Grieving For Lost Myths

For the second day in a row it doesn't look like I'm going to answer comments. I don't plan on making a habit of this but I'm running late tonight, mostly because I took a nap this afternoon which is something I hardly ever do. 
I took a nap because I felt tired. I think the fall caught up with me a bit today and I have developed what I am diagnosing with the help of Dr. Google as an intercostal muscle strain or a between-the ribs muscle strain. The pain I'm having ticks all the boxes. I was feeling a little discomfort in that area up until this afternoon when I was scrubbing a sink and make a fairly quick twisting move and... KA-BLAM.
Ouch. 
I'm being a baby. 
I'll tell you this- it's nothing like a broken rib. And my wrist feels much better, although still somewhat delicate. 
There is no powerlifting in my immediate future.

See that pretty little tree in the photo up there? That is a limequat. Jessie and Vergil got it for us for Christmas and Vergil even came over and planted it for us so you know it's done right. It is a cross between a key lime and a kumquat which are two of my favorite citrus fruits. The peel, which is quite thin, is supposed to be very sweet, the inside part, tasting more like a lime. We have been wanting to plant citrus in the backyard where the Bradford pears were removed and this is Jessie's and Vergil's way of urging us to do it. Their yard in town is filled with citrus trees and it's amazing how much fruit they produce. And of course, having Vergil come out with all of the different things needed to ensure a good start for the tree is a wonderful gift to us.
Vergil also planted the little olive tree Jessie got me a few months ago. I am VERY excited about that too.

In Christmas prep news, I peeled the eggs I boiled yesterday but I haven't deviled them yet. Is that what you'd call it? Perhaps "bedevil," like "bedazzle."  
Who knows? 

And I made the chicken salad. Here is this year's version. It probably looks just like every year's version except for the years Jessie has decorated it.

I even made a small version for the Weatherfords as I am almost certain they won't be able to be part of the festivities at Lily's house tomorrow. 

August may be on the mend but still had a fever, at least this morning, Levon now has it full-force, and Jessie appears to be coming down with it. Either they'll do a drive-by to Lily's tomorrow or else we'll be dropping off presents and that little bowl of Moon Christmas Tradition at their house. 

This makes me so sad. 
I just sent a text to Jessie asking how everyone was and she said the boys still have fevers despite alternating Tylenol and Ibuprofen but the good news is that they're happy and still excited about Christmas. They are generally positive little guys. She's not running a fever yet but feels achy and loopy. 
Ooh boy.

There is part of me that wishes with all my heart that I could still feel some of that Christmas Eve magic which children can conjure so easily and which I even felt when my own children were little. I was actually deeply invested in the Nativity story when I was a child, loving the simple romance of a baby being born in a barn who would become...well, JESUS! It was a rather simple and pure love I had, based on too many Christmas shows and Christmas sermons and even the traditional Christmas plays our church put on. One year I sang, one year I was Mary. Of course. Even at a young age, I was in love with the English language and I will never forget the thrill I felt when I heard the lines from Luke 2:19 which were, "And Mary kept these things and pondered them in her heart."
I'm not sure why but the word ponder was beautiful to me. I still use it a lot. I think it is an excellent word, saying more than its worth in its  

number of letters. 

But then I grew up and I read the Bible and I realized how much of it was myth and made-up stories and then I had babies of my own and the sweet image I'd had of Mary being pregnant one moment, and then the next, having a child laying in the manger, dressed in swaddling clothes, surrounded by the shepherds and magi and oxen and sheep, was completely destroyed. 
And by the way- barns don't smell like sweet hay if animals live in them. They smell quite literally like shit. 
But of course that's all the least of it and even if I knew none of it was true, I could still feel the deep pulling of my heart yearning to feel that way again. 
Over the years, even that passed. I can still remember what it felt like when I was a child, and that feeling is sweet but I can also remember what it felt like to believe in Santa and that feeling is ooh-type excitement which is also very cool. I mean, Jesus was adorable but Santa brought presents. 

Ah, lah. What am I talking about? Who knows? Not me. What I do know is that none of the Christmas lights or the Christmas songs or the Christmas shopping or the Christmas yard displays hold much interest for me. I can definitely see the beauty in certain light displays, especially the ones in cities, but mainly, my cynical heart just wonders how much energy these things are sucking and also- who has to put all this stuff up and who's paying for that? And worst of all- who has to take all that stuff down? Just taking down a Christmas tree was always a monumental task to me. 

Since I started writing this I've taken time to go get our supper started. I have a tiny meatloaf in the toaster oven, a pan with potatoes boiling which shall be mashed potatoes, and another with some of our canned green beans with onions. 
I discovered today that my husband is making me an outdoor sink to put by the garden so I can wash vegetables there which is something I have wanted for many years. 
Vergil planted us a limequat. 
Tomorrow I will see all of my children and grandchildren and children's partners, even if I will only be able to see the Weatherfords from a distance. 
My silly little Norfolk Island pine does offer a bit of cheer along with the vintage Santa lights. 

And all of that is good enough for me. No magic involved except for the magic of good luck, of the capacity to love, of health, and of the planting of a new tree which is now being shone down on by a silver crescent of a sharp-pointed moon. I will keep these things and I will ponder them in my heart. 
And also? I will wish that every baby born, no matter where or to whom, is loved and adored, if not by angels and magi and shepherds but by parents and grandparents and all of those who have waited long months to greet them. And I also know that every birth is a miracle because a woman has created life with her body, sharing blood and air and space and then, with tremendous effort, has delivered a child to this earth, to this place and time. No need for virgin birth to be involved.

Happy Whatever This Night Means To You...Ms. Moon