Saturday, December 22, 2007
I will be on this sunset dinner cruise in Key West. Today is my friend and host's birthday, and but this will be our celebration. From their website: "Watch the sun slowly set into the Gulf of Mexico while enjoying a specially prepared dinner that features an array of appetizers, fresh salads, choice of filet mignon, local fish, or tasty chicken breast preparation and a dessert that could be key lime pie with berry sauce or a chocolate decadence."
My friend lives in Key West, and yet never does any of the "tourist-y" stuff like this. Here's hoping it all comes off without a hitch.
I'm also not:
• Straightening out the den
• Picking up my dry cleaning
• Writing checks and paying bills
• Putting fresh sheets on my bed
I am instead:
• Drinking beer
• Farting around on the Internet
• Observing wildlife (watching my cats)
• Wallowing in The Way We Were (the scene this still is from must have ended up on the cutting room floor)
I know me very well. I'm feeling rather delicate so I'm just going to protect myself today. And who knows? Perhaps if I shed a few cathartic tears for Katie Morosky, I'll feel better. ("See 'ya, Hubbell.")
I discovered this Joni Mitchell holiday song last year when I bought myself James Taylor's highly listenable Christmas CD, which (Andy Williams aside) has become the soundtrack of my holidays.
"I'm so hard to handle. I'm selfish and I'm sad …" This wistful little song perfectly captures the other side of Christmas: How reflection on the past year, how all the activity and the traditions of the holidays can leave me feeling vaguely fragile and unhappy.
My uncle is dying oh-so slowly and cruelly from Parkinson's, and I'm angry (not at him, at the disease) that his condition necessarily dictates our holiday plans.
I resent the toll this -- and other Christmas complications, courtesy of the family -- takes on my mom.
I miss my best friend.
All this leaves me feeling selfish and sad. And I wish I had a river I could sail away on …