Christmas is on Tuesday? Christmas is on Tuesday! Christmas is on Tuesday. How is it possible that I've been getting up in the mornings, working five days a week, preparing meals, occasionally exercising, more occasionally enjoying cocktails, overall minding my own business, and Christmas is on Tuesday. I haven't hummed along to "Frosty the Snowman." I've deposited NOTHING in the Salvation Army kettle (this blog is anonymous, right?). I haven't chortled at those silly little Hoos in Hooville. I'm not actively or even passively pursuing thoughts of goodwill to men (women, maybe, men, no). I'm on Christmas autopilot. Tree? Check. Presents purchased and wrapped? Check. Glad tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy? Nope.
How do you get it back? I'm not talking about the painful anticipation of what's under the tree, when the days leading up to Christmas take years, but that general sense of "I think I want to save a whale but I'm not sure why." Humming Christmas carols. Making an occasion out of decorating the tree. Going out of your way for others because, well, it's the season. How do you get that back? Many people say you get it back when you have children of your own. You see Christmas and its wonderment all over again through their eyes. It makes sense. But is that the only way?
I ask because for many of us, despite our optimism and best laid plans and oh so hopeful pretty, pretty pleases, we may not get those children or, heck, child. As much as I would like to believe that it will work out, sanity requires a calm, grudging acceptance that it just may not. work. out. after. all. Maybe that's why, this year, Rudolph is just an annoyance.
And Christmas is Tuesday.