Post 3: Holidays

Hello void,

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want in life lately (which of course, is the purpose of this blog and the sand in my oyster).  The last few days particularly I’ve been thinking about the holidays, past and future.  This is our first Christmas as a married couple, in our own apartment.  We have a tree, and a brand new Sufjan Stevens Christmas album; at work I’ve been listening to Christmas music since the day after Halloween; and yet this year I’m just not feeling the “Christmas Spirit.” It’s about the passage of time; no other date combines such identical elements every year; next to the tree, the music, the gifts, the tiny nativity set, it’s easy to see the changes in your own face and in your family.

One thing that I’ve recently discovered is that I really care about holiday traditions.  Not just Christmas, I mean ALL holidays; New Years, Easter, Halloween. I crave that childish fun, I want to light fireworks and hide candy and dress up.  In the fall, I want to go to corn mazes and apple orchards, and carve pumpkins, and I’m disappointed each year when I fail to make these things a priority. 

So we live and we learn.  This year, to bring more fun to my life, I’m going to be the planner.  In the past, I’ve always just tagged along, because I haven’t known where to begin with such things, partially because I’ve had no experience to draw on, which of course just extends the cycle.  Other people may not take these things as seriously as I do (a friend recently told me I was the most nostalgic person she knew, if that’s any indication of what we’re dealing with.) so instead of thinking “that would be fun”, I’m going to try thinking “that Will be fun, and when’s my next day off?”

I’m a sentimental person; it’s not a crime, so let’s watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” on repeat and make some cookies.  Also, this.

And to leave you, here’s a poem. 

Poppies in October

Sylvia Plath

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.

Nor the woman in the ambulance

Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ----

A gift, a love gift

Utterly unasked for

By a sky

Palely and flamily

Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes

Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I

That these late mouths should cry open

In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/sylviaplath/1422