Its that old Bahumbug Magic

Life is a bunch of parodies. Extravagance mocked by its simplicity, and simplicity by the frantic rush to pull it off. I read today that if you want to be charismatic, you be charismatic.
I pause to allow that to sink in.

The main point was to hold your posture in the fashion of whom you wish to portray. Whichever version of your best self you want the world to see in that moment. Looking back in life I have most certainly mastered this in areas of my life. In the single dating world I was coy, approachable, and mysterious all at once. My laughter was contagious, my smile quick. My boundaries in tact. I knew what I wanted from a situation and allowed myself the freedom to explore the moment within my preset boundaries.
At times I would go to a party thinking 2 boys will ask for my number tonight. Often leaving with having been asked by 3 or 4. Giving it to perhaps 1.

I'm open and honest, and have a way of connecting with people. I'm always curious to know the story of the person sitting next to me, or standing by me in line. I want to know about the ins and outs of the religions of those around me. I want to learn. Do I compromise who I am or what I believe? No, it grows from the seeking of knowledge. I want to be empowered to know and understand more of the world and the culture around me.

My own mind is another story. I'm less eager to see what is in line there--push back the cobwebs and find boxes shoved in corners covered with dusty blankets intended to hide the contents inside. Some I know I can just purge without opening the box. Others...I sigh heavily knowing the process that will come. First in finding courage to open the box, then to sift through whatever remnants of my life it holds.

Somewhere is the box that holds the secrets to my weight. And why I put it on so quickly. And why I struggle to release it.

Over in a corner with a lamp shining on it next to a neon arrow flashing its "LOOK HERE" is a series of boxes. Some grief. Some joy. Some just memories unaffiliated with any emotion, they just are what they are. All of them connected in some way to my mom. That damn neon light showed up when her cancer became terminal. and has flashed louder and brighter with her passing and with each passing day. I've pulled a few files and memories and dusted them off and gone over them. I've shed tears that I didn't know were inside of me. Where is the power switch? I just want to not see that arrow right now.

under a window where you can sit on the boxes and look at the stars, are childhood magic and dreams. not really boxed, for it can't be contained. There's a stuffed dog, who truly comes to life and consoles and loves me whenever I need. No longer destroyed by mildew after a flood. He is whole and complete and waiting there by the window. The doll I earned by not wetting the bed, I lost her in Provo after we left for the summer. She isn't lost. She's sitting with my Christy doll who no longer has pen drawn on her face and her red hair shines like silk. they beacon me over to sit with them and Tenny and Mousie. and we gaze up at the wondrous sky. Somewhere out there is Santa Clause. And this year he's bringing Jilly exactly what she wished for. sitting by the window, the magic is real.

I shut the door on all of it shaking my head back to this reality--of a squeaking computer driving me nuts, knowing I should probably be working on last minute stocking stuffers, Finding the recipe for tomorrow's Christmas Ham. even prepping the rolls. but instead I'm here writing, trying to make sense of it all. My mom is dead. I can't bring her back. Its the first Christmas without her. The first year she didn't call me for the 4th time to remind her who she had in the gift rotation, or to find out when we would be by on Christmas day. The first year there won't be a box of honeycomb under the tree. Or cranberry juice. They are silly little things but they mattered. They were always there. She was always there. and without her, without those little touches it just feels like a humbug.

If it weren't for the magical dreams of my 4 year old daughter there would be no christmas in my house this year. I didn't decorate the whole house like I usually do. you can't see any signs of christmas from outside. The tree is even in the back of the house so it doesn't shine through the window.

and there is no snow.

it just doesn't feel like Christmas without snow. I mean it was RAINING! for crying out loud all day today, and yesterday. if it would have just dropped a few degrees...but no. Merry Christmas. look out the window and see dead grass, dead plants, my weeds that the snow should be hiding right now. its gloomy. and inside, well we have a tree. No table to sit around for Christmas dinner. we will eat around the island. the three of us. with this HUGE christmas ham and all that goes with it. Part of me just wants to order pizza and call it good. Korey looks forward to this ham all year. and I can't find the recipe. I have no idea where that book is! I really should be looking for that instead of going on and on about bahumbug and magic.

Hopefully enough of the shadows have shifted around to allow for rest to come now to my weary body. my weary soul. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. (well technically today since its now almost 2 am) and normally I am SO excited about the holiday and instead I'm wondering how late I can get away with just hiding in bed in the morning.

humbug.