It's the opposite end of a day that began with a fairly substantial To Do list and plenty of energy to accomplish that list.  It's about 9:30 and I've just gotten home, and frankly, I'm beat.

As I said the day's To Do list was a meaty one.  It started with an 8:30 pickup time to take a friend and her daughter shopping while Jean had a morning rehearsal, then coming home to put Christmas decorations up outside the house, a job I would usually wait until closer to the holiday to do.  But the weather today was fifteen degrees warmer than it was yesterday and believing that the tomorrow may again be seasonable, we decided to seize the opportunity today's balmy 45 degrees presented to us.  A young neighbor boy, a friend of Parker's has decided that Jean is a Mysterious Older Woman and while he would have let me struggle with the 25 feet of balsam roping, the tangled lights, and the other doodahs we used, with Jean involved, the young swain forsook Parker and lent a willing hand.  The house now looks like it might welcome rather than repel holiday visitors, so that job was successfully checked off the list.

And that's when things started going off the To Do list and started to belong on the Got To Do Something About It list.  While undoing some packaging Jean sliced into her hand and had to go to the emergency room to get stitches.  That of course took hours, but the hours were well worth it.  Her hand is supposed to tear through Vivaldi's Winter in a couple of weeks; she is the soloist at the holiday concert and the couple of stitches she got should do the trick, without her losing too much practice time.

When Jean and her father came home from one hospital, I left to go to another hospital to visit my brother, and stayed until after visiting hours ended.  Leaving him there on a Saturday night,  and walking down the near empty halls,  I remembered him as a sweet baby smiling at me when I came home at noon from morning kindergarten.  He was far from smiling tonight, and less able to stand than he was back then. 

I dragged myself to the store to get things that would not wait until tomorrow and came home to find that Parker has a guest, the Young Swain,  staying the night.  His dad gave permission for the sleepover while I was out, and as I write this, they are in the kitchen, wreaking havoc amidst silly laughter.

And I'm beat.  There are tons of things yet to be done.  And somewhere in the feeling that I'd like to throw in the towel and give up, I remember something worse than having too much to do.

I remember a period of my life when for about a month, I couldn't do much of anything.  I could see the things that needed attending to, but I couldn't do them.  It was hard to look at the clutter and not to be able to rush over and clean it up.  It bruised my pride to have to ask other people to do things for me.  It made me feel as helpless as my brother is tonight.

Having too much work and not enough time is a wonderful feeling, because tomorrow I will be able to get up and  be able to wear myself out doing it.

The playground I work on could have been designed by a daydreaming child.  Both the upper and lower grade areas have open fields for running and playing team games, an area for baseball and soccer goals as well as a field laid out for football.  The blacktop area  has five basketball hoops, and three tetherball posts, hopscotch games and foursquares already painted on, ready for the players.  A  brightly colored new play structure has it's own woodchip cushioned area, with  equipment to suit the wildly energetic or the more mellow chatter, slides and climbing wall surfaces, ladders, bridges, a soft rolling wheel to run on, kind of an inside out hamster wheel for children, ladders and ropes, tubes and four slides.  Kids who just want to hang out and let their muscles atrophy can sit at picnic tables in the shade.  It is such a beautiful place to spend free time that when work is done and I could leave for the day, I still am drawn to the tables underneath the trees that grew there long ago when the field was part of a farm, before the town grew more children than corn, and a school was needed.  The building there is the third on the site.  It was completed the year before last and this year is the first we've really had access to all of the area the kids use now.

And finally, after three years of being confined to cramped blacktop areas surrounded by mounds of excavated dirt, rocks, building supplies and equipment, the children run and play, full speed ahead every day.  The huge area is a challenge to supervise; it's impossible to cover it all perfectly, but doing an adequate job gives me a pleasant workout everyday.  Well, not everyday is pleasant because this is real life, not a child's daydream, but being outdoors in the weather with a couple hundred human beings in fresh full bloom is indeed my good fortune.

And after seven years tending poppets, I know that somethings never seem to change and some things change every year.  One new addition to the playground is a game played by the fifth grade girls.  I have dubbed it Tetherball of Impending Doom.  The game is played like regular tether, two players smacking a ball, trying to wrap the rope it is suspended from the top of the tall pole around the pole.  The new twist the girls have added is that two additional players join in, standing with their backs to the pole waiting to be hit on the head by the ever nearing ball.  Because their safety is my responsibility, I asked the girls if they thought this was a good idea and they assured me, wide smiles of delight on their faces, that it was, and it made for a very fun game.  Being a sensible woman, I decided they were old enough to duck at the necessary moment, and the game continues every day. 

