After a very productive morning and afternoon spent with friends that I love, last night I found myself sitting in the floor with Goddess. It is right before Christmas … and all through the house, not a creature is stirring. Not even a mouse. Not even Goddess. She is asleep between the Christmas tree and me. I take her picture.
The tree is now fully decorated after initially I’d only done half to represent loss in my life. Lying under the tree are three manager scenes that I got in the divorce and a couple of bags that contained birthday presents for Goddess.
Stockings are hung over there but there isn’t anything in them. I found some electric votive candles that I also somehow inherited and placed them in the windows. From the outside looking in the house is decorated and warm but on the inside there is no joy to the world. If the Lord is coming he’s waiting on a ride with Santa Claus I guess.
“A Charlie Brown Christmas” comes on television. I listen to the melancholy opening song with the kids ice skating and Snoopy whipping everyone around with Lianas’ blanket. When I was at Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville the show meant a lot. Every year when “Dolly Madison” would broadcast it, we threw a big viewing party. Everybody came and we munched on cupcakes and sang “Joy to the World” with Charlie Brown and the gang after Snoopy’s tree won the competition.
After Lucy explained that Charlie Brown has panophobia, a fear of everything, I grabbed the remote and changed the channel.
I flip through them and nothing is interesting on television. I flip to the music channels and Christmas music comes on and I pause. Gene Autry singing Rudolph and if I had a brick in my hand I would have taken the flat screen out.
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” plays and I pause.
“I wish,” I say to myself.
I flip it to adult alternative and Nirvana’s “Smells like teen spirit” fills the room. I throw the remote on the tile floor waking Goddess. She lifts her head and stares at me for a second, before lying back down and letting out a heavy sigh.
“What the hell?” I say to myself and lay my head on her sleeping body. Goddess has never minded me using her as a pillow.
“I’m worse at what I do best,” Kurt Coban sings. “I find it’s hard to find, hard to find, oh well, never mind.”
A few hours later I wake and my head is on the tile floor. Goddess has gone outside and must have used three of her four paws to lay it there. Stumbling to bathroom I get ready for bed and then collapse into it.
At 4:30 I wake to the bright lights of the Christmas tree and electric votive candles. Goddess is snoring in the floor beside me. I roll over and cover my head with pillows.
A little after six I climb in the shower and just let hot water hit my face. I used to leap out of bed in the mornings but now go through the same routine with more effort. Goddess is waiting for a belly rub when I get out. I throw on my running stuff, give her some treats and go to the Breakfast Club.
Coffee awaits me and Nancee gives me a hug. Johnny O and I read the headlines of the Savannah Morning News. It is a story of a Catholic hospital Face Book postings of male pelvic reasons. You can’t help but laugh a bit at the absurdity of it. “Finally, Savannah has a gay hospital,” Johnny O says.
“Repeal ‘don’t ask don’t tell’!” someone else yells.
The Club is alive and full of friends. Heat radiates from the grill. We all talk about … everything. Christmas lights hang over the booths.
My friend and former waitress Jamie is there visiting from college (I have a serious crush on Jamie. If I were younger, perhaps 49 or 50, I’d be all over her! But I’m older and she has a boyfriend and he could probably take me out if he wanted so I just admired from afar, though she did Face Book me last night to tell me to be there so there is hope!).
So we all chatted, caught one another up on life. Johnny O left and there was about fifteen minutes before the first customers arrived. So everyone sat around me and there were hugs and the promise of a new day dawned with the sun.
“O Holy Night?” I asked myself.
“My ass,” I replied. “O Holy Morning.”
