I am a holiday failure.
I pin the right stuff and like the right stuff and I
admire the beautiful pictures from Southern Living and I drool over the recipes
from Paula Deen but the truth is, I don’t ever do any of it.
None of this stuff is what I grew up with for
holidays. Mom would do chicken and
dressing or ham for Thanksgiving and Christmas and a simple fruit
salad…apples,oranges,bananas,pecans,cool whip…and we all loved that salad. Even my nephew thinks Thanksgiving needs
that. And she’d make pies. And we all looked forward to it.
I always think people all dressed up, eating off china
and drinking wine look good, but it’s not for me.
I’m invited places and I really do appreciate the
invitations and as much as I like the family, they aren’t mine. Even when Steve
used to invite me, I never felt welcome.
Because, basically, even they are all still strangers. I have actually become my Uncle Raymond, my
daddy’s bachelor older brother who was the last present under the tree, a few
socks. I have chosen not to be Uncle
Raymond the last few years because I feel how he must have all the years. Steve and I have agreed not to do holidays.
I hope there are thousands of good memories made. I have mine.
And this year, and future years,
I choose to hold onto those and miss my family. It sounds sad but it really isn’t. I look forward to time off more than
anything.
Maybe, someday, I will find something that changes my mind.
