I look forward to the growing light, even as I sometimes wish I could walk towards it. Two more good friends have done just that, and to Cleo and Dominic, I say, Rest in Peace, and I miss you.hey
This is by far the saddest, most dismal Christmas I've experienced, when even my mother's spirit can't boost me. Few decorations, no festivity, no gifts, no nice meal, and a lot of unhappy people, most very elderly. They all fall to me.
At home, there is utter lawlessness, and an out of control child who doesn't respect me, and his father encourages them. My in-laws are about to celebrate the Felloni Family Christmas, where my drunk, promiscuous sister in law and her Neanderthal husband dominate any family gatherings. We, who have not ties with excons, dope fiends, drunks, prostitutes, or others who live such virtuous lives, are "banned from her house", which is really my father in law's house, but who's counting?
Manga, Manga!
Mas Pronto, por favor!
My gifts were returned in the past, and the genetic defects they call children only cater to greed;they quit believing in Santa before they could walk. They ipads, iphones, ithis, and ihtat literally fly at them, and the gift cards and big checks stuff the pockets of their expensive kiddie jeans to overflowing. And my inlaws have to beg them to take them!
My neighbor and I baked Saturday, and some were my mother's recipes. That's when my family lives again. No one at my house appreciated it, and my Dad's gift is to make the holidays as miserable as he is. It's his hobby; he used to write his own carols, e.g., "Rudolph the Goddamned Reindeer . . ." You get the idea.
My dear husband's epithet for me is "Jerk." As a special treat, he and his industrious son, a true Agent for Entropy, might pick up the boxer shorts I bought them off the floor.
My little kittens are my joy; they love me, and why not? But for the litter box, I do it all. I do buy the litter and food for everyone most of the time. The litter gives me asthma, but I'll have to do it. Last night's episode of cleaning closets gave me another attack, and I know my Oxygen levels are low. With that and my stomach, well; it's a matter of time. Then what will they all do?
So, the solstice has come, and I recommend a few books, "Every which way but Wiccan," "Winter Solstice," and "The Rag Bone Man." They are on Amazon; Google titles. My treat will be "A Banquet of Consequences," and probably the poached eggs I usually have, a la Barbara Pym.
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