“How did it get so late so soon?
It's night before it's afternoon.
December is here before it's June.
My goodness how the time has flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?”
(Dr. Seuss)
It's night before it's afternoon.
December is here before it's June.
My goodness how the time has flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?”
(Dr. Seuss)
Has the air changed or is it just me? November was a long month but December always seems to find a way of passing us by before we've even had a chance to enjoy it. When I was young the thirty or so days between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed an eternity, passing like the longest of Sunday afternoons, gray and cold without snow, too frigid to make the trek to the park on the top of the hill, too cold to ride our bikes. It seemed all we could was languish indoors, watching the sky turn from silver to black, counting down each moment until it was Christmas.
Now, though, December passes in the blink of an eye. There's so much to be done and too little time to pause in our efforts and relish the moment. If Christmas is the Disneyland of holidays for children, adults see it merely as the lines we're forced to stand in just to enjoy the rides. As grown-ups we're too impatient, to ready to be done with it, too willing to throw our days away.
Duncan stayed close to my side tonight as we crossed Bowles and strolled through the crisping, frosted grass. Neither of us seemed in any sort of rush. I'd just taken a long shower and shaved. The air felt good on my newly exposed cheeks and bare chin, clean and with only the slightest of stings. We enjoyed the light mist that rolled between the trees, that drifted over the white lines marking the baseball diamond. Across the street we could the Christmas lights coming on in the windows and because it's finally December I didn't mind it as much. Even managed to smile because of it.
And even though it's going to be another difficult Christmas for us, I promised Duncan and myself that we'll go at our own pace, and maybe this time, instead of standing in the lines we'll find contentment standing off to the side, watching and listening to the glee and merriment, taking our own special joy in it.
Now, though, December passes in the blink of an eye. There's so much to be done and too little time to pause in our efforts and relish the moment. If Christmas is the Disneyland of holidays for children, adults see it merely as the lines we're forced to stand in just to enjoy the rides. As grown-ups we're too impatient, to ready to be done with it, too willing to throw our days away.
Duncan stayed close to my side tonight as we crossed Bowles and strolled through the crisping, frosted grass. Neither of us seemed in any sort of rush. I'd just taken a long shower and shaved. The air felt good on my newly exposed cheeks and bare chin, clean and with only the slightest of stings. We enjoyed the light mist that rolled between the trees, that drifted over the white lines marking the baseball diamond. Across the street we could the Christmas lights coming on in the windows and because it's finally December I didn't mind it as much. Even managed to smile because of it.
And even though it's going to be another difficult Christmas for us, I promised Duncan and myself that we'll go at our own pace, and maybe this time, instead of standing in the lines we'll find contentment standing off to the side, watching and listening to the glee and merriment, taking our own special joy in it.
1 comment:
Now you understand the curse of those of us born this month. I want to love December, but you're right--it's hard to not get swept up in the consumer-charged craziness.
One thing December's always good for, though, is spending time with far-away friends who make it home for the holidays. (xoxo)
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