Fa La La

A few days before Christmas, and I haven't found any mistletoe. Oh, I know I can't buy the real stuff anymore. I would settle  for recycled pop bottles, molded and dyed to assume the identity of berries and greens. I want a sprig to wear in my hair and one to dangle over my head should the mood strike.

I remember a time when we had a houseful of people on Christmas Eve. Mistletoe hung from the archway, nestled among the garlands of evergreen and red bows. The tree, a small flocked one in later years, bloomed with bunches of holly, pine cones and tiny crystal ornaments. Boxes of miniature toys, figurines and poinsettias graced the mantel and "ho-ho-ho" tissue resided in the bathroom.

There were candles in every votive cup, nativity scenes on every flat surface.  Yes, I once knew how to make Christmas happen.

This year, as last year, there is a wreath on the door, no piles of gaily wrapped gifts and no tree to put them under. There will be no houseful of guests at my house. Instead we will be guests at my son's. Hubby will go to work Christmas Eve night and Christmas night, I will work the day. It isn't fun anymore.

I got a t-shirt from one boss, cheese and crackers from another. There is nothing I need, nor even want ( maybe a Kindle and fancy earrings, maybe chocolate) excepting the mistletoe and perhaps a shared glass of Lambrusco.

And so, I pour what is left of myself into my writing. The highs and lows are evident.  My client, who became a dear friend, now lies at death's door with a rampant infection in her system. I think about the violence and the sadness around us. It is hard to find love and peace within.

It would take so little to make me whole again. I hate this feeling of being incomplete.

I will enjoy the party, of that I am certain. It is different, but it is still Christmas. I will find the mistletoe or someone will find it for me. I know it isn't real, but it's still something that makes me smile.

It's part of living. Things change, yet remain the same. The youthful energy wanes on the outside but bubbles within us. The love we feel for our families mellows into dependence and acceptance. The longing for excitement  withers when we think we are too old or too immersed in reality. 

And Christmas? For some, like me, it becomes a chore to be reckoned with instead of a light in the night. Once it is here I will enjoy the companionship of the gathering, the food and the wine. We will all hug, and I will absorb the love and energy of my family and friends.

Maybe somebody will bring mistletoe.