Have a safe and happy Christmas.
Have a safe and happy Christmas.
For many years I had the best room mate ever. Let’s call her Buffy. We met while we were both working at a cute, little dive called New York George’s. It served tacky New York Diner food and was a very popular place, especially considering it was tiny and had no real designer ambience to it. What was fun about the place was that everybody was a wise guy and the customers really delighted in being harrassed by the waitresses. Which of course, was right up our respective alleys.
Now Buffy is a very cute girl, who is very tall, has big feet and a laugh that can split your eardrum if you get too close to her when she lets one rip. She also has a heart of gold and I love her like a sister. Truly family in all the really great sense that that word can conjure.
We became fast friends and I convinced her to become my room mate and share the house I was renting from a friend (henceforth known as the Psycho-Lady). The house was cute and pretty comfortable but it was basically in the ghetto section of Pasadena. Which may not exist now but did then. We were the only non-ethnic folk in the neighborhood and I guess were regarded as a sort of oddity although no one ever hassled us, nor did we feel unsafe – it just was what it was.
Both Buffy and I are Christmas nuts. We would die happy if we could permanently live in a Hallmark card. Buffy has her own collection of glass reigndeer ornaments which she has been collecting since she was a child. These are like gold to her. And they are amazingly beautiful – the first time I saw them I think I let out a little orgasmic Christmas gasp. Even today they sparkle in my mind.
Needless to say, like every other year before it we were excitedly anticipating Christmas. Our favorite time of year – an excuse to act like a couple of big dopes, eat lots of great food that is bad for you and your thighs and santa hats, reindeer ears and lightable Christmas ornament earrings – what could be better?
Well, this year was a bit different. For reasons I can’t remember, we decided to work retail sales at shopping malls over the holiday season. We’d both done it before and for some reason we thought it’d be different this year. Dreams of big commission checks and taking a couple weeks off at the beginning of the year spurred us on. Also, Zelda got in on the act. So, the three of us signed on with Gold Exchange.
Oh yes, you read it right – Gold Exchange. Now can you imagine the tacky shit we were hawking from a place with a name like that? I know, I know – we were adding to the evil propagation of commercialism, but hey we needed the money and wanted presents, so….
Either our memories were really selective, we were out of our minds or we were just getting too old for this shit but man, it kicked our asses. For that six or seven weeks we just worked and slept and barely had any fun at all. With the schedule we had there was no time or energy to tend to things like trees, decorating, Christmas movies or anything. Luckily we were working in shopping malls, so buying gifts wasn’t an issue.
Anyway, Buffy and I were kind of glum because we weren’t being able to dramatize our insane love for Christmas and we knew we’d be way too beat to try to put a Christmas dinner together. And at the time, I guess we didn’t have any Martha Stewart type friends so we were pretty much on our own. But Zelda piped up and said her roomie was a Martha Stewart type and did all that Christmas junk every year and we had only to arrive on time and we too could have a big Christmas dinner and enjoy and admire the whole Christmas ambience created by another.
Well that kept us going all the way through the selling season – which was hideous and exhausting. And through til Christmas morning. We got up and had coffee and toast and exchanged gifts and chatted. But then we noticed the time was ticking away, tick, tick, tick. Still no word from Zelda. Hmmmm. We started getting those knots in our stomachs. As if the Grinch had been by the night before and we just hadn’t noticed that it was really December 26th. I called Zelda a couple times but no answer.
Our stomachs were growling and we were starting to get really bummed out. Finally, the phone rang and it was indeed Zelda. Yay! Christmas was saved! Except…Well I guess Martha Stewart roomie decided she wasn’t into it that year (and hadn’t mentioned it to Zelda) and they decided they were going to order some deli samiches and did we want to come over and do that.
Well no fucking way did we want to do that. So then there we were sitting in the living room completely bummed out, with no tree, no food, no hope. We were sad – big time. Then I said, ‘screw this shit.’ There was no way we just weren’t going to have Christmas. So, we jumped in the car and went to the local grocery store.
Of course it was slim pickings, no turkeys to be sure – but they had chicken, and instant mashed potatoes, and stuffing mix and corn. No pumpkin pie but I think we got twinkies or chocolate cupcakes or something. So, we paid for our stuff and went home.
