I've been thinking about blogging, though, and thinking of tons of things to say when I do. I can't think of any of them now.
Man, I loved Christmas as a kid. I liked the presents, sure, although there were always some disappointments. I liked the fact that the family got together. I'd see cousins. Maybe my grandmother would make homemade rolls and cinnamon rolls. (Nobody did it better. Her giblet gravy was transcendental, too.) I like picking out gifts and surprising people, too. I liked the music. I liked decorating the tree.
This scene is from the house we lived in from 1958-1966. Not a long time, but important because it was most of my school years.
We have exactly two presents here now and our tree is tiny. (We each got the other person a surprise.)
Stuff is mostly in my way these days. I dug out my collection of (mostly) bendable posable Chrismas figures and put them around the apartment. We put up the cards we receive on a screen in the kitchen. But there is none of that excitement like that tree above generated. We have gotten a few things and deemed them Christmas presents for each other that aren't surprises. He got a sport coat. I got a calendar. I'm going to get a portable charge bar (that allegedly won't overcharge one's gadgets) to go beside my chair in the living room.
Oh, yeah, 'my chair.' I have this idea for a documentary where we interview people in their chairs. All us old folks have one, surrounded by our necessities: tissues, remotes, pens, etc. You've seen these in set dressing in movies. Anyway, it seemed like a good idea when I thought of it.
One thing I've been doing instead of blogging is looking at this site which I discovered from reading this post on Holidailies. So Holidailies is not a total loss for me in spite of my refusal to write anything coherent or enlightening.
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