The Not So Merry Widow

I’m not feeling so jolly this very minute. Even though the workshop downstairs is finally quiet and I have a lovely fire going, reading through all these holiday cards lying on my desk isn’t cheering me up one bit. My late husband always ran around being the do-gooder, (and maintaining his playful image), while I managed so much of his behind-the-scenes busywork. But even with him gone, so much remains the same.

Here I am, trying to take advantage of a window for change, tired of figuring out what gifts to get for our children and our grandchildren who already have everything they can possibly need. But the little ones still want more Pokémon cards to add to their overflowing collections. Really? I’m exhausted from shopping, wrapping, standing in line at the freezing cold post office to mail gifts, waiting to have the annual holiday offerings acknowledged and, finally, watching the bills roll in. (Last year I decked our own halls with Visa receipts.) Next year I’m totally shifting to cash gifts. It seems so impersonal, yet I know them all so well; they’ll grin big when they open those envelopes.

Speaking of envelopes, here’s one of my grandson's cute Snoopy Christmas cards. This little puppy always makes me smile, he’s so exuberant, so full of energy, but I wonder why the artist never draws any reindeer. Maybe he’s only good at dogs and kids. Anyway, this so-called season of cheer and giving is beginning to feel more and more like an unwelcome bill that comes due every year.

I’m also tired of being on the receiving end of gifts I can’t use and don’t want. Such a waste of their time and money! One of my three children and his partner buy me some variation of the same sweater every single year. It’s never the right size. No thought involved. But I send them a thank-you text with a smile emoji. Then I put the sweater in the donation bag I keep in my closet. Every single year. Another child ignores inflation and sends me the same dollar-value Amazon card, and that’s fine. I can always use another something to read on my Kindle. My youngest simply gathers his tribe and Zooms me to say happy holidays. I guess they’re too busy to shop.

I hope you don’t think I’m a complainer. Let me show you my brighter side: I love to cook for my family, especially at this time of year, and I just want to be with them. Hint: How about coming here to my house for holiday dinner? Response: Oh Mom, we love to take you out. Real reason: nobody wants to do dishes, they all want to watch the games on television on their schedules, and they can’t see the TV from my dining room. Okay, I can rearrange the furniture, but there’s still the dishes issue.

Getting my drift yet? They don’t. Even though I try to give the most explicit hints on what they can bestow on me, my people are either too dense or not listening to me. I don’t need any more clothes or stuff. I just want a few simple favors that will make me feel cared for again. Ah, here’s something from my nephew: one of those ho-ho-ho cards that talk when I open it. It sounds pretty genuine, almost like a clone of Santa’s voice. I flip it over and see… $9.95! for a greeting card!

How about some gift cards instead, for things I enjoy? Hint: My friend Alice received a gift certificate for the new spa that opened downtown. Her daughter gave it to her. And I love to shop at different food markets once in a while. Hint: Whole Foods has such great prepared meals for single people like me. My neighbor got a gift certificate from her son, bought a bunch of those single-serve dinners, and brought one over. She’s so kind. And in keeping with that sentiment: here’s a religious card from that neighbor; my family sure did change the meaning of this holiday for a lot of folks, didn’t we!

For smart people, I wonder why so much of what I say to my family flies over their heads. I might as well be warming snowballs on the stove to make iced tea.

Excuse me for just a moment. Another blasted phone call. Do they never stop? No caller ID. But it doesn’t say SPAM either. I might as well answer and get it over with.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Claus?”

“Yes, speaking….”

“This is Judy Woodruff from Public Television. All of us here were so sorry to hear of your loss, and I was wondering if you had some time for an interview about the good long life you shared with Santa.”

*END*

Patricia Ann Bowen