I find myself here on yet another Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t think of them that way, I suppose, but when you’re not young or newly with someone or there aren’t little people around, it is hard to ramp yourself up to that level of excitement over something you’ve already experienced thirty times. I want to, I do, but it’s too late now, and I am by myself, typing away after my mother fell asleep halfway through It’s A Wonderful Life.
We have all sort of deflated the Christmas balloon around here. With my grandmother’s passing, there is a certain void that is hard to explain for losing someone who lived her life so far away from us. But there was a noticeable absence, somehow. Thinking of my grandfather and the traditions that have simply passed along with her. It is hard to imagine him up at that farm – even though he has my uncle to look out for him – how hard it must be to just have to step away from what is expected and take on what is reality. I don’t…
My father gave each of us an orange today in honor of my grandmother. During the Depression, as a girl, that was the entirety of her Christmas presents. We are stupid lucky to have what we have, to be safe, and relatively sound. We went over to my half-sister’s for lasagna, garlic bread, very sweet, good wine and shared presents there.
I do have a bit of a headache, a muffled sensation in my head. I didn’t drink anything, I mostly just forgot even though we had a family-sized bottle of Midori to crack into. I just feel like a warbling record singing Buffalo Gal a hundred times in a row.
The idea of you is in the cold air. I said to myself that there was a choice behind every result that puzzles or bothers me today. There was a choice I made that lead me away from some possibilities and towards other certainties and while it won’t be a simple task to choose again, I can choose again. Right? That’s what I like to think. That the opportunity just hasn’t come up for reform yet and as soon as it does I will be right there, sorting my shit into all the necessary depositories. Logged and filed. I would like to think that’s true, but what I know is true is that I am every day just showing up and seeing what happens to me.
I did choose chocolate lava cake and all varieties of potsticker and guacamole and appetizers and an eerie slice of A Christmas Carol: The Concert on PBS where they all stood on a stage and exhorted one another in rhyming couplets to care about the poor and needy. Bit of a disconnect, I know, but there’s this moment of surreality and then a little bit more as I scan through Twitter and Tumblr before I finally slip off into another dimension. A wordless one.