Christmas shopping is in full swing for many of you. I pretty much had it down to a science this year. Maybe not a very scientific science, but still… My work is done. At least until I realize I’ve forgotten someone or haven’t bought the same amount of presents for one kid as for another, or feel guilty because I didn’t buy so-and-so a present and maybe I should have, or…
Anyway, I’m done shopping. Life is good. I can now lay back in my imaginary reclining deck chair in the hot Hawaiian sun of my daydreams and pretend it’s not freezing cold outside and I’m not anywhere near Minnesota.
Ahh…
Well that didn’t last for long. Someone opened the door and let all that frigid air in the house. I should have demanded the deed to a beach house for Christmas. Not that I’d get one, but maybe the heat from my husband’s glare would at least warm up my toes.
Living in the North for so long, I yearn for a reprieve. Maybe just a year or two without any snow, ice, or cold? I need a mental and physical vacation from pushing a full grocery cart through three inches of sludge, wearing enough layers to bundle up every last grade-schooler in the neighborhood, and carrying the entire emergency supply list for the apocalypse in my trunk… just in case I’m ever lost on a mountain road in a blizzard and no one finds me for a month of Sundays and my author photo makes the ten o’clock news because my husband is suspected in my disappearance.
Yes, a nice long stay in a bungalow on the beach with tropical breezes and cerulean blue skies and the only ice is rattling around in my glass with a little umbrella…
Barbara
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