December 8, 2005
Thursday 

The question of the day early this week on a list read by some online journallers was, “Do you ever feel like you repeat yourself over and over and over in your journal?  What do you do to try to snap out of it?”

I think I’m in danger of repeating myself with Holidailies. Christmas by its nature is a time when traditions are observed. I’m going to many of the same musical events I always have, I’m having my party with all of the foods I serve every year, and I’m watching the same television specials, going to the same church service, even sending the same amount of money to the same charities.

Today I did something I did, and wrote about last year. I went with my Thursday morning friends to the Calories and Cliché Fest at Allenberry Playhouse.

I know, I know. I wasn’t forced to go, exactly. And when the idea was first broached this year I did say some vague things about signing up for a White House tour and not being sure exactly when that would be scheduled because the White House decides that. But I missed the cut-off date for that event, probably because I didn’t really want to do that either. And when it came right down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to be assertive and say, Thank you, I think I’ll skip it this year, and, if pressed, give an honest answer:  it takes a whole day, it’s too much food that isn’t really all that special, and the play just bores me. That just sounds so snotty and snobby.

So I went. The food was as I remembered it — some strange spice in the turkey gravy that got in the way of tasting the meat, potatoes whipped too smooth, steamed vegetables that seemed merely a token to healthful food, and about twelve kinds of desserts, none of which I actually had. I had one of their “famous sticky buns” thought to be so good they package them for sale, and you can see people leaving with armloads of them. They’re not as good as mine.

The play this year was called “Growing Up Kringle.” Set in a museum that was the former home of the Kringle family, it was supposed to be a glimpse of the “living history” tour that told how one Chris Kringle became Santa Claus. Except the ghost of his brother Carl, who supposedly died saving Chris from drowning when he fell through the ice at the old skating pond, came to life to give the “real” story. The brother was characterized as whiny and disgruntled, giving a long complaint about how Chris was the favored child. The songs didn’t sparkle, the children were adorable but weren’t given enough to do, and the nod to “the true meaning of Christmas” with a nativity scene in the finale seemed forced.

I came home and took a short nap. I felt good that I hadn’t stuffed myself, although I had consumed an entire day’s worth of Weight Watchers points anyway. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting, weighed in, accepted the fact that I appear to have gained one pound over this past week, and decided to just draw a line and start again.

I was out and about all day so I haven’t seen any local news with current predicitons about tonight’s expected snowfall. I feel vaguely anxious about this, even though I have no place I really have to be tomorrow. But Lynn left her snow boots here, she’s under a lot of stress about finals and career decisions, and I just want to hug her. And I feel strangely sad otherwise as well.

It’s nearly a quarter to ten. I’ve repeated, and amplified, the same whine I gave last year about this same event. Time to draw a line on that too. (And I am NOT doing this again next year. I said that last year, too.) I’ve changed the bed, spritzed the sheets with lavender, slathered myself with body butter, and prepared a nutritious, satisfying snack to have while I watch ER. I think Luka and Abby are getting together (again). They’re my favorite people on my favorite show. I’ve got to be feeling better in an hour!