This time of the year does not inspire me. It doesn’t bring me excitement. Now before you compare me to Scrooge, let me explain. For years, I decorated the tree. Me. Alone. By myself. Sure, the spouse would untangle the lights and fix the strand that didn’t work, but after that, it was all my handy work. The boys were interested in it for a half a second. Then I spent the next six weeks playing the game “who hid the ornaments” with my cats.
My minimalist vibe in decorations allows me to sprinkle the home with a bit of holiday ambiance in a 10 minute time frame. I could blame a lot of things on my disinterest. The whole holiday is one commercial nightmare. But I think the meaning of the season got lost somewhere between my Dad dying and the boys no longer believing in jolly, old Santa.
My Dad died a week after Thanksgiving and three weeks before Christmas almost thirteen years ago. A little part of the Yuletide spirit went with him. It isn’t like I mope around for the entire season, but I do notice that I basically show up disinterested. To me, it is simply just a version of Groundhog Day amplified with tinsel.
Don’t worry, I am not going around screaming “Bah humbug” to those swimming in the glow of the season. I am just treating it as if it were any other time of the year. If you love the holidays, I hope they are everything you hope them to be. For me, I will marvel at my simplistic decorating and the ability to order my Christmas dinner online.
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