IT AIN’T OVER ‘TIL IT’S OVER

Merry Christmas weekend to all.

Nothing personal, but I am relieved it’s over. 2020 has been a major clusterfuck since March, and I fully expected 2020 to ruin the holidays. I am thrilled to admit that, so far, anyway, Christmas 2020 has come off without a glitch. 

Apparently, I haven’t been paying attention. I am the Christmas ostrich with my head in the melting snow because I had zero idea that the new state restrictions of furthering our collective house arrest started Saturday, December 26th.

I’m healthy (for now), I have food in my house (for now), I went to the bank so I have ready cash available (for now), my car is still running (for now), and I have a job (for now).

On the flip side, I cannot visit my family in neighboring states. I cannot visit my family in North Carolina. I cannot run into the store for supplies without risking my life either by waiting in line in the freezing weather or by ignorant people who don’t know masks go over their snot-runny noses. I mean, at least if we’re going to play along, let’s do it with gusto.

Much as I enjoyed Christmas 2020, it looks like 2021 is gearing up to be instant replay. Hang on to your stocking caps, folks.

BUBBA THE BLIZZARD

Oh, my God! OH, MY GOD! It’s gonna snow! IT’S GONNA SNOW!!!!! Buy milk and bread and eggs and wipe out the entire store, and, hey, because it’s still Covid-19, don’t forget to hoard the toilet paper, too!

Let’s be honest. Fifteen inches of snow is impressive. But, a blizzard? Armageddon? Biggest storm of the century? Please. This is a standard snowstorm here in New England. What are you people even talking about? We could shovel and clear fifteen inches of snow in our sleep, and most of us probably have.

By the way, who started naming these winter storms? Blizzard Bubba, or whatever the freak they called it. Do NOT name our snowstorms for us. We are not weenies who need names on our storms to validate them.

Listen up: When winter comes, it snows. When snow comes, it sticks to the ground. When snow sticks to the ground, it accumulates. When there is a storm, there is usually wind. When there is wind and snow, sometimes people lose power.

THESE CONDITIONS DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT EQUAL TERROR.

Here are five pointers for predicting the weather in New England:

1. Don’t.

2. Please don’t.

3. Just don’t.

4. Do not.

5. Tape your mouth shut.

 

STAMPING MY WHEELS OVER CHRISTMAS

Things have been crazy for the upcoming holiday season. Every year I say I’ll be ready, and every year I’m not.  I make it to the final second then berate myself for never quite doing it right. I promise that next year will be better . . . and it isn’t.

I’m not sending many cards this year (sorry, folks), but I decided that I should probably get some Christmas stamps. I had a dozen left over from last Christmas, so I wanted to get a sheet or two more. Turns out, so does everyone else! No Christmas stamps to be found anywhere. (Remind me to do what I did last year: Buy Christmas stamps AFTER Christmas when the late-arriving USPS holiday stash finally arrives.)

I have the choice of flags. Yes, flags.

For crying out loud, haven’t you got anything else? I’m begging the woman – please. Please go look. Do you have Scooby-Do? (No.) Artistic  anything? (No.) Flowers? (No.) Children? (No.) So, what have you got? (Flags. I told you. FLAGS.)

What about those, I say, pointing to a bulletin board behind me. Oh, let me check, she says.

And just like that, my few Christmas cards are going out with Hot Wheels stamps. That’s, right, Hot Wheels. Like MatchboX, but faster.

Happy Advent #3 and merry almost Christmas. Vrooooom vroooooooooom!

2020 HOLIDAY PREAMBLE

 

I’m trying.

Truly, I am.

2020 is just such a motherfucker.

The tree is up, though it took days and required assistance to decorate.

I actually hung a small wreath on the door.

I decorated the front porch with lights.

I made a list.

(I haven’t checked it twice.)

I washed the Christmas mugs and plates.

I lit the Advent candle.

I’m even bracing for the second snowstorm of the season.

(The first one interrupted Halloween.)

But, 2020.

Holy Hell.

As Christmas approaches, I can’t hold back the anxiety of January.

Yes, the approaching January.

The reality that 2021 will be a vapid continuation of this shit show.

Smile – laugh – be cheery.

Pretend – imagine – believe.

Deny – deny – deny.

2020 is just such a motherfucker.

Truly I am.

I’m trying.