Party of One

Who doesn’t love December? A month perfumed with cinnamon and cider, festooned with garlands, up to its knees in chocolate and marzipan and cloaked in traditions dating back to ancient times.  Bring it on, every bit of it:  the sing-along Messiah, the Chanukah decorations, the Kwanzaa candles, the holly and the pine and the dazzling downtown displays, the white cashmere shawls in the boutique windows and the same green Saran-wrapped plate of reindeer cookies from the neighbors.  May the mailbox overflow with tidings from those near and far—cat cards, angel cards, sexy Santas, religious quotations and do-it-yourself ornaments—a plethora of festive handwritten envelopes at last outnumbering the bills and catalogues.

Pour yourself an eggnog, and check out that giant teddy bear family on the roof across the street—magnificent, isn’t it?  They get out the ladder every year and tote all that stuff up there, never mind the electricity bill. Say, here’s a photo card from my friends in Ohio, you know the ones. Those matching candy cane sweaters are so cute, and look! - little antlers on Roxie the bulldog. I’ll just take a peek at their holiday letter, and help myself to that platter of sour grapes.

There must be something the matter with me. Why is it that I, a satisfied, successful single woman, can’t read a typed missive from a proud and happy family, chock-full of newsy tidbits and brimming with good cheer and accomplishment, without the very slightest pang in my heart?  I genuinely like these people. Am I not pleased that husband Bud got a promotion and a new Lexus, and that daughter Tiara had such a lovely time in Italy after graduating cum laude from Yale?  Do I begrudge even a moment of Maddie’s joy from the marathon she ran in Hawaii, or the continued success of the parenting book she co-wrote with her son? Well, not exactly. But next to the radiant Technicolor glow of the perfect family portrait, the snapshot of my own life, minus parents, spouse, and offspring, seems to take on just a faint grayish cast. I can’t think quite how to reply.

“Dear Friends,
Life in Ohio sounds great.  Congrats to Bud!! Great to hear about Roxie’s puppies—must be a handful, though you did say the new house has an anteroom next to the library.  Hi to Tiara—give her a big high-five from me on both the film deal and the fiancé, not necessarily in that order.

Things are thrilling on this end, too. Got a new cell phone, but realized have no idea how to use camera or email functions. Returned it to Radio Shack.  Planted rosebush, kids next door smashed it with skateboard.  Said it was “an accident.”

Watched entire series of “Bachelor” on TV, while thinking those women not very bright–single life is great!  Who needs stupid hunky bachelor? Bought new pruning fork, hose for back shrubs, garden gloves. Next trip will buy seeds, new rosebush. Went hiking to work off pint of Häagen-Dazs, ingested by accident (new flavor, Burnt Sesame Chocolate Chunk Crumb Cake, supposed to be low-fat, though). While hiking, was leered at by creepy man in Park Service uniform. Came home. Must bring cell phone next time, with camera function. And stun gun.

Thinking of having big party like good old days. (Remember, Maddie?  Wild life before you met Bud!!)  Realized too hard to have big party in 950-sq. foot house,  though neighbors have party every night, even weeknights, in their 950-sq. foot house.  Called police on neighbors.

Junior Kitty threw up hairball on good white cashmere shawl. Not sure whether to get rid of cat or shawl or both.  Washed 11-y.o. Honda—looks like new (but not like Lexus, haha.  Way to go, Bud!!!)  Decided to start blog on web. Realized life too full, may not have time to blog.  Went to dance club, but embarrassed self walking in.  Didn’t realize not cool to wear colored clothing at clubs these days.  Must buy little black dress, stop Häagen-Dazs, even low-fat version.

Promoted self to CEO, fired self in hostile takeover, re-hired self in fit of compassion.  Tough working at home sometimes.  Almost went nuts.  Didn’t.

Well, that’s about it from this end, so have a fabulous holiday in the mountains! All of you together. That’s great, it really is. Those candy cane sweaters are the cutest.  Say, I expect we’ll see one more little sweater in the photo next year, once Tiara and Bruce are back from their honeymoon (Just kidding, Tiara—no rush. Look, I never even had kids and my life is fabulous.) Will write again when I’m not so busy, I promise.

Love,
me

P.S.  That’s Junior Kitty in the photo on the front, in case you didn’t recognize him—he doesn’t really have red eyes, though (I don’t either!!). Hate disposable cameras. Happy happy & merry merry.

Stacy Appel is a writer in California whose work has been featured in The Chicago Tribune and other publications.  She has also written for National Public Radio. Email her at ­Wordwork101@aol.com.

~Stacy Appel