I'm much more in the holiday spirit this year, which is sort of weird since it's the first time I ever won't see all of my family for the holidays. Maybe distance makes the heart grow fonder or insert whatever platitude gets you through the night here.
Yule logs are actually logs for a Christmas fire, yes? Having never had a fireplace and having generally been a scrooge for decades, the only yule logs I dealt with were the frosty turdsicles the Bitches left in the backyard.
Maybe it was all the years in retail and the service industry that kept me from really getting into this holiday spirit action. After all, I looked at the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day as the prime money of the year. Sure, I donated some money or helped sponsor a family here and there, but my holiday focus was on padding the bank account for the times when tips were a bit more lean.
Maybe it was being generally angry at everyone and everything for so long I just became hardened.
Maybe it was my cynicism about people being extra nice for a month when they should really do their best not to act like dicks all year long.
The holiday thing started after I won a Christmas tree at a fundraiser. I hadn't had a tree since Joey was a puppy and it was too much work to keep her from knocking it over. But this free tree certificate had a whole realm of adventure to it--it required a trip to someplace called Wilsonville to a tree farm that promised excitement.
Llamas, goats, and a camel named Betty, who actually knew her name. I didn't realize camels were like that, but I walked up to her and said, "Hey Betty," I'll be damned if she didn't look right at me. The llamas and goats would eat right out of your hand and practically lock your face if you let them. Joey had to stay in the van, as there were chickens running around everywhere and as educational as it would have been, the children there may not be ready to see where nuggets come from.
And somehow, the place didn't stink.
I think so.
I picked a tree, had some hot chocolate, and we headed back to the Beav. While I could have selected a nine-footer, five felt appropriate as I needed to lug it up the stairs with Joey in tow. We made it with flying colors, dug through the storage closet until the box of holiday crap that made the trip to OR was found, and decorated that SOB.
The holiday spirit seeped from my pores. Maybe it's feeling okay in my own skin. Maybe it's losing Alli. Maybe it's falling in love. Maybe it's getting older. Maybe the why doesn't matter and I should shut up and enjoy it.
But stay focused on not acting like a dick ever.