That edgy period before the holidays

 

Porter, content in my closet

Subie and Phil came for happy hour tonight, bringing Porter, his seeing-eye dog. Porter usually goes out in the backyard and ignores us, a behavior that puzzles Sophie who laps up company attention all she can. Today, however, the yard guys, with noisy lawnmowers and blowers, arrived about the same time the Greens did. The difference in dog reactions was remarkable. Sophie, as she always does, turned tail for the house and once safely inside, barked ferociously. Porter, on the other hand, was not going to let some guys with stupid equipment force him out of the yard, and Subie had to go out and almost literally shove hm into the cottage. Then he wandered down the hall to my closet and spent the entire time there. I was glad Subie got him inside, because some of the crew seem to be afraid of dogs, and I thought a dog his size would really keep them out of the yard.

Meanwhile, Sophie is barking in fits and stops but especially when they come close to the cottage with their blowers. So Phil decides he has to leave because of the barking. It took three of us to convince him it wouldn’t last long, and, no, he couldn’t get down the driveway right now, because they had blown the leaves into big piles—an obstacle course. Our oak trees are shedding heavily and yet still have an abundance of leaves. The pecan by the patio is through, but now the oak leaves migrate to the patio, so Sophie brings them in. I sweep every day. Phil stayed, Sophie quieted, and we had a jolly visit. Except for Porter, who remained in the closet.

In a strange way, a week before the holiday, I seem to get over the sociability part of the holiday. Tonight was not a holiday celebration—no gift exchange, no fancy appetizers nor special holiday drinks. I had warned them: leftover appetizers, which turned out to be ends of this cheese and that. Jordan cut them up and made a nice display. Just good friends getting together in a relaxed visit. At least for me.

This is the edgy time, when I’ve pretty much done all I can for the holidays, and I think, “Now, what?” Some wrapping and cooking details require Jordan’s attention, but for her it’s the busy time. She is, however, a dedicated list maker and has long lists of groceries from various stores. And truth to tell, she has a lot more responsibilities than I do. I remember those days. In fact, I remember when we celebrated Hannukah and Christmas—with four children. I had spread sheets of who got what on what day.

I have been beset by enough “business” problems to distract me from the holiday planning. Not the business of being a writer, but that of daily living. It’s the time of year for quarterly taxes and property taxes, and I need to have the trees trimmed by a real arborist (I’m already signed on for that). Now I need to wait for the plumber to fix the kitchen sink and pray that he doesn’t have to wait for a part—that suspicion lingers in my mind, but then I am given to worrying. I need to make a couple of doctor appointments, not for anything urgent but for check-ups. I figure a woman my age who spends as much time at the computer as I do ought to have her eyes checked regularly. And then, for a blue-eyed blonde, there are always skin checks. But those are the things you put off until “after the holidays” so that now they just hover in my mind. I must pursue that free offer I signed up for which suddenly committed me to a year-long, expensive contract, but I did find out today the reason the nephrologist didn’t get my check is that it never cleared the bank. So I had to stop payment and issue a new check. It’s all little stuff, details, but a pain. It’s perhaps like weaving with many strands and constantly feeling you’ve lost one or two.

With family gathering looming, I don’t feel I can dig into the Irene manuscript I’m working on nor the food of the fifties book that is turning out to be a tribute to my mom. So far, each day has kept me busy with those little details, but I figure the closer we get to Christmas the edgier I’ll get, and I am giving myself stern lectures about anticipation anxiety and all that kind of gobbledy-gook.

The plain truth of it is that I love Christmas, love the lights and the music and the fellowship and the food, but I get all keyed up waiting for it. This year, I resolve to stay calm and live in each moment, enjoying it for what it is. And then, there will come that blessed moment when all my family is together. And we can watch the midnight candlelight service and welcome the hope that the idea of the holy baby brings, whether  you believe in him or not. He brings hope for all of us.