"I Need a Miracle...Everyday!"

The winter solstice is upon us, promising longer days and the welcoming rebirth that is spring in the not too distant future. Even though the presents, all still wrapped, and the champagne bottles, bubbling with the anticipation of midnight and shouts of jubilation, still hold their corks firmly in place, I can't help but wishing to myself, again and again, that it was April already. April is when the first festival of the year takes place and where my mind, body and soul finally wakes up and shakes this miserable, dreary, going nowhere feeling from my aching bones. I once again have something to look forward to, and right now in my life, that, is a precious commodity. Every time I see that old rusty metal fire ring sitting in my yard, slightly off-kilter and covered in early morning frost, I swear that if I get close enough to it I can feel the warmth of the campfire that will soon occupy its hollow cavity and the warmth of my fellow hippie brethren and the stories and laughs that we will share surrounded by the light of the fire's glow.

Christmas baking was done this year, as most every year, with the sounds of the Grateful Dead playing in the background. Some people might opt for Bing or Burl or even Elvis for this holiday tradition, but I'll take Jerry and Bob over Rudolph and Frosty every time. As "Shakedown Street" gets my feet a'movin, I'm transported to a place of hula hoops, lawn chairs and beautiful, flailing tie-dye. I spot a woman dancing and am transfixed. She is gorgeous. Tall, slim and all of maybe twenty six years old. She kicks up small clouds of dust as her bare feet thump out a rhythm that has consumed her. Her elegantly long arms trace invisible patterns around her and her wild brown hair caresses her bare, bronze shoulders with every gyration. I am drawn to her because I want nothing more in this world than to be her. To scatter my inhibitions to the wind and just be...be...well, just be. The grace she possesses is not masking insecurities or self-consciousness. She is perfect in her moment of spinning bliss and she pays no mind to anyone or anything around her. She is being.

I don't know if this is going to be my last year on earth. If those wacky Mayans were right we might all be doomed 364 days from now. Frankly, I'm sick of worrying about it every time I turn on the History channel. I need a festival to take my mind off of inevitable calamity and sorrow. I need late night music and early morning frisbee. I need glow sticks and dread locks. I need tent neighbors and festy friends. And most of all I need that campfire. You don't think about things like bills, schedules, or impending doom when your knees and face are toasty warm. You think about the faces looking back at you from across the flickering circle of light and the way the stars seem to dance in the sky from on top of a mountain. You worry, not about debt or despair, but whether or not you'll have enough beer to last till Sunday or if those people you met and had a good time with last year will show up this year and find you among the masses. It's a different reality, a better reality where peace and love and brotherhood abound. For four, miraculous days you are reborn and hopes and dreams creep back into your weary soul.

While everyone else is watching Ralphie shoot his eye out or standing in line with the rest of the last-minute zombies, I will be dusting off the hackey sack and making tie-dyes. With visions of fire dancers twirling in my head I am assured by the fact that New Years means more than that twelve o'clock kiss and a new beginning, it also means there are only four more months 'til April. It can't get here fast enough. Merry Christmas and Happy Hooping!

Bah.......

I resent the christmas tree. I resent the way the very smell of the thing can transport me back to a time when my world was small and my family close and my biggest fear was if I'd get the New Kids on the Block poster like my best friend Kris had on her wall. It's stupid twinkling lights beckoning memories of me my sisters on christmas eve opening the pajamas we were allowed to open every Christmas Eve and even though we knew they were pajamas we were excited none the less because that very act was only the opening ceremony to the magicl festivities that continued with us laying in our beds until the anticipation of it all exhausted us and with one ear cocked to the ceiling in case the sound of hooves was just loud enough to rouse us we drifted off to sleep. Our presents were never "extravagant" but our parents did all they could to make sure we were never dissappointed. A feat, which I have come to learn in my later years, is not always as easy as I once thought. All that tree represents to me now is worry, and sorrow and empty wishes. I worry about money or my lack there of. Babies grow, and the barbies and polly pockets are replaced with Ipads and smartphones. Unfortunately, full-time jobs are also replaced with part-time paychecks. I fear the onslaught of Christmas dinner. Making nice with replacements who just don't quite seem to fit in our family the way the originals did. Awkward conversation where laughter and love once resided. Empty seats that once were warmed by loved ones now gone. What happened to those feelings? It didn't happen all at once. Every year of gaining burden and less prosperity moved ever closer until one day there was no excitement at all. Now it's just a tree. A horrendous , messy thing of amusement for my cat. The dog drinks the water out of it faster than I can put it in and there are no presents under it to deter his slobbery slurping. Yet at night, as I'm preparing to head off to bed and the last thing I turn off is the tree lights, their warm glow seems to soften the shadows in my home as well as my heart and I have a sense of those old feelings somewhere deep inside. They don't bubble to the top but just knowing they still live inside of me is enough. It's enough to let me know that one day my daughter will never have to feel the way I do about Christmas right now...and maybe neither will I.