While I started dinner, I told Buffy to get out the ornaments and lights. She squealed with delight. She strung lights on the walls, put ornaments out on every flat surface – now we were having fun. But we didn’t have a tree. We HAD to have a tree. Oddly enough about a week before we’d had some pretty bad wind storms – so bad in fact that a huge branch got snapped off the Wisteria tree in the front yard. I told Buffy to get the Christmas tree stand ready then went outside. After some looking and thinking and finding a hacksaw I found a branch that had some shape and might fit in the stand.
I brought it inside and we managed to get it to stay upright with some jury-rigging, spit, chewing gum and prayers. We strung it with lights and hung a few ornaments, plugged everything in and turned off the lights. “Ah….” it was Christmas after all.
Dinner was ready and though chicken isn’t turkey and the potatoes were kind of soupy and our tree was really just a branch I fished out of the yard, it was grand. Just as we sat down to eat, “It’s a Wonderful Life” came on television and we both let out a hoot. It was the finishing touch to our chia pet Christmas.
Ironically, of all the many Christmases I have celebrated in my life, this is truly my favorite. Because it was our spirit and spirit alone that made it happen – despite all the many pitfalls. And the utter spirit of play of Buffy who was with me all the way in making Christmas happen. And I really loved that little tree more than any other because it proved that even a lowly stick could be something beautiful. In fact, I loved it so much that this year I found an even bigger stick and made another ‘unique’ Christmas tree – it’s pictured above.
For me, Christmas isn’t what other people make it for you, it’s what you make it for yourself.
Thanks for reading (putting up with) this series of memorable Christmases. Much of it was probably too warm and fuzzy or just plain boring – but hey, that’s my life.
Merry Christmas everybody.
Yep, even I have had my Christmas spirit dashed, beaten and abused. I don’t really even remember the reason but I decided I was sick of Christmas and was therefore boycotting it. I merely decided I could cancel it. I’m sure it had something to do with being broke. Boy there is nothing like being broke at Christmas to send a person into a snit.
So I did nothing. I didn’t get a tree. I didn’t dig out my silly collection of ornaments. I didn’t bake cookies or pumpkin loaf or buy a turkey. I didn’t wear red. I avoided Santa Hats and jingle bells and refused to listen to Christmas music or watch Christmas movies. (I know! Scary, huh?)
I just happened to talk to a dear friend (and ex room mate, Buffy – more on her later) and told her I was boycotting Christmas that year. As far as I was concerned it didn’t exist and I was really looking forward to December 26th a lot!
A couple of days later, I recieved a package at work from Buffy. The card said ‘you don’t get to cancel Christmas!’ In the box was a miniature tree, ornaments, candy, confetti and a bunch of other sweet and silly Christmas stuff. I was so pissed at her (not really) cuz she made me cry at work.
So, a little glimmer began to warm around my icy resolve toward Christmas. I couldn’t very well insult my friend’s truly sweet and caring jesture. I would just take it home and put the tree and little things on my coffee table and I’d have a tiny little Christmas, just like the tree.
Of course, then there were a couple of movies that came on television which I sort of watched. I believe I nibbled some candy canes. And then I just faced facts. I was so broke I couldn’t pay attention. I just simply couldn’t buy gifts for anyone and I’d have to be all right with that (you see this was the really crushing thing to me) – so I just made myself be okay with it.
After aforementioned movies I started thinking. What gift could I send to my loved ones that could maybe mean something? Maybe something that I could make? I am a disaster at crafts and really cookies don’t like to behave when I make them so the choices were limited. So, I did what any broke writer would do – I wrote a Christmas story. Even though I knew it probably wasnt’ going to please some people on my list – even though I thought it was kind of hokey, I wrote it anyway.
I printed out about 20 copies and sent them off. Explaining that this Christmas it was my best offering and written and sent with love. Afterwards, I really didn’t even care if anyone acknowledged it or said they liked it – something about having done it made it okay in and of itself.
The really funny thing is that it turns out it is one of my favorite stories. And one I have shared with people many times over the years. And I suppose if I truly have a tradition of my own making it is that story. Because in that story I was able to express my true heart about family, love, my fellow man and most especially about Christmas. So maybe in a way…it was my gift to myself more than anything else. And a good one it was.
Unencumbered and foot loose and fancy free and…unemployed….I agreed to do one of those Christmas sales stints. It sounded very good during the talking part. 30% of the sales, they provide the space and the goods and after 6 weeks I’d be about 5 grand richer. It sounded VERY good.
