Anne Tyler, Christmas, age, champagne, gifts, love.

I am not sure why but as I write this, I am having a difficult time keeping tears out of my eyes.  Rather, the tears are there, I am simply trying to keep them in my eyes and not on my cheeks. I have no reason to be crying and for christ's sake, I am at work, what in the name of xmas would guests think if they saw the front desk worker sobbing?  (Well, maybe they would give me a monetary incentive to stop crying.  It might work.)

But here I am, teary.  Been teary all day. For days, actually. Not sad, not morose, just a tiny bit sad and a little bit lonesome.  Lonesome for past christmases, I think. How many christmases does one get?  My Mom complains because she is not in the "Christmas Spirit" but hell, she's on her 94th holiday season.  After 60 or so xmas trees and after about the 4th tub of eggnog you figure you have consumed in your lifetime, you lose the spirit, thankfully.  So at 94, with no xmas spirit, I figure she's entitled to be a little Scroogy about the whole endeavor. 

But I am not 94 and I am not waiting for the Grim Reaper to pull my card.  (OK, we all are, in a way, but you know what I mean.) I sincerely wish I had paid more attention to christmases in the past.  I wish I remember more about when the kids were little, when John and I were Santa.  Or about all those incredible crab and champagne feasts the kids (and Stacey) and I had in the little cottage in Inverness.  It's like I have overdrawn the memory bank when it comes to certain subjects; there ain't much in it anymore. (Impending Alzheimer's, I sometimes think. But that's short term memory loss, not the past.)

Pause:  ……….   OK, in light of my lack of joie, I opened a bottle of champagne and am having a glass with some nice Marcona almonds. (Yes, I am still at work.  Gotta love the owners who are away and who would, I am sure, fire me be happy I opened the champagne!)  

Where was I?  Oh, yes, the tears. They come, they go. Seasonal affect, I guess.

Anne Tyler: for a woman who has given us novels for the past 50 years, how does she keep making us love each new one?  I am reading "A Spool of Blue Thread" which will be released in 2015 and her signature prose is still about families and their highs, their lows, the realities of marriage, kids, death. Her insights are given in such a soft, back-handed way that it isn't until the scene has played out that you realize you just witnessed a moment of grace or of beauty or of everyday terror. She's a wonderful writer.  

Back to xmas:  Gifts this year consist of acknowledgements of donations I have made in lieu of gifts.  Plus all the stuff I could easily take from the hotel, like granola bars and Marcona almonds, wrapped poorly.  Jenn and I have a tree, yesterday we put up the lights around the outside of the house, we are hoping the weather cooperates and gives us crab tomorrow. However, I am pretty sure that at some point in the holiday extravaganza I will start to cry. Maybe it will be OK.  At least I won't be surprised.  And those who are witnessing it are people whom I love and perhaps they love me, too, and so maybe it will be alright.

But damn, tears are not holiday-ish. They do not inspire thoughts of Christmas Past, Present or Future.  Actually, that's wrong, they do inspire thoughts of Christmas Past. Or maybe they are inspired by thoughts of Christmas Past. It's too complicated for me right now. 

Still, to anyone who might read this, I truly hope your holidays are happy, tear-free, and full of laughter and love.  It's what we all need and what we often have difficulty finding. I hope you find all you need.

xoxo

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