Posted: 22 December 2007 in bitter old woman, other folks, therapy

I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something feels off.  Maybe it’s because we haven’t done as many of the routine holiday things this year.  We didn’t see the White House tree or decorate.  I didn’t do as much baking and it’s been a little more humid than usual, turning any leftover toffee to caramel.  I haven’t wrapped anything, though I’m very much looking forward to it, and we’ve decided to unwrap gifts on christmas eve morning – practically a sacrilege in my family.  Of course, they are all practicing christians to whom the birth of jesus has impact and they’re probably wishing him happy birthday with every gift they unwrap.  Really.  I’m not sure what’s off, but it doesn’t feel bad, so much as different.

Since I’m a dry well of holiday cheer today, I bring you this holiday feature that I wish would just go away: collections.

When I was small, my mother started giving me dollsdolls while my grandmothers gifted

music boxes music boxesand bellsbells

Don’t get me wrong, I think collections are nice.  However, not being a keeper of things, I just felt overwhelmed by all the trinkets.  As I got older, they expected me to tell them what sorts of bells, dolls and boxes I wanted and, when I seemed the slightest bit disinterested, stopped the gifting in a huff.  Unfortunately, they couldn’t stop for the long term.  My grandmothers moved on to this: elepahnts and eventually trailed off.  But my mother is unstoppable.  First it was this: dragons and eventually she moved on to this: gnomes 

Lest you think I have an affinity for tiny pewter dragons or that there is anything about me that says tiny pewter dragons, I assure you, there is not.  And the book of gnomes, I admit I love the gnomes.  But she moved onto fairies, more gnomes, other mythical creatures and druids.  Yes, I have a book called “Secrets of the Druids.”  I suppose it was fate that I led orientation for a druid high priest last year.  I am, apparently, well-qualified.  I ask D., “Is there something weird about me?  I mean, why does my mother give me this stuff?  She doesn’t know me at all!”  And really, why should she?  I haven’t lived with her since I was 17.  How would she know my interests, collecting habits and proclivities?  And would I really want her to?  And so, I look forward to opening her gift this year.  Maybe it will be something about elves.

  1. bipolarlawyercook says:

    Oh dear. I routinely get stuff that makes me ask “who does she think I am,” but not this bad. Usually it’s jewelry so big and sparkly that you could pick me up on Google Earth.

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