Now, I don’t know if any of you out there have ever worked in a mall during Christmas…but if you want my advise…DON’T. Frankly, you’d probably do better washing windshields in the 7-11 parking lot and the hours are much kinder.
This particular group of yahoos had a system are taped out. They’d been doing it for years and they knew just how to make it work for me. First I started ‘training’ under another guy so I could learn the ropes (read that as working for free). Since he was a friend of mine – a british chap and fellow writer, Giles, was pretty easy to work with. Of course there was that working for free part which I didn’t care for, especially since any sales I made went into his pocket but I agreed anyway because I’d passed up a couple of jobs for this adventure so now I was committed (or I should have been).
So for about 10 days (straight, no time off) I worked Giles’ stand and made some pretty good sales. Of course the company was real swell and paid me a ‘draw’ from my future sales at my own stand, just to help me get by.
Anyway, I finally got my own stand – in West Covina. Which may sound nice and everything but it was about a 30 mile drive from my house and it was a particularly cold and rainy winter season – oh and I really hate to drive the freeways. Oh and I had to go through downtown L.A. to get there. Yeah, that was really great – especially since my heater decided to quit on my and I had to keep a steady supply of napkins handy to wipe away the fog on my windows.
Anyway…I got my own stand in the mall and honestly it was a pretty nice mall. And to be fair to Giles he did come and help me set up and hire some high school girls to do some selling for me – and the sales, well they were smoking. I was able (because of my desparate financial situation) to justify selling gold and silver plated jewelry by just completely ignoring the fact that it was junk. But if you put anything sparkly in front of a person during Christmas they just want it. Truth.
So for 6 weeks, 16 hours a day (not including drive time), no days off I sold. I sold and I sold and I sold some more. I learned how to take naps with my eyes open and while talking to staff and/or customers. For a release I would walk the mall and buy things. Once a week I made a field trip to the company office to restock and get my ‘draw’. Happily gas prices were dirt cheap at the time and with as hyped up as I was on coffee I hardly ever thought of food.
Forget the fact that I didn’t know what I looked like without the pallor and blood shot eyes, that I ended breaking up with my boyfriend over the phone and quite frankly, if I was even conscious by Christmas day there really wasn’t anything to remain conscious for. The minutes, hours, days, weeks went by in a blur of Christmas muzac and the eternal hum of hundreds of shoppers.
Finally came Christmas Eve. The mall was closing early and so I’d only have to work ten hours that day. My girls who had worked for me were so sweet that they pooled their money to buy me a plaque to commemorate an ‘in’ joke we’d developed over those few weeks. And honestly, it was one of the best Christmas presents I ever got because it was so unexpected and it spoke of true affection and good times from some girls who probably should have spent their money on clothes, make up, jewelry and their boyfriends.
Finally, six o’clock rolled around. The big boss came by and congratulated me on my sales which apparently was WAY over what they expected and told me to roll around on the first to pick up (what was left) of my commission check. I gave him the keys to the safe and the receipts and off to home I went.
Giles and I had planned to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day together since we were both on our own for the holidays. So I got home, showered and changed, plastered on some make up and went over. I looked like I’d been on a 12 year drunk and didn’t know my name (see picture above).
When I got there Giles was all smiles, wished me a ham sandwich and a happy Christmas. Then he whipped out the big surprise he’d been holding back on for weeks. A 12 year old bottle of Chivas. Now, from what I’ve heard that’s some pretty impressive stuff. I believe it is scotch but maybe it’s whiskey but really I couldn’t tell you the difference anyway.
So me and my pal Giles drank off that bottle of Chivas for the next two days. Occasionally pausing for ham sandwiches or an old movie on the telly. We were so exhausted I’m not sure we even spoke all that much. It was more on the order of grunts and groans and “I’ll have another.” By December 26th we had finished that bottle and were ready for the New Year. Sometime in the next couple of days we got some sleep and finally I went to get my commission check.
Sadly, Santa didn’t have much leftover for me. Just enough to pay the coming months bills and maybe a little extra if I was strict. I actually sat down and computed my hours against what I made and it turns out I made about $3 an hour. Who knew? I could have worked at Kmart and done the same, plus I woulda had that 10% discount. Live and learn and don’t do mall sales! 😉
He was the love of my life. His name was Michael. And the moment we met the connection was instant. Because in the next moment we were a ‘we.’
