There is a sudden flurry as though the world (at least my world) were poked by a holiday elf. I need more money, better wine and food, and attendance at stores. It happens every year and every year I summon up resistance.

Bad things have always happened around the holidays for me. When I was little it was my mother and father fighting, separating, or just being in the same spot in stony silence. Then I grew up and the holidays did not change.

When I was younger I tried to see deeper into the faith aspect. That never worked for me. Now I just embrace giving to charities and family because that is something I like to do insofar as I am able.

I have no grandchildren to show me the bright eyes of childhood. I have only these very old eyes.

If every day could be a holiday, then the world would be a better place. Since it can’t, I will say peace on earth is a goal, not
a theme park.


About christineemmert

Words have been part of my life. First the spoken word in my time as an actress and increasingly the written word in my shift to writer. I write across the genres, but mostly as a playwright and poet. My interest as my life extends is in the realm of tethering myth to the mundane reality where I live. In this vein I have expanded into stories and novels. Presently I look at how myths taken from past cultures can affect us today. Hence my novella of Lilith which is out on Kindle . I live in the Eastern Woodlands where I try to incorporate nature into my many writing projects. We are so in danger of losing that link to our very planet!
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s