Saturday, December 16, 2000

 

11:45 p.m. I am definitely trying to have a small, low-key Christmas this year, and so far I'm succeeding. I can safely say that as I get older, I get less anxious about al the things I can't do, haven't done, didn't do, never will do. The dark, fluttery thoughts still fly through my head, but I'm not giving them a nest.

I think it's because we see the tree and the lights and the pile of presents through such big wide eyes as children that we want something that big and bright and promising as adults. As we grow bigger, the tree grows smaller year by year, and maybe in the long run, that's a good thing.

I used to be crushed with grief and guilt around this time of the year when I was a young parent. Divorce had totally wrecked my chances of ever having a perfect Christmas. Up until that point, I'd been able to try harder and harder each year I was in charge, layering on more presents, more traditions, more cookies, and sugar and tinsel and treacle.

I don't know how much my kids remembered or enjoyed, but I remember how hard I tried and if I didn't feel "Christmassy" enough one year, I actually took notes and tried to do more the next year. Of course, you can never do enough because if you did the whole world of advertising and retail dollars would wink out of existence and you'd be left standing alone on the gridlines of an empty holodeck.

So we keep up the imaginary facade, because that's the thing to do, but I'm happy to report that each year it gets a little easier to goof off and now do as much. Maybe getting older means that we listen to others as much as we used to listen to our mothers.

I did something really stupid tonight. I often sit on one or the other of my legs when the chair is too low, and sometimes the leg under me will fall asleep. I happen to think it feels nifty, and I especially like to walk around with it lumping and thumping with no feeling at all, dragging along and knocking into things. (We were poor when I was growing up -- when it comes to entertainment, we had to make do.)

So tonight I got up from my office chair and started to walk into the kitchen on the bum-sleeping leg when it suddenly twisted at the ankle and I heard a crack and I fell into a heap on the floor. Since there was no feeling, I didn't know if I'd actually broken my ankle, so I flapped my foot back and forth and felt faint because I could move it all around, loosely, but there was no feeling, of course.

Well, as the feeling came back I braced for some really bad pain, but lucky for me I only bruised and sprained it a bit. The crack was nothing more than when you crack your knuckles, I guess. It was a small, bird-bone crack and thank God my bones aren't snapping like candy canes, yet.

So, the moral is -- if your foot or leg is asleep, don't try to be funny. Let it wake up on its own. All part of being a grown-up.