I woke up one day and I was hand in hand with a handsome man, tall with jet black hair, masculine features, broad shoulders, well dressed, confident and exciting to be with. As we walked hand in hand on the cobblestone road, weaving between magnificent architecture puzzled together like a maze leading us on our adventure, the sun shined down brightly upon us as we pondered where we should eat our next meal. Which cafe or bistro shall we choose? Would I like to sit here, outside in the cool breeze, beneath a red umbrella, resting my feet as the waiter sets exquisitely plated, savory, foreign foods from this land which we are discovering bite by bite.
Today, this memory is captured in my mind, floating around as I sit in my comfy living room, wearing my favorite pajama pants beside the tree which is peering down at me. The holiday is over and you simply cannot walk through the house. I need to begin the cleanup, however I have decided to indulge in the memories of days gone by. I don’t want to face the countless number of boxes, as one would imagine with four “nice” children and a generous grandmother, and after that task, my bed is covered with clean laundry, knotted together, just aching to be folded and sorted into the appropriate drawers. I am aware that my overwhelming feelings don’t just stem from the monstrous mess scattered throughout the house or the heaping mountain of laundry, but from the lack of distraction my focus will have as of tomorrow. No more joyous gift giving and secret planning for loved ones. The morning was filled with so much genuine magic and Christmas spirit that it had brought a tear to three adults eyes. However, now I am back to reality. Back to the bills in which I have no idea how I will pay and more problematic situations in which I have no clue how to improve or change.
Sigh. . . but for tonight and for right now, I’m hand in hand, with that man, in a land far away eating wonderful food on the street, with a new dress resting in a bag beside me. The mess and the problems will just have to wait . . .