Who knows when I'll get back to this, so all the random holiday thoughts I can muster are here to ornament your memories of the season.
I totally love red christmas balls. Can't say that around my son without infecting the house with giggles and snickers. Ah, the nine year old boy's sense of humor...
I wish I could be a million sparkles shining down on everyone I love during this season. Instead, I'm a million wishes in a dollar store gift bag.
People who work at the dollar store during a down economy should be given TARP money for all they suffer at the hands of overwrought customers trying to tie together a million-dollar look for under three bucks. God bless them one and all.
Cleaning house day for the holidays ought to be a federal holiday. A gal can't work and do that at the same time.
My hot chocolate is always either too sweet or too bland or too hot to drink until it's too cold. Is it too much to ask for the ability to make a dang good cup of hot chocolate?
On that note, mini marshmellows simply don't do it for me. I prefer one big fluffy marshmellow melting all across the top of the cup. Which never happens for me because I can never get the temperature right.
I let my husband pick out the Christmas tree this year and he, of course, picked the least expensive tree in a variety of pine that I loathe. Sadly, the tree is gorgeous and now I'm forced to tell him that all the time.
Lucky for me, he won't remember it three days after it's down and I'll make sure to remind him next year that I hated it.
Why is it that no matter how much I try not to meet new people or make new friends my Christmas list becomes exponentially larger every year? I suppose it doesn't help that my extended family keeps having babies in twos.
As an added bonus during the craze, my body apparently experiencing global warming. I'm freezing all the time. Except when I'm boiling hot. This could explain the hot chocolate debacle. Or be a sign of things to come. Yeesh.
That said, at my ripe old age I still have no idea what to get for my mother. It's the bane of my holiday season. Aside from the temperature problem, that is.
My babies still believe in Santa. Or pretend to for my benefit. Either way, I love it. Gives me hope that innocence still has a place in the world. It's upstairs tucked into bed.
When it's all said and done the tire, the mire and high-wire act one must perform to participate in the celebrations of the season should leave one spent and flushed but thoroughly pleased. If that works out for you, let me know?
Funny how my homemade gifts still require the use of technology that to generations before mine would have seemed alien in concept, much less application. So, by 1920s standards, I'm as cutting edge as a space shuttle vacation on Mars!
Also, is it me, or has anyone else noticed that just about everything on Star Trek is now normal, every day stuff? That's just wackadoodle.
The nearer we draw to the end of the year, the more I'm compelled to reflect and remark upon the sheer thrill of surviving it all, not just me, but everyone I know. I'm also compelled to wonder how in creation we'll keep it up. But then, that's the fun of it, isn't it?
The smile being the best accessory to any outfit, I'm wondering if my jeans could get on board and just suck in my hips for me when I grin from ear to ear. Their lack of cooperation making for less-than-favorable reaction from the full-length mirror. While I wait, the waist-high wall mirror will have to suffice.
I love, love, love the smell of Christmas candles in every variety. Except that gawd-awful spiced cake thing I got a couple of years ago at an outlet store. Smells like spiced foot. I swear I've thrown it out eleven times and every year it resurfaces.
I blame my mother.
It's got nothing to do with her. It's just simpler to keep all the blame in one column. Sorry Mami.
And while we're on the subject of sorry, let me insert a blanket 'sorry' here for all the folks I'd love to love more often, especially during holidays, with more attention and more time, but simply can't. I'm starting to think that guilt manifests itself in me physically as hair, which is why I look like a female version of that hairy character in the Harry Potter movies. Something to think about come resolution time. Must get a guilt-cut.
As for resolutions, I'll have more to say (natch) but for now, this: I resolve to keep at it. To keep trying, to keep my head up, to keep smiling, to keep expecting the best and bracing for whatever comes with the best cheer I can gather and the most strength I can find, offering the best care and most love I can give, until I'm thoroughly spent, flushed, and pleased. When that happens, I'll order a nice cup of hot chocolate from someone who knows what they're doing, and rest.