The Season of Making People Happy

I would make a terrible demoness.  Here it is, nearly Christmas,* and I haven’t managed to tease out what the members of my family want other than in bare dribs and drabs.

Is it being raised Midwestern that has made Lee and I this way?  “Oh, whatever”? And have we passed this horrible curse of wanting something, but refusing to talk about what is wanted, to Ray?  Or does she honestly not care?  I swear I have the most good-natured daughter, she might not. Or she thinks saying nothing gets her a better stash.  I had to give her homework:  she has to tell me ten things that she wants for Christmas, so I can put them up on her wish list, so people who want to get her presents have some idea of what she’d like.  She went through the ThinkGeek catalog and circled some things for me, so I suppose that counts.

Everyone wants to make someone else happy:  we have a hard time giving each other the gift of being able to be made happy.

Maybe that’s it.  If you get raised thinking that a gift isn’t a gift but an obligation, a symbol of the ties that bind, or whatever, then it’s hard to see that saying “thank you” is a gift, too.

Well.  I shall endeavor to be delightable this month.  I always forget what an effort it can be, until the season is upon us, to remember how to play both the Santa and the wee child on Christmas morning.  If I’m good, maybe people will come over to my house for Christmas day and let me cook for them, though.  I’m already scoping out recipes.  To ham or not to ham, that is the question.**

*Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but it is December.
**Ray said she didn’t like ham the other day!  Can you believe it?  But she still likes prosciutto and peaches, so I can live with that.

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