He was a carpenter and could make anything. He was smart and wise and had gentle blue eyes. I loved him with all my heart.
On our first Christmas Mike wanted to go home, which was Utah. He had two children from a previous marriage, and it made me a little nervous to meet them under such circumstances. They were quite young and since they lived in Utah and he in California I thought they wouldn’t want me gumming up the works and stealing their attention from their father. Was I right.
They were 5 and 6. Julie was like a little china doll with long dark hair and mesmerizing blue eyes, so deep you could get lost in them. And she had an adorable habit of singing conversation to you rather than just plain old talking. Her older sister, Annie, looked more like her dad with sandy hair and a quiet manner. They were cute and nice when they met me but kind of shy.
Mike’s mom, Marilu, was a hoot and a much better Martha Stewart than well, Martha Stewart. I learned that she had raised her three boys Mike and his two brothers pretty much on her own and I thought she’d done a wonderful job of it. She had a lovely home, beautifully decorated and a tree that took your breath away. Beneath that tree was an avalanche of presents, many of them for me. She couldn’t have been sweeter or kinder to me.
It felt wonderful to be in such a warm and welcoming home and I knew that it would be a Christmas that would go down in the history of my life. One I would fondly recall over the years. Heck it was like being in a Hallmark commercial for cripes sakes.
And then…the next morning. Have I mentioned that I’m not an early bird by nature? Oh no, the time had long since passed when I was up at the crack of dawn. Of course, at first light I heard the girls, muffled voices and laughs. But they were easy to ignore…at first. I simply burrowed beneath the quilt and reveled in the joy of such a comfortable bed.
Sadly, Annie and Julie weren’t as interested in my reveling as I was. For reasons known only to them there was an intense need for them to slam in and out of my room. “Aren’t you getting up?”
“No,” I mumbled and burrowed deeper under the covers.
Out they went. Slam went the door. A few minutes later. “She’s still sleeping?” Again, out they went, again slam went the door. And it kept up and up. Til finally, I took the hint and stumbled out of bed. I was none too pleased and asked Mike what it was all about. Like a good boyfriend and father he ‘spoke’ to the girls and they apologized as sincerely as they could muster – but I’m pretty sure I saw a glint in their eyes at having acheived their objective.
It put a wrinkle into the day and I feared our stay there. There were several more days to go and I worried that without even trying I’d gotten Mike’s girls to hate me. This is never a good sign, especially in a new relationship. So I put on a happy face and tried to befriend them. They weren’t too interested in that – they were polite but not really warming up to me. Oh drat!
Later that day, we were all doing to a showing of a holiday show for the kids. I had been smart and borrowed a very warm coat from a friend, since I heard it got powerful cold in Utah. Though it was relatively warm (for Utah in the winter) I took the coat with me. The girls wore light jacket over their sweaters and jeans. When we arrived at the theater we realized that we would be standing in line, which was quickly becoming long and winding.
It was only going to be about a 30 minute wait but, hey we weren’t in L.A. – we were in Salt Lake City. Suddenly the sky clouded over and the temperature dropped by about 20 degrees. Even I felt a chill under my nice big fur coat. The girls were shivering within minutes. We suggested maybe we should pass on the show and go to some nice warm place and eat or have eggnog but the girls’ hearts were set on the show. So I opened my coat and invited the girls in. We all snuggled inside that spacious warmth like it was a big family sleeping bag – but still the girls were cold. So I did what anyone would do – I took off my coat and wrapped it around them. Then the four of us did that kind of huddle you do at highschool football games when it starts to snow and you have to stay til the end even if you’re freezing your bageebers off.
After what seemed like an eternity, we were finally allowed inside. Honestly, I don’t remember a thing about the show. What I remember is that suddenly two little girls loved me and wanted to sit next to me and in my lap and fought over who got to do what.
I was officially adopted at that point. The rest of our stay was just like a Hallmark movie without the tears. And when it came time to leave it felt as if I was leaving my own children. We all cried and said goodbye and made plans for a summer visit. But that seemed oh so far away.
But we got in our VW bug, now loaded with gifts, and pulled away from the curb. I watched out the window to see if I could see the two angel faces in the window, that I knew were there.
“We’ll see them soon, honey,” Mike said as I wiped at tears.
I nodded, looked straight ahead and immediately started wishing for summer.
