Christmas Luncheon

My emotional homestead is preparing to wine and dine a few folks of import. I've invited Heidi Fleiss, Martha Stewart and Anne Truitt (well known minimalist though I had to Google her) to not only sup with me but take up residence as we slide into the Holiday Season. I say Holiday cause I am for sure a pagan at heart though December is tricked out Christian style.

Anyhow, I am busting my butt on all levels of me being trying to  figure out where to put the Christmas tree. And here is the thing. I am overwhelmed by my ex girlfriend's stuff. She is still in residence living more or less chastely down the hall as we figure out if "Friends with Benefits" actually is a viable option.  ANYHOW again. I can't stand all the stuff.  We have way too many couches, she came with two and a love seat, plus there is the stuff I bought with the house. And I, in my secret Pagan heart, am a minimalist. (I've capitalized and not capitalized pagan because it drives people crazy to respect or not respect the word Pagan as an official religion- but I digress again.)  And there are too many boxes. Boxes and boxes of stuff in my basement, in my back closet. Plus the clothes. How can one woman have so many clothes? If I take up more than two feet of hanging space I start to panic. More shoes than can fit on my three tiered rack? Palpitations and time for a Valium. Seriously. I want all my stuff to be only things I love and use, seasonal things need to be in clear plastic tubs neatly labeled by my Dymo LetraTag.

I have lived with two women and a man, all serially of course. Not quite that masochistic. I am amazed at how much stuff people have. I am constantly paring down, and though I have a lot in my estimation I don't think it's excessive for a mother of two.  Yet Christmas is a time of excess, decking the halls and all that. Hence my Martha Stewart is fighting fiercely for her decorating rights, while Anne Truitt is yelling, "Off with her head!" and Heidi keeps telling me it's OK to just get me some down the hall, which further entrenches all the stuff in my house. Every kiss, every touch is another box cementing itself to my basement floor, another couch stacked with throw blankets.

Running through all this is more Christmas nostalgia. I want to be with someone. My whole life was geared to home making, partnering and being with people, especially family. What I am now is so far from where I started I am unrecognizable to myself.  I can't handle it. I've always wanted to write or say that, but in fact I can handle it. Just as soon as I find my big girl panties. Think I left them on the couch, under a cushion, you know, from when I was last calculating my cost benefit ratios.