port-o-jon ponderings

The tree is shiny, reflecting the rainbow of rotating light. The stockings are slightly swaying over the gas logs which flicker two eerie horns of nearly invisible flame. The multiple advent calendars, caught in the rumpled bed clothes of 2007, have yet to move past an infamous day. The holiday bulls-eyes are up on the doors. The poinsettias are thriving- I thought they would be dead by now. The Christmas music tries cheerfully to push out any thoughts of doubt and fear, whispering between lyrics, "No despair as we look towards a new year." The trash cans are full of Puffs Plus. The mugs are warm with hot cocoa or tea. The star lights glow in the plastic garlands on the mantel and the blessed stair railing on the second floor which keeps the youngsters from quick, painful trips down to the first floor.
The house is cozy except when there is a breeze outside. When it rains we have a river in the basement and a beautiful fountain which trickles from above the dining room picture window - soft tears that play a delicate melancholy rhythm on the sill. There are dust bunnies of flokati and cotton balls from nativity craft lambs- small shearlings scattered on the floor, blowing like fluffy-white tumble weeds, leading us to the small Christ child hiding in the corner. We wait for Jesus to come this year as every year, but somehow it is different. Somewhere something got lost or perhaps found. Is it because I believe it? Is it because I only want to believe? Do I wait only to celebrate his birth? Am I no longer impatient for his speedy return? Eager to raise my glass at his table? That cup for which he has been waiting so long to drink? Do I even believe in that table? Do I long too much to stay in this world, with my tv, wii, and children? Many days I wish to run away, but where would I go?

Perhaps, I could hide in the outhouse until the season passes and there are no reminders left of all my questions until everyone starts pulling out their bunnies and eggs.