My house has been transformed into a Christmas hub where Santa would be please to work overtime. It's all red and gold and shimmering. It's all lights and stars and yes I'm pleased. My cats look pleased too, they think playing with gold and red balls is a lovely past-time. It can't be helped, cats are like kids, once you sign up for them, then it them who reign. Still missing Figaro, saw a woman this morning whose son I used to go to school with, whose son died at 19, that's about 15 years ago. And I sat in my car watching her walking and wondering what was going on in her mind. How one can celebrate the birth of a baby Jesus when your own baby is six feet under. Why these things happen, I do not know. Some of us are the chosen ones to deal with tragedy and it's not easy. But I too have loved Christmas again, I hope she has, she's a nice woman, always has been. Sometimes I think maybe it's the good people that bad things happen to. I don't know about this either.
Tomorrow, another Christmas concert. It'll be OK, but I feel like crying sometimes, crying in the middle of this forest where not even Little Red Riding Hood has been. Oh well, it'll pass.
Tomorrow, another Christmas concert. It'll be OK, but I feel like crying sometimes, crying in the middle of this forest where not even Little Red Riding Hood has been. Oh well, it'll pass.
