The Boy Who Love Forget has suddenly found himself remembered, and now my heart beats faster again for reasons other than running.
The Sweet Irish Girl has turned my life upside down in a wonderful way, but she’s currently in Switzerland, so I’ve still been in my usual Christmas funk. Even the power of love, which Huey Lewis taught us is a curious thing, hasn’t been strong enough to chase away my inner Scrooge.
It’s not that I dislike Christmas, but I’ve been alone on Christmas for the last gazillion or so years since my divorce, so its Magic has slowly faded until it finally vanished.
I’ve put up walls, not decked in boughs of holly, to prevent myself from getting too depressed on Christmas Day. This means no Christmas Tree, no Christmas decorations, and pretty much no Christmas Spirit at The House on the Hill.
I touched upon this in last night’s Think Tank post and, apparently, my words resonated with the person who has taken it upon herself to watch over my heart. Somehow, my Bah Humbug managed to scale the Swiss Alps and land in a certain chalet six time zones away.
He came bearing gifts, but was neither a Magi, nor a Jedi.
He was a delivery guy from the local florist, and he had something special for me.
As my Sweetheart giggled over the phone, I brought my present into The House on the Hill as my eyes teared up a little.
She informed me there was no way she was going to allow me to not have a Christmas Tree in The House on the Hill this year, so if I wasn’t going to drag up the artificial one from the basement bunker, she was going to have one delivered.
True to her word, she moved mountains, well, Swiss Alps to be precise, while on another continent and had Christmas sent to my front door.
It’s been a long time, Modern Philosophers, since anyone has done something like this for me, so I was quite moved.
I’d forgotten what it was like to be loved, and I was staggered by what this adorable little tree represented.
No, my heart didn’t grow three sizes this day, but it did open up just enough to let a pinch of the Christmas Spirit sneak inside.
Once we were off the phone, I hustled upstairs to the storage room.
So while it might not look like much to you, comparatively speaking, it’s as if The North Pole has been painstakingly reassembled inside The House on the Hill.
All because someone loves me again.
It’s not like I’m going to rush out and make The House on the Hill look like the Griswold House in Christmas Vacation…
…but I will invite the Christmas Spirit to come inside for some hot cocoa, on occasion, so it doesn’t get frostbite out on the front porch.
Of course, the embracing of the Christmas Spirit didn’t stop with putting out a few Christmas decorations, Modern Philosophers.
I did something extremely out of character for me later in the day, but that is a blog post for tomorrow. I’ll give you a clue, though…
As for you, Modern Philosophers, I hope you are all enjoying the Holiday Season, and should any of you want to send some Christmas Joy to The House on the Hill, the mailman knows how to find me even if you don’t know my actual address…