs, do my exercises and try to be normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore.

And I know, in my heart of hearts that all of this -- messy floor, badly wrapped gifts, cobwebs and ugly corners, even gimpy legs, are really nothing. 

We are so fortunate. We can buy or make gifts for each other and afford the postage to mail those not near. Granted, utility bills took a big hike but there is still heat. Gas prices are coming way down and I have a roof over my head. No one is shooting at me or blowing up my city, my home. There is food on the table and resources to have special treats. I am rich with the friendship of people near and far and a family I love with all my heart. 

Christmas is both a season of joy and a season of grief for me and my emotions go up and down like one of those swirly roller coasters I see at big amusement parks that dip swiftly, then slowly climb up the next track only to dip again. 

I hate roller coasters. 

But I know more than a few people who will be experiencing their first Christmas without someone they love. Others who are enduring rounds of chemo or other therapies for diseases far more serious than a gimpy hip. Still others who I'm sure are holding their pain -- physical, emotional or material -- close to their chests and soldiering on.

Life feels heavy these days. There is much in our world that is distressing. The Marsh family sums it up far better than I could in this song.

And yes -- they are right. There is hope. We just have to lighten up enough to seek it out. Well, that's what I have to do.

So, last night Rick and I went to a small town symphony concert. I have to say, the first four songs were beyond dreadful -- I told someone it was like Christmas music in Hell sounded like. And then the real symphony came out and took us on a "sleigh ride" into a "winter wonderland" where it was a "white Christmas" and things lifted. (In fairness to the opening numbers, we didn't realize at the time that these were people with only one year playing under their belts. They need a few years, but -- as I often say -- at least they are doing it.)

As the Marsh family sings, "Small steps are a beginning."

And this morning -- this.

 

There were five of them and they were beautiful. Today is a better day. I hope it is for you, too.

(I promise a cheerier post sooner. Or else the November books! Or both.)

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