Christmas Musings

All is calm, all is bright.

My family doesn't "holiday" very well.

I do that a lot. Use a noun as a verb. It amuses me.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's-- we seem to mess it up each time when left to our own devices.

I wish I was more festive.

Or that I had more money to force us out of the house to a nice place that knows how to holiday better than we do.

It's Christmas.

So I walked my dog. More like let him walk me. At eight years old, my senior citizen dog is still stronger than I'll ever be.

I haven't walked him in a while. I'm a negligent parent.

Sometimes I like to imagine him as a writer. His first book, "my mommy is negligent and other stories."

He's truly my son. Even he enjoys writing short personal essays.

You know, in my fictionalized version of him.

I am not a morning person So I don't walk him then. I'm also tired and weary of the world by the time I get home.

Depression does that to you.

I feel like I talk about depression a lot.

I'm not a Debbie downer by any means. Only few people in real life know about my struggles with depression.

That's how it is.

I use humor and a bubbly nature to hide the demons I deal with when I'm by myself. When I am trying to force myself to do things.

Most of the world's funniest people struggle with depression and addiction. Why do you think we're so funny?

We have to cope.

Making people laugh and making people happy helps-- for a little while.

My friend Steve called me while I was shopping. I told him I finished reading the manuscript he sent me. He told me he was no writer of prose, I told him I was no poet. So we're even.

I told him it was weird but I like weird. I told him it made me uncomfortable, but good art does that sometimes.

His stories are disjointed, but connected. Does that make sense?

We talked a while, or rather I talked. I talked about the church leaders dinner where I almost cried because no one wanted to sit at the table with me and my sister. How people only sat there because they got there late and those were the last seats available. I told him about my love of random decorative wall art, some of the inspirational shit that looked pretty and was supposed to uplift. I rambled about Betsy Johnson and donut purses and how I'd wear it but had to draw the line at a milk carton purse.

I rambled until I realized I was rambling.

And I apologized.

He said it was ok. That's why he called. So I could ramble.

It stung a little.

So I'm walking my dog and it's Christmas, but it doesn't feel like Christmas because my family doesn't do Christmas right.

Are you following?

I get asked directions from strangers. I am non threatening.

In the city of Chicago, the city of big shoulders, the city of gun violence, the windy city, I am a girl in fake uggs and mittens wearing a wonder woman scarf walking her fluffy dog as he wears his Santa sweater.

I am not scary. I am inviting.

Ask me how to get somewhere I know how to go to all the places.

Maybe this new year I can learn how to holiday. Maybe I can be the one to make home feel like home.

The houses I pass are lit up like the Vegas strip and this brings me some comfort.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.