I have a confession to make, and it’s kind of an odd one for me: I’m not in the Christmas spirit. There’s one week to go, and I’m sitting here in an undecorated room sans holiday tunes with only two presents taken care of.
A lot of my problem is probably the nasty Cold From Purgatory that, like its namesake, goes on and on and on and on without much hope of redemption. It’s been with me for more than a week and I’m still producing things from my chest that may – almost – be more terrifying than the truth behind Sandra Lee’s Kwanzaa cake. Let alone the cake itself.
But I honestly think that most of my problem stems from the fact that I seem to be surrounded by people who think of Christmas as a chore to be gotten through as painlessly as possible rather than an opportunity to express our appreciation of one another and to reflect on the importance of friendship.
If it weren’t for the cold, perhaps I could get over my ennui. If it weren’t for the ennui, the house would probably smell of cinnamon and ginger right now rather than the dishes sitting in the sink waiting for me to work up the energy to wash them.
And yet, I know that on Christmas day I will feel the spirit. I feel confident that there will be music and laughter and – fingers crossed! – perhaps even a gasp of surprise from Mr. Twistie when he sees what I’m giving him.
All the same, I think I could use a hand here. Pretty please, pipe up and tell me tales of Christmas (or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or Solstice, or even birthday) cheer from your past. Tell me about fun times, good friends, and hilarious disasters that worked out in the end.
Once I’ve read a few holly jolly tales, I might work up the spirit to watch Blackadder’s Christmas Carol again and string some popcorn. Oh, and pass the eggnog.