Hail to the Thief

It's finally starting to look like the holidays around here. Tonight, Kristen and I put up my little Christmas tree and played Christmas with the Rat Pack while hanging up little Santa and snowmen ornaments. My scarves are dangling off the hook, sweaters stock the closet, and I'm seriously considering hanging a Santa hat over my Frank Sinatra poster.

My Thanksgiving holiday was a little quiet, but enjoyable. My favorite night was my last night, where my aunt held a festive party at her house. Family members and friends alike flocked to indulge in food, wine, and good conversation. I forgot how much I missed Cajun food until that night. Crab, balls of shrimp, balls of crab, shrimp fetuccine, brisket, gumbo, jambalaya, mini muffalatas...it was a feast. And I got to keep track of her puppy, Winston, making sure he wasn't underfoot.

I wish there was a type of thief who liked to steal problems. Or sadness. Or anger. Or dejection. It seems like the holidays are a prime time for burglars to break in and take things. Diamond earrings, great-great-somebody's precious pewter silverware, flat-screen televisions, even the presents wrapped delicately underneath the tree. It's kind of scary to think that there are hundreds, thousands of the Grinch's little helpers scurrying around dark houses, taking what doesn't belong to them. And it makes me wonder why I can't just...solidify all the things that weigh down my mind at night, or burden my heart, and leave them in plain sight, all but begging those petty thieves to whisk them away and out of my life. Wrap up the despair in pretty ribbons to make it look attractive to someone who only wants the best. Disguise the worry as something of value and filter it sneakily between a laptop's keys. And then maybe, with those things gone, I could pick up that sagging bundle of hope riding on my heels and inject it until it's succulent and able to float alongside me like a balloon.

One man's junk is another man's treasure. If only the things that riddle us as humans were considered cherishable to others, I think we would all breathe a little easier.

My favorite holiday song right now is Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. This line gets me every time: "From now on, our troubles will be miles away." If only it was that easy. During Christmas though, it seems like, at least for awhile, they really are miles away.