Is it just me?

A bit of a moan . . . 

I am trying hard to embrace Christmas but I suspect I'm not really succeeding.  It's a time of year I always have difficulty with and that seems to get worse as I get older.  There's such a frenzy of pointless consumerism and 'must have' surrounding the whole season, an obligation and expectation on everyone to enjoy it all.  I think I must just be a real humbug, because I struggle with it.  I want to enjoy it, have fun like I'm supposed to but ...

I suspect much of my problem stems from a fragmented family.  I seem to be in the position of trying to please everyone, trying to do the right thing by everyone, worrying myself silly over what other people think, and of course the end result is that I'm the one that's left with that rather disappointed feeling.  There is a temptation, which has been voiced several times this week, that it would be quite nice to simply disappear over Christmas and come back when it's all over!  Not really a viable option, I guess, but still fun to contemplate.

I know the feeling will pass.  I give thanks that we are in a position to buy food and presents for one another as I am only too well aware that many do not have that option, but it's the waste that I think gets to me more than anything.  We are so fortunate that there really is very little we need and not a great deal we want; our small list includes sandpaper for N and a large reel of sewing thread for myself - items which may seem mundane and boring to many but which will be very gratefully received and be used by us.  Our voluntary work at the donation centre has really brought home to us the 'throw-away society' that we live in now; so much unwanted stuff, hardly, if ever, used.   N and I will both be scouring the charity shops for books and puzzles which will be read, completed and probably returned for someone else to enjoy again.

Anyway, enough of the wingeing.  I'm having fun making bunting and Christmas stockings.  We've found that our decorations were fine at a two-bedroomed flat but look a little thin on the ground in a much larger bungalow.  Any excuse to sew, I say.  There's an assortment of cards and wrapping paper strewn around (the cards should have gone in the post by now but it happens every year) and there are scrawled lists on scraps of paper, presumably to remind us to do something terribly important on the appropriate day.  It will all come right on the day, these things always do, and perhaps this indecision and uncertainty is all part of the build-up.  We will have food to eat, a few gifts to unwrap, and a warm house to cosy up in.   Many people would happily trade places.