The Cusp of December
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I remember how the holidays were a time for relaxation and I would always seem to gain respite from the stressors of life and the workaday world.
My biological father had Christmas in his heart. It always shone through his participation in decorating and Christmas trees and what have you.
My step father was not exactly a Christmas fan per se, but his kindness, generosity and good will were with us 365 days a year.
As I embark on this, my 63rd Christmas season, I am left with the memories of those gone before that I hold so dear. I endeavor to do better next year though I decline to make a list of resolutions toward that end.
You see, it's impossible to change some things no matter how badly such change may be sought.
It's a difficult matter to attain what I call the "Scrooge Complex" where I might automagically become some enigmatic representation of all that is good and wise in the Christmas spirit ... although that thought is quite appealing.
Far be it from me to stand in criticism of others when my own attitudes could use so much work.
Suffice it to say that I remain a work in progress and toward that end I trudge on to my reward, whatever that may be.