Figuring to get some really nice holiday cards this year, not the usual CVS or Job Lot cheapies, I tallied up the mailing list, a depressing exercise in keeping with the hideousness of this time of year.
As if it weren’t enough to suffer the indignities of unappreciated gifts, ugly Christmas* decorations, sanctimonious politicians braying about creches and menorahs, and the horror of ersatz family gatherings.
Bad news started flooding in this week when one of my very close friends informed me that she’ll likely be in the hospital around Christmas.
More bad news: I won’t be able to attend the company’s holiday party this year, which is a shame, I genuinely like the people, and it’s taking place at my favorite Cape Cod resort, the Wequassett Inn. That day, I’ll be flying back from a week-long training session in Atlanta and won’t be on Cape until well after 9 pm.
That leaves the company’s legendary Christmas luncheon, which I hope will be scheduled after I get back, closer to Christmas. The office has been decorated spectacularly, with taste and refinement. Even the ascetic development department has a little tree with white lights.
There will be the annual get-together of my three pallies, something I do look forward to, although I’m stymied about what to gift. Maybe lottery tickets or some other cash surrogate.
As for the holiday card list, it gets smaller every year, not because of departures from this mortal coil, but because old acquaintances and friends are no longer old acquaintances and friends.
As one grows older, it seems one should be adding to and not subtracting from the list of those fondly remembered.
The good news is that in three weeks, the grandkids and I will be heading for our annual New Year’s celebration in Newport.
Then again, there’s always the possibility of lousy road conditions to dampen our spirits.
Winter holidays. Who needs ’em?
*Those who celebrate Kwaanza and Chanukah have the good sense not to publicly assault the aesthetic sensibilities of the rest of us.