A friend recently asked what I really wanted this Christmas. And the words that came out of my mouth (narrowly edging out “anything from Bottega Veneta”) were: “A heaping pile of steaming goodness.”
I mean it. And if you’ve seen Bottega Veneta’s spring line, you’ll know I must REALLY want goodness because those designer duds are tough to resist.
In my country, the headlines are filled with impeachment and shootings. 24/7. And then all the vitriol both sides of the aisle are spewing.
And it’s Christmas. There’s that.
I am craving goodness so much it’s physical. I can feel myself drawn like a magnet to people spreading good cheer, buying coffee for random strangers, purchasing gifts for children lost in the foster care system. People who wear aprons and smell of sugar cookies and have flour in their hair. People who hum Christmas carols while shopping.
I believe what you focus on grows. So let’s collectively focus on some good juju this Christmas. I’ll start.
A warm comfy mattress on a cold night. Heaps of covers. A book that inspires.
A dog-sitting son who sleeps the night with just one bun on the bed, because the three dogs he’s watching are nestled around him. And whose bleary-eyed a.m. expression shows me what he’ll look like (hopefully years from now) as a new parent.
Christmas cookies. Mint chocolate, raspberry oat and the ever-trusty sugar cookie. And the perfect amount of give versus crunch on the first bite.
A big family and a big Christmas celebration in a year where we lost no one, and we cheered those going through trials right through to the other side. Everyone needs a cheering section at some point in life.
Winning my battle with the screaming meanies at the town assessor’s office. Ebenezer Scrooge revised my property tax hike to half of what was proposed. It’s not a stunning victory for me, but it’s enough for now. I’ll take it. Merry Christmas to me.
The. Very. Best. Butter. Almond. Toffee. On earth. Here. Careful. It’s addicting.
The realization, upon awakening, that it’s the weekend. No deadlines. No clients calling. Room to breathe.
A drink with an old friend in which we realize our older selves’ talk of books and future plans and practical things is something our younger selves would question —so staid, so settled of us. Here’s to letting the years mellow us in the very best ways.
My 90-pounds-of-crazy dog and her morning salutation ritual. Head burrowed into my stomach, pushing me to the other side of the bed, so she can snuggle in until I’m ready to face the day. Cold, wet nose on my cheek. Eyes staring, filled with love. Unconditional in every way.
Authors who write like the gods whisper in their ears. A book basket full of those hushed confidences, waiting for me to slow down and listen. I’m almost there.
My son’s smile as he walks in the door for a two-week winter break.
Endings. My farewell to the people and situations that no longer serve my highest good, my best self.
Beginnings. The sweet anticipation of the good to come, the friends I’ve not yet met, the love yet to come. Good on its way has a certain energetic feeling. It’s better than morning coffee.
Love, love and more love to you, my readers, this holiday. May it see you into this fabulous new decade that we’re entering. 2020 has a nice ring to it. I just know there’s a heaping pile of steaming goodness in there somewhere.
Merry Christmas to you and yours. Or Happy fill-in-the-holiday-you-celebrate.
Wishing you good, good and more good.