Instead of a Christmas tree, I've arranged a tall candle, a budding amaryllis, and a scraggly bloomless geranium atop a wooden stool, with the Christmas gifts my family sent arranged around it. Quite festive, actually.
It's supposed to hit 50 degrees today in Seattle, and the sun is out. Now that I'm working, this week is vacation time, and feels like it. I've treated myself in the last couple of days to singles' favorite DVDs, An Unmarried Woman and Up in the Air.
A friend said yesterday, "Let's bike over to West Seattle." So we did, and we stopped for a light, long lunch at Cactus, a wonderful Mexican restaurant that's beautiful, has delicious food, and when you go there the first time, delivers a complimentary creme caramel to share for dessert.
My friend is another Christmas "orphan," and has decided to go to midnight mass with me tonight. I'll be dancing first, at a CD dance at my local Sonny Newman's Dance Hall.
Christmas morning, I'll sit on the floor by my Christmas stool and open my presents while I listen to my Messiah tapes and eat my festive waffles breakfast, with toasted pecans and nectarines from my freezer stash.
Another friend and I, both lovers of cooking and good food, are collaborating on dinner tomorrow. We're cooking over there, with the wood-burning fireplace and two cats.
Not what I think of as my traditional Christmas, but still, all the essentials are in place: friends, food, presents, and Jesus. I'm smiling.