I moved to California when I was 20. It was a big dream come true for me as I’d always wanted to live in the land of summer for as long as I could remember. Though when I actually got to the land of milk and honey I experienced some serious culture shock. Having grown up in the midwest I was a bit too much on the wholesome side to have taken easily to some of the things I saw in L.A.
Long story short, after a couple of years I pined for home and family and was terribly lonely. In a moment of insanity I agreed to come home at my mom’s behest. To my utter amazement, my view had changed without my noticing. Almost as soon as I got home my world became so small.
It was winter and the landscape I found depressing. Nothing had changed around the old neighborhood, as though it had frozen in time since I’d last seen it. Don’t get me wrong it was wonderful to see my family and old friends but I still felt like piece out of place. Like a new toy in a box of old favorites. People kept mentioning my California accent and how different I was. It was really quite surreal.
I think I lasted about 6 weeks before I was utterly miserable and wanted to go back to California. This did not go over well with Mom who really wanted me to stay for Christmas at least. I know I should have, I know that as a good daughter I should have let her have her way but there was something inside of me that just wouldn’t let me. I had to go back.
So, a couple of weeks before Christmas Mom and Dad took me to the airport so I could return to the land of summer and apparently my new ‘home’ in the universe. I remember Mom was so upset with me she could hardly speak to me and we all felt kind of sad. I kept telling my dad I was sorry but he just smiled and gave me a hug and said: “It’s okay Babe, you have to follow your dreams. You don’t have nothing without them.” (What a guy, eh?)
So back I went and Christmas was bleak to say the least. I’d given up my apartment and belongings, I literall had nothing but a few clothes and a lot of hope. A friend had offered to let me stay in his extra bedroom for a few weeks until I got re-settled. But he had plans for the holidays and so I was really left on my own.
It was pretty bleak. I think I had a bologna sandwich on Christmas Eve and watched old movies on tv by myself for the night. I was sad and depressed and so conflicted wondering if I’d made a mistake in coming back. I scolded myself for being so indecisive and loopy. That I could at that moment been with family, eating great food and unwrapping presents.
And then it was midnight and officially Christmas. I was alone in front of the tv and couldn’t sleep. A movie came on called “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I’d never seen it and since I wasn’t about to sleep, I decided I might as well watch it.
I know this may sound really stupid and silly but really that movie changed my life. It made me realize that everyone does indeed touch the lives of so many others and that we all have an important and special place in the world. And that Christmas isn’t always about getting your wishes but more about celebrating your life, no matter what it is and where it is. That life offers us choice and second chances continually, if only we keep our eyes and our hearts open.
And though there were no fancy parties, presents or even company for me that year – it was indeed a wonderful Christmas. Because I realized I had a wonderful life too.
In a different house a few years later, when I was about 6 my brother Alan and my sister Kathy and I would wake even before the first light on Christmas morning. Apparently it was a habit by then because our parents were used to it and gave up trying to keep us in bed. But this particular Christmas when we got up and started ripping open packages and squealing they called down for us to take it to the basement. Not as bad as it sounds, as the basement was refinished and was a fun place to be.
So, like little soldiers, we grabbed our loot and made our way down to the basement. We argued and played and laughed. But then we heard a sound. It seemed to be coming from the laundry room. It sounded like a baby or something. So we, en masse moved toward the laundry room a little afraid and a little excited. It was dark and none of us were tall enough to reach the light switch so we stood like a little frozen statues and listened.
Why yes indeed, there was a little crying going on and it came from a box in the corner. We looked at each other and squealed like little baby pigs because we all KNEW what that sound was. We seemed to transport to the box across the room and lifted the flap. A puppy! A beautiful gray and black, little German Shepard puppy!
We carried the box to the rec room and oohed and ahed. I’m not sure but I think I managed to get her into my arms before the other kids could even think of it. Her fur was like velvet and she licked my nose. There isn’t anything in the world that a kid loves more than to have a puppy lick their face. She had that wonderful, sweet puppy smell and the tiniest little bark which would send us into a choir of giggles.
Somehow, Dad had managed to sneak down to the basement without our seeing or hearing him. And we might never have noticed him it if weren’t for all those blaring lights off his home movie camera – do you remember those? The kind that could now classify as headlights for a compact car?
We danced and mugged for the camera. Put her down on the floor and got her to chase after us and bark her adorable bark, wag her little tail. I loved this puppy like I never loved anything before. I wanted her to be all mine but I knew she was ours. (I was so bossy even as a little kid – duh!)
