Nine days until Christmas, and I'm still in search of that dose of good, old fashioned Christmas spirit.
The kind that can fill me up with equal parts wonder and delight. The kind that inspires me to say Merry Christmas to strangers, to attend parties with bells on, and warms the cockles of my heart at the sight of snow.
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It's lush and green like late spring here as we quickly near towards the winter solstice. Little Red, pictured above, has yet to even contemplate a long winter nap. Ski trips have been cancelled three weeks in a row, and we have not yet dug out our Smart Wool or Cuddle Duds. It's not exactly reason to complain, but I think that's exactly what I'm doing. The deluge we've been experiencing is reminding me of Noah not Santa.
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The kids haven't written their letters to Santa. I'm not pushing it for obvious reasons, but the Polar Express has done wonders for suspended belief. I'm equal parts giddy to fess up and working overtime to keep it alive. Oh, and I'm 100 percent heart broken over what will be the end of an era.
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Last night Fred took a cache of selfies on Lily's I Pad and it really made her morning. It made my morning too because seeing her eyes light up is manna for my soul. Ted, on the other hand, didn't get up until his ride was waiting in the driveway. Clearly he's at the stage of life where sleep trumps elves and breakfast.
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I found myself back in bed and then back to sleep after a few pages of my book once the house was empty. I didn't intend to submit to such sloth as I have a long list of to dos just like everyone else in the universe, but I am weak and a little bit sad.
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In my dream last night, I was waiting for my Mom. I knew she was going to come so I opened a special bottle of wine to share with her, which if you knew my Mom is downright hilarious. So I was sitting in anticipation. It was getting later and later and Christmas Eve was almost Christmas Day. I was having anxiety that she would not be coming. Then I realized that she wouldn't be coming because she was gone. Dead. The sadness of my dream lingered upon my waking. Ho! Ho! Ho!
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Just like there are years that ask questions and years that answer them, there are years that the heaviness comes and sits on my heart. Grief is showing up this year and refusing to be subdued, stuffed, or squashed.
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The house isn't empty anymore. Ralph is here. Like Jesus, he is a carpenter only he closely resembles Santa. He's traded in his 80s rock for Christmas music today so even though my eyes are blurry with tears, I am feeling a little lighter.
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I am looking forward to tonight. Ted, Lily and I have a date to meet Jess for dinner downtown and then a light tour. I will find some Christmas spirit if it's the last thing I do.
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