In the “it’s a small world” category, DH got an email yesterday from his daughter.  She’d posted some of the pictures from our wedding on her MySpace page, and had gotten a message from one of her friends:  “Hey, I think I know your stepmother.”

Yep.  My stepdaughter’s friend B is a long-time co-worker at the college, having started as a student assistant in the Math department shortly after I started teaching there.  She became the department secretary, transferring to the Science department shortly before I moved to the Business department (which became the Business/Computer Science department).  We used to live not too far from each other, so during the last few years of the starter marriage she would cat-sit for me when we were all out of town.

I knew that B regularly attended the Georgia Renaissance Festival, but of course a lot of people do that.  Why would I ever think that she and my stepdaughter had connected several years back (perhaps even before DH and I met), as fans of the same band?

Just another odd coincidence in my life!

Once again DH comes through with an idiosyncratically perfect romantic gift for Valentine’s Day:

Seriously — it is!   Over Christmas break the techno-idiots in our IT department at school managed to totally mung up my computer, meaning it took most of two days to fix it back to where it needed to be.  This will go on the wall right beside my monitor, yes indeed!

It’s been so hard this year to find any real holiday spirit.  The most I’ve had was the night we put up and decorated the tree; since then I’ve mostly just had the feeling of “please just let it be over and done with!”  A big aspect of my humbug is that the overblown crass commercialization of Christmas has finally begun to ruin the season for me.  Try as I might to escape, or at least ignore, it, I can’t — not when the stores start putting out Christmas-themed merchandise before Labor Day; not when decorations start going up before Halloween is past; not when Santa Claus makes his first mall appearance the first weekend of November; not when five out of every fifteen minutes on radio or television (not to mention half the newspaper) is filled with advertising encouraging listeners/viewers/readers to go into debt, if necessary, to fulfil that special someone’s dearest material wishes.

We were out for a couple of hours today, just to pick up some groceries and stuff, and there was an oppressive air all around.  People were thronging the stores madly trying to get those last few items while they could, putting out vibes of sheer desperation that they wouldn’t end up with the Perfect Christmas.  It wasn’t the holiday feeling I remember from the past, not at all.

DH pointed out something earlier tonight that I hadn’t realized.  What happened to “Peace on Earth, Good Will to All?”  He’s right; I’ve heard nothing about that wish this year.  If anyone cares about it anymore, they aren’t saying.  It’s all about the Almighty Profit Margin, it seems.

Whatever did happen to Christmas?

DH’s Aunt Mary passed away today.  She’d been failing rapidly the past few days, so it was not surprising.  There will be a memorial service, probably next weekend, and she’s donated her body to Emory University (which I totally appreciate and approve of).  She wasn’t in any pain (thanks to a morphine drip), and evidently just quietly and peacefully slipped away — not a bad way to go, all in all.

The show wasn’t a wild success, but we sold a few things and made a little bit.  Only one of the new boro pendants sold, but they got a LOT of ooohs and aaaahs.  Actually, it doesn’t break my heart, because I don’t mind keeping one or two of them for myself. I think next year, with a little tweaking and more publicity, and the right merchandise, and it might do pretty darn well.

Most Sundays we go over to the east side of town to see DH’s Aunt Mary.  She was the first of his family to whom I was introduced, and I absolutely enjoy visiting her.  She is a delightful person who always manages to be positive and upbeat even when she’s feeling bad, and being able to visit her helps me not miss my grandmothers and other female relatives quite so much.

She has been in Emory Hospital recovering from surgery for a couple of weeks now.  When we got to her room she was sleeping, so we didn’t disturb her.  I just got a brief glimpse of her in the hospital bed, propped up with the oxygen cannula visible — she looked awfully frail to me.  Sigh.  I spent way too much time at the hospital with Dad over the summer, dealing with his illness and his surgeries and seeing the man I’ve always looked up to as my hero looking so worn and frail and defeated.  Today’s visit brought the memory, and my emotions, right back to the surface.

Watching those I love grow older and decline physically and eventually leave this world is inevitable.  I accept that but I sure as hell don’t have to like it.