Monday. December 24, 2001

for sale on ebay...I don't know if I'm getting happy or not

a properly roasted bird...good with Dr. Pepper or a French Sauvignon Blanc

holiday cheer at our house

Mom wears her brightest sweater to pick up her spirits

"Youth is given. One must put it away
like a doll in a closet,
take it out and play with it only
on holidays."

May Swenson, How to be Old

I'm up and showered before 8:30. It's cold and sunny out and I get out the red wool sweater that I wear only once a year. Usually. Twice maybe.

I sneak out of the house and go to Book Stop. I get a couple of more gifts for FFP including this great cooking reference from Culinary Institue of America. I have the volunteer wrappers wrap my gifts and at home I insist that FFP open the CIA book. He gives me a gift. It is a cool game with trivia questions from different decades with questions with declining point values as you get more clues. The last ditch thing (or a certain spin) gives you a chance to reminisce yourself on a certain topic for points. Looks like fun.

It doesn't seem festive. FFP's parents bow out of the excursion this afternoon. So we will open our presents tomorrow when they are having us over. I talk to Mom on the phone. She is a little breathless. I encourage her to rest before we go out to her friend's house. I wrap a few things. A present FFP has for his mom (some picture frames), some presents I picked up for friends I might see, a puzzle I've picked up for some kid, some time. It's fun to just wrap a few things although I can't find the ribbon for a while and then I find a new package of curling ribbon and then I remember where I hid the stuff. None of my packages have tags although I know who they are all for. I decide to make some by printing out old Christmas postcards for sale on ebay.

FFP and I try out the game. He wins even though he keeps getting a 'lose a turn' when he spins the thing.

Going to someone else's house for Christmas Eve dinner sounded like a good idea. Until FFP's parents wouldn't go. And until this kind of holiday depression set in. But we said we'd go and we show up. Me in my bright cheerful sweater. With a gift of wine and a gift of soap. I take along a camera to grab some pictures. I'm feeling not just less than festive but sort of anti-festive when we take off.

But the folks are cheerful. My mom doesn't feel well but wants to be there. She isn't taking Darvocet because it puts her out. She's still confused about what is or might be wrong with her. It's becoming more obvious to me that I need to find the time to visit doctors with her and stuff.

I visit with my host's mother, with mom, move on to visit with the guys. Our hostess bustles around getting turkey, dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and a fruit compote together. They pour us Scotches and, for the meal, the wine. She loves Christmas and has her everything in the house decorated. So, yeah, it feels festive. Everyone else samples the pies (coconut cream and lemon chess). I can't do dessert but have some good coffee. It feels like Christmas. Sort of.

We go home and watch Ally McBeal and such on the gimpy TV. I read the paper. I finish reading a book of wine writing excerpts the bookkeeper gave us. I haven't found as much time to read as I would like on my holiday but some. Of course, I do the crosswords, too. I like Monday because I can do the crossword in the Times.

It's getting closer and closer to the time to re-examine this journal. To look more closely at the reason behind it, the effort, its value. I will have posted one complete year when I finish off a New Year's Eve entry. (Which I'll make a real effort to do in spite of flying off to New York on New Year's Day.) But when I return (or while I'm gone?) will I make an effort to work the journal?

During the time I've done the journal, I've made rules for it. And broken them. (Rules about content--select a picture, select an original picture, select a quote, do a quick just typing; rules about navigation; rules about tense (present won out, sometimes); rules about tone and content.) I feel some accomplishment at making a year but also quite a bit of let-down. Is this what amounts to accomplishment in my pitiful life?

JUST TYPING
Holidays.
Become at some point.
A duty.
Perhaps a pointless duty.
But one that relentlessly repeats in any case.