Christmas

Christmas is coming. It’s one of my favorite holidays because it’s a time of happiness for just about everybody. I genuinely enjoy all the decorations people put up. Lights and ornaments have started showing up on my street. The house two up from me on my cul-de-sac now has lights outlining its roof and front fence. More decorations will appear soon on other houses.

I’ll be celebrating by attending two parties, one held by the American Legion, of which I am a proud member, the other by a group of retired folks. I’ll be showing off my wardrobe: it’s the only time of year that I can get away with wearing a read sports jacket, red socks, a red tie, and a red vest—all at the same time.

Then there’s the music. I’ll be playing carols on my Steinway grand and listening to my many CDs of Christmas music. Music is my favorite art form. I took a BA in music as a youth, directed choirs and folk groups, and wrote reams of music for them. And Christmas music is some of the greatest music ever written. Besides the hymns and carols, there’s Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, the Händel Messiah, and endless other pieces. I fully intend to indulge to the hilt.

At least one and maybe three of my children and their families will be coming to celebrate with me between Christmas and New Year’s. My oldest daughter’s husband, a culinary genius, will cook for us all. It will be a feast to remember.

I expect to spend Christmas day alone. I usually do. That’s not my first choice, but I don’t really object. Since the death of my beloved Su several years ago, there’s really not anyone I want to spend the day with.

I’m content. I’ll enjoy the day with happy memories and wonderful music. I couldn’t ask for more.