Well, it has arrived. Christmas Eve.
Sunshiny day, much like every other sunshiny day in winter. Green mistletoe clumps on the pecan tree outside are slowly killing the tree, making the tree look like it isn’t fully dormant. I will miss it when it finally goes. The wildflowers are starting to push up greenery through the dead bermudagrass, making the yard look like it still has green grass growing. I find it metaphorical. Sort of.
So’s on life goes. Day follows day, night follows night. Talk radio will be a mishmash of “the best of’s” and pre-recordings. The stores close early. TV is a wasteland of saccharine morality plays and media agnostics are wishing me a Merry and Happy.
And I marvel at those who can make some sort of connection between Santa Clause and the birth of a Messiah. The meaning is lost on most of us.
But it marks the hump between my annual depression that starts around Thanksgiving and ends with planting day. The last few years the depression has moderated, and I seem to easily carry its weight on my shoulders, albeit with much groaning and moaning as I rise up and lay down.
And the coffee is good and complements the giant sugar cookies. I can’t be a slave to diabetes every waking hour.
Merry Christmas to those of you who find meaning in the greeting, and good morning to everyone!