We entered the new year in a tent, in the Colorado wilderness, in below freezing temperatures. Although cold, that wasn’t what kept us awake much of the night. Apparently our toddler had the idea that New Year’s Eve should be an all-night party. In between cat naps, we had conversations about the off-road adventure in the truck, the coyotes we heard yipping close to camp, the fire wood we collected and chopped, and our dog who would eventually join us in the tent because she really was cold. I kept my humor throughout.
Tears were streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. The kids too were rolling in their seats. The expressions we saw on faces we passed on the highway that day were priceless. Our tree, tied to the top of our car, could have been featured in Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. Even I wondered if the permit attached to its trunk was necessary.
I stopped by the thrift store on Sunday. I counted four aisles chock-full of holiday decorations and more displays of ornaments, Christmas books and holiday attire dispersed throughout the store. The scene told a story of over consumption, discontent, poor quality and lost meaning.