We were invited to a the family Christmas party at inlaws Tim and Anna's today. Most of us are under the weather, especially TB, but right up to the last minute we were looking forward to going. We only get to see some of TB's family once or twice a year. TB was really sick and hadn't been sleeping well. I didn't feel so great either. Aside from infecting everyone at the party, there was also the long drive to consider. So we decided it would be better to spare everyone and stay home. It turns out that TB's mom also didn't go because she wasn't feeling well. Ah well.
I didn't do much today except sleep and read my book. The kids have cabin fever, I think, and they're squabbling and crabby. Heidi said she hates vacations because we never go anywhere. Well, we do, but not as often as the kids would like. So it goes.
Write about special things that will need to be put back into storage now that the holiday is ending soon.
This isn’t going to happen for a week yet but I’ve already been thinking about it. One of the brightest things about the holiday season is putting up the tree, the lights, and all the decorations. I feel blue when we have to take them all down again.
There’s the tree, of course. In past years, after we’d taken everything off the tree it would stand there looking so bare and neglected. Then we had to drag it out the door and throw it on the ground where the garbagemen would pick it up. Boy, talk about your bummers! It’s really sad to see your beautiful tree all broken and cast off.
Now we have a lovely artificial tree. There is a whole different feel to taking it down. All the ornaments come off first and are packed away in boxes. There are the precious ornaments I’ve collected over the years that I thought had been lost, ornaments we made ourselves as well as ornaments I bought for the kids individually. There are the new ornaments that TB and I bought for our first Christmas last year. There are all the lights and the angel on top of the tree.
Once that is done, we take the branches off the tree and Billy packs them carefully away. It feels better to me because we’re showing a lot more respect. I don’t know why I feel that way. I just feel better with the kind of care the tree gets now.
Around the house are all the candles and little knick knacks. Some are easy to overlook because they blend in so well. I have a small set of musical angels on my desk. There are more angels on top of the TV in the family room and on the hutch in the living room too. I don’t remember where all these angels came from. The really little ones are mine, angels I’ve bought very recently.
The set of angels on the TV are from Rich’s mother, who died a week after I met her. She was very crafty and loved to collect angels. Anyway, these angels are musical, too. Several of them broke and Rich fixed them the last Christmas he spent with us. One of them broke again this year and this time TB fixed it. Carol made other decorations, crocheting and little tree ornaments, and I’ve kept them because they were pretty and because she made them.
I have Christmas-y beanie babies that will go away for a year. On the up side, I have beanie babies and a stuffed Grumpy (from Walt Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarves that I put away to make room for the holiday beanies. It’ll be nice to see them again.
There is another up side to all this: I will have room again beside my desk. TB and I got a bookcase so that I could have a place to put my stuff. Right now it’s on the other side of the treadmill, out of my reach. It’ll be nice to organize my stuff and have a place for it all. I try to look for something positive in all this so I don’t feel as blue taking all the decorations down.
This is from a Dilbert Newsletter dated December 28, 1999 ......
"In the tradition of the Dilbert Newsletter, I give you a special
holiday story containing no humor content whatsoever.
The Stranger ~
It was one of those cold winter nights in the Haight district of San Francisco, the kind where the rain hurts, and your breath forms huge cotton balls that bounce on the pavement. I was driving an eyesore that could only be referred to as a "car" by someone who was either a shameless liar or a good friend.
Technically, the vehicle was totalled when I bought it from an unscrupulous neighbor, because it needed an engine overhaul that would have cost more than the car itself. I added a quart of oil before every journey. Most of it would leak out along the way. I tried to imagine I was driving a huge magical snail; that way I didn't mind the slow speeds and the slime trail it left.
The car's outer paint had transformed into a hideous mixture of rust and "something brown." The engine sounded like a lawnmower with tuberculosis. If anyone ever wondered what the inside of an automobile seat looked like, my car had the answers.
It was a difficult car to drive because you had to keep your fingers and toes crossed to keep the engine running. That night, I must have uncrossed my fingers to scratch something. The car died in the middle of a four-lane stretch of Oak Street. I coasted as far as I could, hoping for a place to turn off, but the street was lined with parked cars and the nearest intersection was beyond coasting distance. There I sat, in busy evening traffic, no lights, no locomotion, as tons of steel and plastic screamed by.
In my rearview mirror, I saw a pair of headlights pull up and stop behind me. I knew what was coming. Soon the horn would start and someone would be cursing at me. In San Francisco, if you dawdle too long after a light turns green, you get the horn. If you dare to come to a full stop at a stop sign, you get the horn from the car behind you. I figured I was begging for trouble.
But I was wrong.
A stranger got out of the car and came up to my window. He shouted, "Do you want a push?" I was stunned but must have nodded in the affirmative. He waved at his car and two teens piled out to apply themselves to my bumper. When I was safely delivered to a side street, they hopped back into their car and rejoined the sea of anonymous traffic. I didn't get a chance to thank them.
Over the years, I've realized something about the stranger who stopped to help. I've noticed that just about every time I'm in trouble, he appears. He never looks the same. Sometimes he's a woman. His age and ethnicity vary. But he's almost always there.
I've started to understand he's the best part of what makes us human beings. The one true thing in this world is an unasked kindness provided by a stranger. It's the invisible cord that binds us all together and makes life worthwhile.
So - whenever you find yourself immersed in the clutter and bustle of what we call "everyday life" - annoyed by the long lines, baffled about how you'll
ever get everything done, remember this ..... One of the people in that crowd is the stranger. Today, maybe it's you."