Looking back over the archives, I discovered I seem to write
pretty much the same thing about Christmas.
Year after year. About how I love
to (over)decorate. About how the season
appeals to my not-so-latent shopaholic tendencies. Wistfully, about how the season is for kids,
and I haven't been a kid, or had a kid through whose eyes to see it,
for a very long time.
Obvious to me that I just need to get over myself. Christmas is what it is, I still enjoy the
season, for whatever reasons, small or large.
Shopping and gift-giving don't figure as prominently in the tapestry of
the season as they used to. And,
certainly, having spent the past fifteen years out of the immediate vicinity of
my family has served to channel my seasonal enjoyment, which at one time was 95% about family, in a different direction. It doesn't do to sit around and mope about
what isn't, anymore. I think I'm done
with that.
This morning, I have snow and blue sky and a van and a camera. I think I'll put these things together and see what kind of trouble I can get into.
My holiday present to myself this year is to be present for
the holiday. Enjoy what I enjoy, without
feeling guilty or silly or morbidly nostalgic.And when this year's winter
holidays are over, I'm going to scrape off some of the extraneous crap I've
kept around for ages so that the glow of next year's holiday can shine through
a little brighter.
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