Christmas

I was pretty sure that I wouldn't see this one. Last year, as we packed up all the baubles and the tree, I had a lump in my throat as big as a ping pong ball. 

But. Here I am. Still standing. Well, sort of. This year, I watched from my chair, bundled up in blankets as T put up the tree. I think it counts. 

It had been a busy weekend. Our Thanksgiving had been on Saturday, not Thursday. My sister-in-law has grown married children and holidays are split up according to who has the turn and who has to work. So, the only day that we all could make it was Saturday. We only stayed for two hours, but it was lovely. 

Can I just say that T has an incredible family? There are no crazy uncles. Everyone agrees that Donald Trump is a loser. Talk around the table is about music and books. My stomach is never in knots. I never feel like the odd one out. I feel like I'm wearing a perfectly fitting pair of comfy pajamas. 

We walked in and I was lead to the soft chair. My niece came without her husband and one of her twins because they had colds and didn't want to risk sharing them with me. Everyone laughed a lot. 

I did disgrace myself by falling asleep in the soft chair after dinner while talking to our nephew about his job. One moment I was asking how business was and the next, T was shaking me awake and telling me that she thought it was time to head home. Hugs were passed around. 

We put up the tree the next day. Well, not we. I directed from my chair. We have put up the same tree for over three decades. That tree that we really couldn't afford. It is only four feet tall. We can now afford a fine tree, but we kind of prefer this one. We have so many ornaments that it is insane. Mostly drum ornaments from T's old students. A few that T saved from her childhood. None from mine. The tree leans to the left just as we do. Every year, we put a brick on it to try to get it to stay straight. Every year, it slowly but surely leans to the left. 

So, we let it. We put up the thyme and basil wreath on the front door. We put up two nativities. One, a blue light special from K-Mart by T's favorite Aunt. The other, a wrought iron one from an old friend. Both long deceased. Both loved so dearly. We have three boxes of candles that we never open. We are not fond of candles, but they tend to be popular work presents, don't they? We must have nearly 50 of them. Never used. 

We buy mistletoe at Whole Foods. Do a lot of kissing under there. 

We turned on Pandora and found some Dean Martin Christmas music to entertain us as T worked and I directed. Leftover turkey pot pie was heating in the oven. Dean sang all about let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. 

And then, everything finished, we sat in our chairs with our plates of turkey pie and watched The Irishman. I admit to falling asleep with the half empty plate in my lap about an hour into the movie. So. T gently helped me take a shower and tucked me into bed at the ripe old hour of 7:12. 

It wasn't garrulous. It wasn't noisy. It was just us. 

Today, I am laying tucked up in the sofa with a warm blanket, reading and smiling at the Christmas tree. 

Still here, dudes. Still here.