I have written before about the fact that I'm pretty much ignoring Christmas this year: No tree, no cards, no Christmas letter (although I have a "Jesus is the reason for the season" sign out in the front yard). I had, at one point, decided to write a Christmas letter telling family and friends about Cliff's heart surgery, and expressing our gratitude to God for his full recovery... then my printer quit working. Perhaps when I get another printer, I'll send out a New Year's letter. Or not. At the request of two grandchildren, I agreed to cook a Christmas dinner for the family; that will be tomorrow, and I'm preparing what I can today. As I get older, cooking a big dinner wears me out. Who knows, maybe as I devil eggs and make pumpkin pie and Oreo Delight, a bit of Christmas spirit will creep into these old bones.
I've had people express concern at my holiday funk, and ask why. Gee, if I knew, I'd gladly tell them. It just happens, that's all.
Seasonal depression is not new for me, and I patiently wait it out, knowing it's temporary. Every year on New Year's Day, my attitude takes a turn for the better. New beginnings, taxes paid, propane-buying season half over.
Resolutions form, and usually about a quarter of mine actually work out. One of them always has to do with weight loss, and this year is no exception: The only difference now is that I have five pounds to lose, instead of the usual 20 or 40 or whatever. Evening snacking and my new TV-watching habits (thanks a bunch, Joanna) have taken a toll, but not such a huge one after all.
God bless us, every one.