We had a Vancouver Christmas here in Toronto – pouring with rain, chilly and sodden. Pretty miserable. A perfect day to stay home, welcome friends and prepare and eat an enormous quantity of rich food, so that’s what we did.
And now, all I want to do is take down the tree and move right along. It’s done, it’s over, we got through another one without killing each other … No, it’s not like that any more, we all get along now. Christmas used to be a mountain I had to climb, an enormous, month-long hurdle of present finding, choosing, buying, wrapping, then cards, food, making arrangements for family members, ensuring that everyone, from young to old, was as happy as possible – no wonder my uncle thought I was distraught. I was exhausted, frantic, unable to enjoy the festivities as I worried about everything. Crazy. No more.
But still, I want to take down the tree RIGHT NOW, reclaim my living room and my life. What a sourpuss. The two of us are lying here on the kitchen divan, side by side, the sourpuss with whiskers, claws and fur, and the pink one without.
It’s dark and gloomy and pouring with rain. Time for a large plate of leftovers. That will cheer me up.
