nog & cookies: day three

I’m really trying this Christmas. This is the third day in a row where after the kids have gone to bed I start drinking nog spiked with spiced rum and eating a lot of Christmas, or other, cookies. It’s not working. This is a sincere effort. There is a Christmas tree in my living room that has been up since before Thanksgiving. Sure, it only has a top hat and only half the lights are working now, but it used to have a full set AND ornaments. Where has Christmas gone? The joy? The belief that no one was working or suffering on this day? It’s all gone. And my efforts to pretend are not sincere. I can’t forget them no matter how many Christmas songs they play on the radio. What about my dead grandparents? What about Aleppo? What about those children there? The dead ones and the live ones. They have no Christmas. They’re not even Christian so the odds were not good to start with, but now? We shop. We buy. I bought my brother bread and water. I thought it was funny, but it’s not. Those little children don’t have bread and water. Let alone cinnamon raisin bread and BOXED water. I want to shout. And shout I did! At the bank! At Rodney at the local Chase bank! He couldn’t help me. He couldn’t help anyone. There is no help to give. Or is there?

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