The Un-Christmas Letter

Yesterday I wrote about the Christmas Letter, acknowledging the many ways these seasonal greetings are written, common themes and styles, and then I went into a frenzy about wanting to write my own version of a Christmas Letter that allowed it all to hang out, miseries and all. Let's be clear. I have gratitude. I'm blessed by many riches in my life and live in a world of plenty. Whatever my worries may be, there are those who suffer orders of magnitude more than I and for whom compassion and love are deserved any time of year. I. Get. It.

However, to soothe my soul, I'm going to post my version of let's call it the Un-Christmas Letter, a small spoof on the typical holly, jolly renderings of what's-wonderful-in-my-life-right-now letter.

Dear Friends and Family:

As 2008 draws to a close, I wish one and all a wonderful Holiday Season Christmas and a damn good start to 2009.

As for me, I'm hoping Santa will bring me a new pair of glasses with lenses that allow me to focus on what's going well instead of what's not. You see, my 2008 glasses have this indelibly thick layer of grime encrusted so tenaciously to the lenses that whatever is going on "out there" tends to look not-so-good. So, what I'm really hoping for underneath the tree is a new pair that have been gently marinated in Prozac and Valium and then simmered on low heat in a cozy crock pot for days. These are bound to affect my take on the New Year in a positive way and allow the crummy memories of 2008 to wither into the crevasses of my brain and the random highlights of the past year to flourish.

Until those new glasses arrive, I've got to be honest. 2008 has been a rough walk. For those of you who know Aruba, I've been traipsing barefoot through the stickleburs and seven-day itch, not to mention rotting cactus, hiding in the underbrush, thorns still sharp and waiting for my foot. For those of you who don't know Aruba, I've been traipsing barefoot on the Northwest equivalent but I can't come up with such colorful analogies unless its a combination of poison ivy, blackberry thorns, and nettles.

Here goes; on the good side (I wiped off the lenses with a bit of Windex), all of us who were here this time last year are still here, some a bit worse for wear, but here nonetheless and hoping to enjoy the flaming Christmas Pudding with foamy sauce on December 25th. My dear husband graduated from U.W. Law School in June and passed the Washington State Bar Exam. My son graduated from S.P.U. and has a good job and a lovely girlfriend. My daughter is privileged to study abroad in Florence and travel the European continent this academic year. I have supportive siblings and extended family.

Hey! This doesn't sound like an un-Christmas letter! Throw out the Windex and get down to business here. 2008 has been a tough year, really tough. Here goes.

Yours truly is overwhelmed by the care needs of aging parents. There were two moves this year, the first from their retirement apartment in Queen Anne to an assisted living in Shoreline and then from there to an adult family home in Magnolia. Moving is pure upheaval. The physical part is one piece but the behind-the-scenes work is enormous, frustrating, and seemingly endless. Both of my beloved parents have suffered more than is fair (in my opinion) with health issues that pick away at the vibrant persons they once were. Falls, broken bones, TIAs, pneumonias, ER visits and hospital stays. There is always something going on that is not-so-good. Exhausting for them; exhausting for family as we try to meet their needs and love them into the next stage of life. As the doc and the local daughter, I get the brunt and everyone knows it so that's nothing shockingly new. Everytime the phone rings, I jump; it's often bad news. Getting old sucks. Loosing your parents by slow deterioraton of mind and body is not for sissies. I fear for my own aging; this is an eye-opener.

Economic times stink. When stock market investments evaporate before our eyes and the knowledge that we are "too young" to retire or cut back hits home, the focus turns to money, the dreaded cash flow issue. The big and little luxuries we've taken for granted for years dried up overnight. The reality of having to work more to stay afloat right about the time when I want to explore other interests in my life bites. My job is wearing me out even though it's only part-time. After 25 years of carrying a pager and serving the world when 'on call', I've just about had it. But slog away I must. Come January, I'll be ramping it up on the work front. Denny finally has a good lead on a job but it's been discouraging for him (and me) as a new graduate with two advanced degrees and unable to find work. What the hell is going on with that? Whether we choose to believe this or not, there is age discrimination out there in the job market. Fresh young blood trumps experience and wisdom. Go figure. And while everyone thinks that a doctor-lawyer combo is a shoe-in for a great job, they are dead wrong, especially in 2008. Reality is the great equilizer.

So, goodbye Netflix and pedicures, 45 dollar haircuts for my short bob, frequent dinners out and the occasional trip to Olympus Spa. We saved our coins for a trip to Florence this past November so now the pendulum must swing in the other direction for awhile. My laptop computer is on its last legs at the advanced age of 5 years and I struggle daily to keep on-line and engaged with the world. The sting of annoyances escalates when from my front window I witness a younger couple pay top dollar for the house directly across the street from us, elect to knock it down, and begin the plans for a dream home that will take out the last of our view. Rub salt into the wound while you're at it. Oh well. I'll sit here with my ancient computer, my hairdo looking like Don King, my back in a knot, and stew over the state of my toes.

Yours truly still worries about the safety of her children, now aged 20 and 22, far more than is normal. I get it, I get it, I get it. But getting it doesn't translate into meaningful change unless those much desired lenses that I'm getting for Christmas put a healthier spin on my motherly angst. A daughter 5000 miles away until May 2009 is something I can't think about much or I'll run around the house, wailing like a banshee. Receiving scary as hell plaintive phone calls from abroad when there is nothing I can do but listen to crackling echoes is rotten stuff.

Piss and moan, piss and moan. On the health front, wallowing has its advantages. I can eat whatever I want because crying, getting mad, and stomping around in a panic burns calories like none other and tends to take away the appetite. I figure that comes from my Dad's side of the family. Plus, when you're looking for a natural high, disregarding hunger and toughing it out boosts those endorphins ever so slightly. I'll take it. And no, I'm NOT anorexic.

Having shot my mouth off in this Yuletide greeting, I'll end with the following. Life is what you make of it; the good, the bad, and the ugly. I really am going to trust that the new glasses I get for Christmas clear out the cobwebs and allow me to create a more peaceful 2009 amidst the storm. I'm trying to stay ahead of the wave, remember? As my blog title descriptor says, "It's as much about surrender as it is steering."

Wishing all my friends and family either a good shot of Windex for your glasses or a brand new pair! If you've got just the pair you need and want right now, God love ya.

Hugs to all,

me