“What’s her name, Daddy?” I asked.
“Queeny,” he said without hesitation.
I grinned from ear to ear because I remembered. Our first dog was named Queenie and it seemed so fitting that our new puppy would continue to carry the mantle of that wonderful name.
Of course, Queenie promptly peed and pooped on the tile floor and we had our first Christmas joy of cleaning up after her. Eeeeooooowww, we all said, our noses wrinkling in horror. But who could mind really when you had the best Christmas present ever?
I remember later in the day my dad taking Queenie out in the backyard, immediately beginning the house training – and watching the tiny little fuzzball trot along behind my dad, the snow practically swallowing her up so that all you saw was a bobbing head and waggy tail.
And my heart swelled up because I knew it was Dad who had campaigned for the dog in our behalf – Mom wasn’t so hot on pets at the time, the mess, the work, the feeding, etc. And I knew he probably had to campaign hard and long for her to say yes. I just hope that she felt it was worth it after seeing the joy in her children’s faces and hearts. I know I sure thought so.
I’ve always loved the song, The Twelve Days of Christmas and I thought it would be fun to use it as a theme for the 2nd half of my month of Christmas posts. We all have fond and not so fond Christmas memories and sometimes they make good stories (even the miserable ones), especially if you’re drinking really good and heavily spiked eggnog.
But my twelve days of Christmas aren’t about pear trees, milking maids or golden rings – mine are my twelve most memorable Christmases. Some are sweet, some a little sad and some are pretty funny.
Many of my memories are snatches of this or that. Like my sister’s habit of opening my presents after she got bored with hers and then running into my room to tell me what I got. Of course I made her go back and rewrap them but for sure, the surprise was gone once I saw the packages.
Or my mother’s habit of getting into a snit with my dad just as we were sitting down to Christmas dinner.
Or the fact that for years Mom hid the presents in the cubby hole in her room and we would check it out daily for weeks before Christmas. The only mystery was who was getting what. You’d think she would have chosen a different hiding place once in a while.
Or the forced photos standing before the tree showing off your presents.
The smell of turkey and the taste of perfect gravy oozing on home made mashed potatoes, my aunt’s Christmas aspic made of lime jello, walnuts, carrots and raisens oh and her pumpkin bread.
Falling asleep at the window trying to stay awake to see if there really was a Santa Claus. And the joy I felt when it snowed on Christmas Eve because I knew that meant that it was really going to be a perfect White Christmas.
Christmas trees and Christmas lights. School Christmas concerts – countless favorite Christmas songs and movies. These are all the things that I think of when I think of Christmas.
So prepare yourselves folks, I’m walking down memory lane for the next few days and I hope you don’t mind strolling along with me.
You know I was talking to a very dear friend on the phone Friday night and found myself so joyful in just our simple exchange of what was going on in our lives. The good, the bad, the exciting, the mundane – honestly the content didn’t matter one twig. All that mattered was that I was talking with someone to whom I feel truly connected. And I realized that that is how I feel about all of my friends. A deep and abiding kindredness of spirit. Which is why I always feel so wonderful to be in their company. Even when we are being miserable together (if that makes any sense?).
And I said to him, ‘you know my biggest wish is to someday have all my friends in the same place and spend Christmas together.’ Just saying it out loud brought it that much more to life for me. It was as though I was looking into the future and seeing every friend I have in the world, all in one place having the time of their lives. I could hear the music, smell and taste the food, feel the warmth of the fire and the vibration of the laughter.
I have so many friends in so many parts of the world – many of whom I see rarely and many whom I haven’t been in the same room with for years. The idea of throwing a big lasso over all of you and drawing you into the same place brings such joy and warmth into my heart it almost makes me cry. Especially those whom I’ve never actually met in the flesh, the real world. Thanks to technology I’ve found some real soul mates and kindred spirits and it is a profound goal of mine to meet each and every one. And so I shall.
All things happen for a reason I think. If I hadn’t done this, or worked there or got a computer or an internet connection there are so many wonderful people I’d never have come to know and love. That I was meant to know and love.
I am truly blessed.
So don’t be too surprised if one Christmas in the not too distant future an invitation arrives, or a limo pulls up to whisk you away to my big Christmas gathering. I’ve found that if I wish hard enough and long enough my wishes do come true.
Much love to you all.
The Graveyard Shift
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