The Perks of Playing Bingo
By the time you read this, it will be shockingly close to Christmas. I hope some things have come to fruition by then. I hope I’m finished Christmas shopping. I hope I’ve figured out a solid porch decoration plan. Lord knows the things I envisioned haven’t developed accordingly. I hope the new kitten has allowed the main Christmas tree to remain in an upright position. Phoebe is, clearly, part owl, choosing to roost among the plastic- coated branches. I hope the world has slowed its spin just a touch. This time of year tends to be a holiday version of that dreaded 70s metal merry-go-round, the one that made us all puke if we closed our eyes while some older kid did the spinning. I hope I will have taken some time to do the things that keep me sane: watch The Family Stone while snuggling with an entire box of tissue, make chocolate candy but not eat any, and surrender myself into a chapter of Luke each day. These things are good for my soul, like chicken soup for a small-town granny’s heart. If today is any predictor, I am on the right track.