Susan and I had already attended Morgan’s winter band performance, a Christmas party at my friend’s retro arcade, and hosted the annual making and baking of Christmas cookies before our yearly family gathering kicked off the evening of Christmas Eve. Susan spent the day getting ready for the party by cleaning and cooking all day while I prepared in my own way: queuing up just the right vintage holiday cartoons for the little ones to watch, and hooking up an original Nintendo for the older ones to play.
The party went by in a flash, just like it always does. I spend half my time making the rounds — making sure people have drinks, picking up plates, wiping up spills, and fetching random things. But even when I sit, my mind is still racing. Do we have enough dessert? Is everybody comfortable? Do I need to pull out more TV trays? Should I have put Garfield’s Christmas Special before Christmas Comes to Pac-Land?
Like every year, most everything went off without a hitch and everybody seemed to enjoy themselves. The Nintendo was a hit with the kids. The retro cartoons, not so much. Back to the drawing board with that idea.
While in the past there were many years Susan and I had to wait until the kids had gone to bed on Christmas Eve to begin assembling toys, those days have passed. Nothing the kids got from us this year needed assembly, and Susan and I were in bed before 10 p.m., which is especially early for us. Susan snuggled over next to me and seemed to have no problem falling asleep, but for whatever reason this year, my mind continued to race. Sometimes it does that. Actually, all the time, it does that; just sometimes, it does it more than usual. Even my go to trick of starting Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, a movie that always puts me to sleep, didn’t work.
Finally I turned to my old late night standby: social media. As terrible-looking Martians babbled away on the bedroom television, I skimmed through the evening’s Facebook and Twitter updates from friends, acquaintances, and strangers. There were posts from people who were spending the holidays alone, and posts from people who were experiencing their first Christmas after the passing of a loved one — in most cases a parent; in a few, a child. There were posts from people asking for donations so that their kids would have more presents under the tree Christmas morning, and a few people asking for advice on how to explain to their kids why they got so many fewer gifts than their classmates received.
And then there were the really dark ones.
It’s easy to say “don’t sweat the small stuff,” but a little perspective never hurts.
After turning off my phone I kissed Susan on the forehead, pulled up my favorite quilt, and fell fast asleep.
Merry Christmas to you and yours.