The Gift of Perspective

I can't think a lot about all I have to do/want to do before December 25: parties, shopping, wrapping, decorating, baking. Cookies to deliver. It's daunting to consider the whole big glittering red holiday ball. The one that should be perfect and polished and cheerful. And then there are the things I hope to do every year but never get around to, like taking cookies to wonderful Dr. Cameron, the town vet who saved Sug's life years ago.

I know: It's good stuff, not dark stuff. Baking buttery Christmas trees with chocolate swags is a good thing; trimming evergreen boughs is a good thing. Look at Dad, at the end of his life last year--the healthy, strong man who hung Christmas lights and sent Godiva chocolate to friends and family was stuck in bed, weak. I'm sure he wished he could still do all that. I miss him so much.

I will try and keep it all in perspective. I will do my professional work, which is pressing. Can't ignore that.

And tomorrow, I will take a few minutes to make a list of holiday work on vintage Christmas paper that I can post and eye with hope rather than panic. If I can better time the chores, I will be better able to enjoy them. If I can parcel out some serenity, I may be able to give myself the gift of a calmer Christmas.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Since I was too tired to go to boot camp [I hate to skip it!], I brought my umbrella to the park and took a longish walk, even though it was pouring rain.
2. Reading Blue Nights by Joan Didion. Excellent.
3. Healthy lunch: White-bean veggie burger on whole-grain bread from Little Phil's in Upper Montclair. Saved half for tomorrow.
4. Steamed broccoli to serve with dinner.