Dear Friends,

Are we there yet? I mean New Years. Someone please let me out of 2016! I missed Christmas by two days and am anxious to start fresh. If I leave now, maybe I’ll make it for 2017. Wonder if anyone noticed. My Christmas cards are finally stamped. I stayed out all night Sunday to beat the Monday morning rush. I was the first one in. Didn’t get a chocolate bar or anything. I did get a sucker stuck to the back of my jeans from the little girl standing behind me.

I wanted to write an annual Christmas letter to tell all my family and friends about the wonderful year we’d had but they were all there. Besides, I’ve never written such and wondered were all the exciting fun filled days come from when I read those letters from other more electrifying people I’ve never met – or worse have forgotten. Love the pictures. “Who’s that?” my husband and I say in unison. “Looks like they had a great time skiing, camping, visiting exotic places, and the cruise – oh my.” Why do people take pictures of the beach they visited over the summer and use them as Christmas photos? We stayed home. Maybe I’ll take a picture of me and the hubby walking barefoot in our backyard dodging “doggie doo-doos”.

And all the children of the beautiful people on the beach graduated Cum. Laude, were elected to the highest positions at work, and made athlete of the year, or solved world hunger. Our kids? One is threatening to move back home. One a professional student. Two graduated Magna Cum-Bah-Ya, and the other became a lawyer. Now there’s some family accomplishments to be honest about.

Let’s get real. I had a rather mundane year. I gained my usual weight, my husband lost more hair, and the dog died of old age. I have planted a sickly looking vine in the fish tank, forgot more clothes at the cleaners then I have in my closet, and put a tiny bite of warm olive oil in my husband’s left ear to help with his ear ache that sent him to the emergency room in pain. Now that’s excitement. “What?” my husband says, leaning closer to hear me mumble.

Shopping isn’t fun any more since my husband can now get on line and check his credit card balance twenty-four seven. I can hear him bellow as soon as the door shuts behind me and I’ve no one to blame it on. Someone stole it? Again?

“How much more do you have to get,” he says in October. I’ve just started to pick up a few things. “I have to get five of everything,” I answer. “It takes a lot of for-thought. The children are tired of getting AT&T pens that I’ve had for twelve years with matching note pads. The little ones aren’t little any more. Besides, they all are so different. This is really hard work,” I finish as I put the one bag in my bedroom closet.

“That’s all you bought?” I don’t even answer. Silly boy, the rest of the stuff is in the trunk.

By November, I can blame all the purchases on birthdays. There are lots of birthdays in this month and I can pick up a few much-needed things for myself. New shoes, a comfy throw for the couch, a manicure and pedicure – things like that. I did splurge on a new crossword magazine and I can’t seem to put it down.

“Why did you buy another computer?” he asks. “We already have two.” I’ve tried to bring my husband into the current century but I fear it’s useless. So I explain that the really old one is my favorite and sentimental. The new one is so out of date. “Out of date? It’s a year old! Email is email, I can play games on this one just fine.” Men! I’ll never understand them.

Another “why” came when I had the new television delivered. “Why didn’t you get the big one?” Because I don’t watch TV, I wanted to say but choose, instead to mention the practical side. “Since the Sears man laughed when we had him come out and see if he could fix our console….” Need I say more?

“We don’t need a thing,” my husband says as I drag in another shopping bag or two, kicking a third through the door. “Do you want to know how much you’ve already spent?”

Of course not! “Huh?” I reply with that same dumb expression he gives me when I ask him to vacuum.

“Never mind,” he sighs, pulling at the last four hairs on the top of his head.

If I wrote a letter, I would not have enough space to put everything down that happened in the eleven preceding months. The new aches and pains, the new eyeglass prescription, the new bunions to name a few. Too many new and exciting recipies with bran. Don’t even get me started on the grandkids. First words, first steps, first pooh-pooh. The trials and mistrials of their parents. So little space and so much to report. I am not a “man of few words.” Ask my husband, his eyes glazed over as I try to tell him about my day. The new television is blaring in the background. I think it best to keep my treasures to myself and wait until next year to send out my exciting yearly wrap up. While I’m at it I think I’ll wait till next year to send the Christmas cards I haven’t mailed either. Ho, Ho, Ho.

Written by Judy Lee  Copyright ©2016 Judy Lee