Melancholy Holly Days

Christmas makes me melancholy.

It doesn’t have anything to do with presents or memories or stress.

I’ve ran the gamut of Christmas experiences - ones where I killed myself making everything perfect and ones where I kind of threw my hands up and said, “Eh…it will be what it will be” and it doesn’t really seem to have much bearing on the melancholy meter.

I’m old and crochety enough now that I pretty much do what I want.  For years I’ve made handmade Christmas cards with a ridiculously clever, self-deprecating, ironic newsletter (well, it is to me) but last year I just thought, “Nah…don’t feel like it” and the world didn’t stop spinning on its axis.

I love to make Christmas cut out sugar cookies, almond roca, and pecan tea tassies, so I will.   

Why yes, the Gingerbread man DOES have an icing diaper...cause we're creative like that.

 

 

I don’t especially like decorating the tree, but I’ve still got an 11-year old at home, so that has to happen, and of course, I enjoy it once it’s up (and I’ve cajoled, pleaded and pummeled someone else into putting all the storage containers away).

I’m wondering if maybe it’s the Christmas music that I love to listen to.  I can’t tolerate the peppy, cheery stuff like the aneurism inducing “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” or “Jingle Bell Rock.”  I tend to listen to more obscure stuff like Robert Downey Jr’s cover of Joni Mitchell’s  “River” and Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “Christmas Carol" from her "Come Darkness, Come Light" Christmas CD.  It speaks to my soul...and apparently my soul is one gloomy chick.

I load up my Christmas mix while I'm in the car, or let it play while I work in my office, and slowly but surely I just start to feel….”yearny” even though I don’t really know what I’m yearning for.  

I do miss the days when my kids were little and there was more anticipation and excitement, but I don’t think that’s it entirely.  I do know I’m happiest if I’m with my extended family – I miss being close enough to my brothers and sister that  we can all gather together at someone’s house where it’s loud and noisy, and we eat good food and laugh until our sides hurt.  

It seems I stay in a perpetual state of wanting to just curl up on the couch with a quilt and a cup of cocoa, and wistfully dream about some perfect holiday that I can’t quite put my finger on.  

Do you have a mental Christmas scenario that never quite manifests?  What do you yearn for?

Notes From My Office Three Weeks Before Graduation:

Dear Skinny Jeans – 

I know you’re lonely on the shelf in my closet, but Zumba and Running are lonely too, and until I can visit them again, it’s not looking good for you.

Dear House – 

I’ve heard the fan blades and baseboards coughing from the dust buildup, but unless the Hoover decides to take some initiative and “suck it up,” they’re just going to have to wait until I’m finished with finals. Besides, I’m sleeping with the pillows that are begging to be washed and bleached, so they’ve got first priority.  

Dear Children – 

It is NOT NICE to do any of the following to Mom:

•  Poke her when she’s sleeping and ask, “Are you asleep?

• Transfer money from her account to yours without asking because you’re “out of gas” and you “didn’t want to bother me.”

• Roll your eyes when I draw a blank on what your name is…and roll them again when I can’t figure it out,  even with clues.

Dear Office – 

Could we talk?  We’ve been spending a lot of time together and frankly, it’s not working for me anymore.  I dread walking in and seeing the piles of books and papers everywhere – you’ve really let yourself go lately.  I used to have fun when I visited you – I would scrapbook and surf the internet and tidy up household details, but lately you’re a real drag.   

You’re disorganized, you’re messy and to be honest, you’re just a reminder of all the fun things I haven’t been able to do for a while, and I think we need a break from each other.  Calm down!   I don’t mean right this minute - I’ve still got two presentations and three papers to finish before graduation, but after that…I think I need some time to myself and it would be best if I didn’t see you for a while.  It’s not you…it’s me.     

Dear Van – 

I’m only going to tell you this once:  DO NOT DIE ON ME UNTIL AFTER FINALS or I will scrap you so fast your catalytic converter will spin…and not in a good way.  I KNOW your struts need something,  and I’m not ignoring that groaning sound you’re making (sheesh…who could ignore it? – you’re such an attention hound), but I simply do not have the time or money for your drama right now, so just be grateful you got an oil change last month and you get gas every week.  There are plenty of younger, peppier, foreign cars that catch my eye when I’m driving around, but I’ve stuck with you this long, so try and return the favor. 

Dear Husband - 

The kids told me you were out of town.  Are you coming back?