Bringing up Christmas reminds me of something. Christmas was always special around our house, most people feel that way about their childhood Christmases. On Christmas Eve, one of the last things that we children did before going to bed was to draw straws. My parents didn't want us all going down to the tree at the same time, but wanted everyone to have a turn individually. That lead to the drawing of the straws - we all wanted to get the smallest because that meant that we had the coveted spot of going down first and getting 5 minutes alone with all the presents Santa left for us and for our siblings. The smallest went first, right on up to the longest and we went down in five minute increments. I loved the rush that I felt as dad turned away from us at the kitchen table and cut the straws - sometimes they were matches or whatever he could find. Then he would turn around and we would pick - sometimes oldest to youngest or youngest to oldest and sometimes I would yell that I should go first because I was the only girl (haha - I used that a lot). Whatever happened was set in stone. I think about this story because it reminds me of life right now. I feel like I got the last and longest straw and I keep yelling down the stairs wondering if its my time yet but getting no response. I don't mean this in regards to being the last married or even to being the one that will now be at home, the meaning comes for me, in a place beyond description. Words falter. Feeling are what remains.
If none of this made any sense, just disregard it. After all, it is past midnight:) Happy 100th post to me!!