Tis the season

We went and bought a real Christmas tree yesterday, after only using a three-foot-tall pre-decorated one for the past three or four years.  I wanted a freshly cut tree, so we had to travel twenty-five miles.  Since both Cliff and I are somewhat "gimpy", we had one of the crew cut down our tree after we'd found it.  It seemed like they didn't have as nice a selection as in past years, but maybe that's just me. Cliff has done the cutting in times past, but he has been having problems with a gimpy hip lately.  I told him we seem to be limping in sync.  The grandson showed up to help us get it inside the house and set up.  He then left, and Cliff and I hauled ornaments and decorations from the garage, stuff that had not been used in a few years.  

I was having a bad knee day, so I opened up all the containers, fiddled with some stuff, and sat down, clueless about how to begin.  God must have noticed I needed help, because he sent the oldest granddaughter just in time, and she did most of the tree-trimming.  She is all about Christmas!

Gaudy, isn't it?  I love it!  I found lights and ornaments I didn't even know I had.  As you might imagine, the fact that we babysit a toddler had a lot to do with our decision to have a real tree this year.  

Christmas is rough for an introvert.  Not painful, mind you.  Just uncomfortable.  Here's an example:  The grandson's future in-laws are having a cookie- and candy-making day, and they mentioned to him that I should join in the festivities.  "Leave her alone," Arick told them.  "She hates people."  

I don't hate people.  I just hate trying to conform and say the right things and make small talk with people I have little in common with.  I'm the person who, if you have friends who haven't met me and you know I'm about to show up, you prepare them first by telling them, as my grandson does, that "I have no filters."  I'm the one who insults somebody at a gathering without ever knowing I did it.  

I'm that one who, after partaking of a meal anywhere in public, ends up looking as though she carried her own beet juice along to sprinkle on the tablecloth.  Cliff tries to watch and clean me up as I dribble food on my shirt and in my lap, but it's a rough job.  And the funny thing is, he's the one who is embarrassed by my sloppiness.  I'm not bothered by a little mess.    

If you take me somewhere, I will embarrass you.  Besides, my knees hurt, and I would just as soon be home playing Sudoku or reading a book.

But I don't hate you.  I probably really LIKE you.