No one has been hurt--yet.

Christmas shopping.  

First foray into the stores. 

List long on names, short on ideas.

Billowing crowds of people.

Determination. 

Serious goal-oriented mind set.

At my side, ace retail agent Jean.

The goal:  Have fun.

Goal achieved.

Oh, and we found lots of presents, too.

QUOTATION

CHUANG TZU :

ACCEPT WHATEVER HAPPENS, AND LET YOUR SPIRIT MOVE FREELY. RESIGN YOURSELF TO WHAT CANNOT BE AVOIDED, AND NURTURE YOUR OWN SPIRIT.OBEY YOUR OWN DESTINY;IT IS OFTEN VERY DIFFICULT, BUT IT IS THE ONLY MEANS OF ATTAINING SERENITY.

Dear Mr. Claus,

How are you?  I am fine.  The preparations for Christmas are making for days that are a little too busy and a little too long and

Please excuse me.  I forgot to whom I was writing.  I suppose you are also working hard to get everything finished in time for Christmas Eve.  Without wasting any more of our time, let me tell you why I am writing.

I was at work today, just finishing up, locking doors when my good buddy Andrew and his friend Jonathan saw me and came over to talk to me.  You know the boys I'm talking about;  I'm sure of that.  Your elves no doubt give you thrice daily updates on these two, since one a day would never be enough to keep up with the fine boys that they are. 

Well, Andrew asked me what kind of car I drive and I told him.  I like my car a lot and I thought that surely Andrew and Jonathan would think it was also a fine vehicle for me.  I was wrong dear Santa, and that is why I am writing you this letter.

Andrew said that I should ask you for a Lamborghini for Christmas.  He said that I have been very good and that you would bring me one.  Jonathan disagreed.  He said that I should get a Triumph.  They urged me to write to you; they said that you would want me to.  That's why I'm writing, not to nag you or beg, but rather because they assured me that you would want me to.

They told me that they will check with me after Christmas break.  You might want to bring me both cars as my getting one would surely disappoint the boy whose suggestion was not taken.  And again, I wouldn't ask for either, but their continued belief in you seems to hang on whether or not I'm driving a snappy new car to work on January 3rd.  I'd be happy with that nice fruitcake you always bring.  I'm embarrassed to ask for anything more.  I'm just doing it for the boys.

Thanking you very much, hoping that Christmas Eve is mild and the reindeer enjoy their outing, I wish you and the Missus, and all the little Clauses and elves a Merry Christmas,

                                   Sincerely yours,

                                   simplelsie.

P.S.  I really have been very, very good and will be even better next year.

P.P.S.  My favorite color is red.  I thought you might want to know that.

Christmas is nearly here and with the shopping, decorating, sending cards, entertaining, and being entertained, it’s a very busy time of year.  Being with difficult family members and socializing with co-workers can stretch the idea of Peace on Earth until it is ready to break.  Everything is so bright, so busy, and still falls so far short of the ideal portrayed in print and on screens that even apart from the post-holiday state of my checking account and wallet, I often feel empty at the end of the holiday.fficeffice" />

Every year I remember what Christmas meant to me as a child, and I regret that what was once beautiful and fun, and something that made me grateful for the large family that for most of the year felt like a crowd, now feels like more of a job than a joy.  I remember the anticipation, the wishes that were granted, and the traditions both large and very small that were so satisfying when I was not an adult.   And I want to experience Christmas like that again, with happiness and not just a sense of duty.

So every year for the past five or so, I try to focus on what will give me a Happy Christmas as I remember it.  Usually it’s something small, and it isn’t anything that costs money or requires finding a parking spot outside a crowded store.  I don’t always manage to get that experience I’m looking for.  Many years, sadly, the season passes as an exercise in shopping and diplomacy, in pleasing others, and nothing more.  But this year may be different.  My shiny–eyed belief is that it can be, my naïve conviction is that Christmas magic can really happen.

It’s funny, at my age to still be thinking, “What do I want for Christmas?”  But if I don't, I might end up with a pile of gifts, but nothing I really want.