spynotes ::
  December 04, 2006
The gift that lasts a lifetime

I can feel that late-in-the-day heaviness, the kind that always precedes a cold or other attack of wheeziness, setting in. But in all, it was a better day than expected. I made my first cross country ski run this morning when the temperature had yet to creep into double digits and the whole world was glittering in the morning sun. I was accompanied only by a few chilly looking birds scavenging the last stalks from the frozen prairie. I came home with beet red cheeks, looking like a consumption victim. AJ and his dad were building a snow fort in the yard, hidden behind the hockey net.

The rest of the day was spent in less bucolic but more productive pursuits. School for AJ. Haircut and some Christmas shopping preliminaries for me followed by the neverending pile of papers to grade. It�s currently a quarter to eight and I�m trying to figure out how much longer I have to try to work before I can go to bed. Tomorrow is my last mandated early morning commute. I may, in fact, choose to get up that early on Thursday when I go to turn in my grades so that I can do some Christmas shopping downtown. But that will be my own damn fault.

Tomorrow I give a final and clean out my office, not that there�s much to clean out. I will grade like a fiend for the next three days � less, if I�m lucky or efficient � and then I can concentrate on other things. Like what I�m going to wear to the swanky party I will attend on Saturday. I�m not feeling very swank at the moment, being attired in a too-large cashmere pullover, too large jeans and fuzzy slippers. Even my brand-new haircut is looking limp. Sigh.

I�ve been attending this party every Christmas for about a decade and achieving glamour gets harder with each passing year. Each year there are more crevices around the eyes to disguise. Each year I am less willing to put on uncomfortable shoes.

Most of the people at the party are people I see only at the party. Except for those who are among my closest friends, who will also be there. But even the strangers start to feel like friends when you see them enough years in a row. We all look forward to it. My friends J & J started throwing their annual party when they first got married (or possibly the year before. The details are lost in the dusty crevices of my brain). As the years have gone on, more of us have acquired spouses or partners. Some of us have acquired children. A former boyfriend comes every year and each year makes me wonder all over again how we ever could have dated (answer: I was so on the rebound). This year, thanks to the wonders of evite, I see he�s bringing a date and I must admit, I am dying of curiosity. Each year I look forward to a conversation with J�s childhood friend who is funeral director, smart as hell and can pretty much guarantee you that the conversation will not turn out at all like you expected. I also look forward to talking to J�s mom, who is utterly charming and wouldn�t dream of missing the party.

AJ is already putting the screws to our guilt. We haven�t gone out much lately, so he�s preparing for a full-scale, no-holds-barred campaign to get us to stay home. �I don�t like it when [insert name of most favorite babysitter here] comes.� �Why not?� we ask. �Because I miss you too much.�

Yeah, kid, we�re not buying it. We know she plies you with ice cream and soda and shows you videos until you crash out on the family room floor and you love every minute of it. You can�t fool us.

3 people said it like they meant it

 
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