IT’S CHRISTMAS IN JULY

I’m not a person of faith but I love holiday music, the above (I get goosebumps at the 1:12 mark every single time) included. I caught myself singing, “Feliz Navidad,” a few days ago. In my journal, I jotted down holiday decorating ideas for my DC digs:

“Winter in the city…twinkly lights and candles and ceramic Christmas tree, stick-on hooks to hang fairy lights from windows, Christmas music. Mittens, knit hat and scarf, waterproof boots (promise me!), maybe buy shovel and “Green Monster” to help dig out neighbors’ cars after a big snow…a Welcome doormat.

The sparkly Christmas ball ornaments wreath hung on the front door…bundled up for walks in the snow…maybe an invitation to a holiday party…”Feliz Navidad.” (See?)

Maybe the warmth and comfort enveloping me while sharing Christmas dinner with my friend, J, and her family last year–everything she prepared, except the ham, was vegan and delicious–had me waxing nostalgic. She baked flaky biscuits the Pillsbury doughboy would envy, a field roast, Ambrosia salad, gravy, vegetables…oh, and her younger daughter prepared the richest raw dark chocolate tart.

I would’ve been happy to bring vegan food so no one’d have to bother (and always do; vegans, like boy scouts, come prepared)–and my family never bothered (but peace be with them). That holiday dinner with J tops the Marie Osmond barbie doll and skateboard as the best gift anyone’s given me. The two of us chatting over good coffee and excellent vegan chocolate tart, their tree and fireplace flickering light, well, it doesn’t get much better than that. Happy sigh.

Holiday reminiscences aside, the Hallelujah chorus brings tidings of a weekend chockablock with plans. A trifecta of social gatherings that’s grown into a, uh, quartet. The 43YOV’s meeting a new human man tonight. You may notice the lack of the “D” word. I cast it from my vast, sometimes made up vocabulary. It’s a loaded gun of a word and you know how I feel about guns. Patooey, patooey, patooey. I aim to keep a “Que sera, sera” attitude about it.

Oh, it’s “a bite to eat” (several for moi and fingers crossed it’s Ethiopian) and a bit of Fringe, as in the Fringe festival, or a movie. Loosy goosy am I. Hey, here comes the sun, but I won’t call it a sign.

It’s just a change in the weather.

 

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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