I have a confession. I am not a good blogger. While I was once a prolific memoir writer, my words seem to get stuck in my head these days. Or rather, they play out in my head and then once they’ve been heard (by me, of course, as I do not, I repeat I DO NOT! hear voices in my head…yeah) I lose any desire to repeat them in any way shape or form. The inspired moment seems to have passed and I am on to the next.
So that, my friends, is my lame excuse for having failed in my personal goal to write a blog entry once a week. Okay, it also threw a wrench into things when more folks discovered our delicious goodies and we signed more wholesale accounts thus preventing me from sitting quietly with my thoughts at the computer as often as I’d planned. Either way, I have fallen short of my hopes to purge my usually random, silly and sometimes strange thoughts, into the blogosphere.
Therefore, please allow me to summarize the past three holiday-laden months. The Thanksgivings and Christmases of my youth are long gone. My family has expanded and moved and I no longer join those who remain in the Midwest for the holidays. I haven’t decorated my home or bought a tree in a couple years despite having a collection of multicolor twinkle lights and ornaments larger than a single gal in the city should own. And the celebrations tend to be simply a plate of food shared between Lenny and I while we watch sappy rom-com movies or “Bones” re-runs. New Year’s Eve leaves me feeling a lot like the tourist dreamily peering through the twinkle-lit windows of Tavern on the Green during its heyday. And I always manage to channel Charlie Brown with his empty mailbox on Valentine’s Day. All wanting to be included in the party, but our invitation seems to have been lost in the mail.
It can all become quite sad and overwhelming. That is when I look to the wisdom of my little three-legged black pug. He neither knows nor cares what day it is. He pays no mind to the commercials filled with beribboned luxury cars or that “Every kiss begins with Kay!” He dislikes raucous, noisy crowds. He doesn’t care for flowers. And chocolate is toxic to him. His only desire is to spend time with me — preferably on my lap or nestled next to me in bed. With every big-eyed look he gives me and contented sigh he makes, I am reminded that it is the simple things in life that are most important. He doesn’t need hoopla or presents or fancy dinners. He just needs to know that he is loved. And that, I can easily deliver…not just on the holidays, but every day.
So, I listen to the little pug and don’t worry that our holidays at home don’t live up to anyone’s expectations except his. Because, quite honestly, he is wiser than me.