I’m having a perfect day today, and wondering why I don’t create more perfect days for me. It’s Christmas, my kids and I spent Christmas Eve together, and I am absolutely luxuriating in doing my thing. For breakfast I enjoyed my Great Harvest Bread Company
shortbread—every taste is a dreamy experience. I called my Dad, 89, and agreed how blessed we all are to be able to walk and talk and see and hear. I told him that I’ll put his Christmas $100 in a special envelope in my billfold. When I see something I really want but hear a budgetary argument from my inner shouldn’t-er, I will open the
envelope and feel totally okay about indulging myself. I did that Sunday at the fish market at 28th and NW Market. After I tasted the smoked black cod, $18.99 per pound or not, I put out $5.77 for a hunk that will delight me over the next few days. Memories, past and future, are a part of the joy of this day.
Since the call, I’ve been doing things I feel like on the computer, this being one of them. I’ve watched Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s Joseph and the Technicolor Dream Coat and excerpts from Jesus Christ Superstar and more. I ate a stick-to-your teeth
caramel from last night’s Christmas stocking and deliberated the last 1/8 of it—shall I make this one bite or two to get the most pleasure? Two was the winner this time. For lunch, I had a piece of last night’s rolled rib roast with gravy, and all the deli olives I wanted.
I’m drinking carrot juice that housemate Diane and I made a day or so ago. I alternate between holiday programs on the radio and on TV. I wound up my music box and watched the Pink jester move to the sounds of “Make Someone Happy.” Out my home office window the Olympics show off their clear snowy wraps. The sun lights on the
shells and driftwood on the deck railing I can see from my desk.
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I’m wondering if I’ll feel more expansive as I am now, wandering up and down the stairs, from fridge to TV to desk, or going for a walk in the glorious sunshine. I’ll go after I finish this, I decide, and be back by 4:00 to meet a potential roomer for the room available
on the 1st. I decide I like him already—his walk at Kelsey Creek Park in Bellevue “made his Christmas.”
Since in many parts of the world, December 25 means no more than any other day, I would like to declare my own personal monthly holiday, for no other reason than that I (and everyone) deserve to be as happy as we can make ourselves. I know myself well
enough to not leave things in that “good idea” stage. So I just wrote in on each 4th Sunday of 2002 “My Holiday.” Wish you could see the serene smile and then the passion that becomes a bellow as I sing along with the radio. Yes, I’m happy!!