We're on our way to a Christmas party. The hosts of the Christmas party that we used to go to every year decided not to hold their party any more but now we're invited to a new Christmas party, and maybe this one will become a new annual tradition. Or maybe not. The Lord giveth and He taketh away, and that includes parties. Even parties.
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Wait, maybe the other party is still happening and we're just not invited.
Ridiculous. Who wouldn't want us at a party? We're delightful.
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Five minutes later, and it's no longer afternoon at all. It's early evening, and the dark blue sky grows darker by the moment. It's clear but I still can't see the stars. We're too close to the city. But the bare trees are still almost black against the dark blue and I can still see the last of the orange light of the sunset. It's nice to be a passenger.
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It's Sunday now, and I was right yesterday. It was the winter solstice. Apparently many hundreds of people gathered at Stonehenge to celebrate. I think that paganism is dangerous at worst and silly at best, but I certainly share the Stonehenge congregants' enthusiasm for gradually lengthening days now that the longest night of the year is behind us.
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My husband and I just had one of our periodic discussions about plans and schedules. Christmas falls on the same day every year, no matter what, and yet he continues to act surprised - - astonished even - - when I tell him that we have plans for the 24th or the 26th that will preclude work. Every year.
When I remind him that he was supposed to take vacation for the Christmas to New Year interval, he manifests shock and dismay, asking me how I expect him to take all of those weeks off. And then I have to point to the nearest calendar, which shows that Christmas is on December 25 (every year) and that New Year's Day is on January 1 (every year); and that there is always, without exception, exactly one week between the two. One week. An ever-fixed mark. Sunrise, sunset, equinox, solstice, seasons changing with the scenery, and one week. We're all straight on this immutable fact now, but stick around, because I'll be writing the very same post again next year.
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December 23; Christmas Adam as we like to call it around her because tomorrow’s Christmas Eve and Adam came before Eve. You probably knew that. My husband cleared his schedule and I made one very last trip to the store only to remember that I am almost out of white wine. So I’ll drink red, or I’ll drink water, but I’m not entering a retail establishment again until after Christmas.
It’s late afternoon again, warmer than normal for Christmas. But what’s normal? In 2015, the temperatures reached the mid 70s on Christmas Day. This is actually my favorite kind of Christmas weather: mildly chilly, a clear but not bright blue sky, thin white sunlight, and almost no wind.
Donald Trump doesn’t understand wind, but I do. It blows, hard. See that? I’m not even a scientist.
I worked from home today. Working from home is a blessing and a curse. The curse part is because sometimes you don’t know when to stop working; and the line between life and work, such as it is, becomes so blurred as to not even exist. So I solved that problem with the out-of-sight, out-of-mind approach. Both of my work computers (because of course I have two) are sitting quietly in a blanket chest in my bedroom, where they can’t bother anyone. My work phone is in my work bag, which is in my closet, there to stay until next week. It’s time to stop working and start holidaying, because it’s two days before Christmas. It always comes at the same time, every year.
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