It's Sunday afternoon. I am sitting in my favorite Starbucks so that I do not inflict violence on any one member -- or any multiple members for that matter -- of my household.
There is a party going on that I could be at -- I feel I should be at -- except I did not sign up because I was not sure I would feel better enough today to go. It's been going on for a while now, and I suppose I could go anyway, but ... eh. I'm really bad company right now and I would not want to inflict myself on a bunch of what are surely to be almost all strangers.*
I like Christmas music, but the selection this place is playing is boring me to tears. Come on, people -- better, better!
I did not make an Advent wreath again this year. Last year was the first time in ten years I had not. The reasons I did not made sense at the time I made the decision, but I find I am grieving the loss of tradition. Although there are likewise very good reasons for not going east this Christmas, it means I will not get to see my Mom, who is 84 years old, or my older siblings, whom I love in spite of the fact that we have almost nothing in common -- especially not politics or religion. They are nice people.
I want magic. I want miracles.
There is a lot to be said for making your own magic, your own miracles.
But I am not doing that. I am sitting in a Starbucks listening to Dean Martin trying to seduce a woman whose voice I do not recognize by singing "Baby, It's Cold Outside" and Nat King Cole extolling the virtues of chestnuts roasting on an open fire and watching various college students tensely reading thick textbooks, highlighters in hand.
Oh, it could be worse: I could be one of those college students. I'm not sure that would be worse, actually -- I loved college and law school. I am a natural student. It's something I am pretty competent at.
Okay, lady. It's time to move on from this mood. It's time to concentrate on the good that has happened and that will happen:
I am slowly feeling better, and getting out of the house a lot more.
The Red-Headed Menace's most recent paper was well-organized and he
needed a minimum amount of help on it today (mainly typos -- the kid's capitalization
has gotten better, but is still not there yet), unlike other recent
The California Academy of the Sciences was enjoyable yesterday, especially the Caribbean reef exhibit in the aquarium. I love the brightly colored fish, and it reminded me of time spent in St. Croix and Hawaii. I was struck again by the graceful beauty of the rays, perhaps my favorites fish of all.
Friday, The Muppets was wonderful, made all the better by seeing it with not only the Rocket Scientist but my friend Sarah.
Best of all, on Tuesday night a friend I had not seen in many months joined me for trivia, and we won, but much more importantly, we talked.
I have a lot of tasks to keep me busy next week. This is a good thing when I am feeling restless. And Tuesday, the Rocket Scientist, the Resident Shrink and myself are going into the city to Orson, Elizabeth Falkner's restaurant, for "The Next Iron Chef: Super Chefs Popup," in which she plays this week's episode and provides commentary. Given how much I am enjoying the show, this promises to be a lot of fun.
The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy will be home in ten days for the holidays. I love the boy, and as he has reached adulthood and the day approaches when he will be gone for good, I treasure our time together.
As much as I want them, maybe I don't need magic or miracles. Maybe all I need is peace.
*I probably should not be inflicting myself on you either, but you guys
have heard me whine before. I trust that you will skip over this post.