The Grinch Lives

They stole Christmas.

I've been having more than a few bummer bouts lately, and it had really been bugging me, especially since I'm only a few weeks away from a holiday vacation at home on the farm. I mean, it wasn't that long ago when I wasn't able to go home for Christmas at all, either because of work schedules or financial limitations. But this year, I get to spend 10 whole days soaking up the solitude of a rural Nebraska winter. I get to bask in the fun of my nearly 18-month-old nephew frolicking in the snow (please, Bing, let it be a white Christmas...).

If I can just get there.

Yeah, that must be it — all the trials of moving: the packing, the cleaning, the glass-wrapping, the phone calls, the address changing. And all of it on top of the seemingly daily struggles at the office, trying to figure out how to keep existing despite the desperate turns the newspaper industry seems to be boxing itself into.

It must all be getting to me. This must be taxing my soul.

Hmm... On second thought, maybe not. Because — seriously — what do I have to complain about? Not a lot. My loved ones aren't fighting enemies abroad or diseases within, or vice versa. We have jobs and shelter, food aplenty. My rent is cheapening and my car nearly paid off. (Don't ask about the credit card — but at least there's only one!)

What's my deal?! What's with all the weeping and whining?

On the way home it hit me: The Grinch stole Christmas, and he had accomplices.

With all the turmoil at the apartment and all the moving as a direct result, I'm really not able to enjoy the season. For starters, I wasn't able to spend much time with my relatives on Thanksgiving break because I had get home and start packing up everything I own. Despite the fact that I'll have two living rooms in my possession by the end the week, I won't be getting a Christmas tree this season, and I really really wanted one this year.

Well, OK, so they didn't steal Christmas, exactly. But they did force me to keep it in a box.

Instead of unpacking my accumulated holiday treasures, I'm getting them ready to be U-hauled to another county. Instead of spending my time looking for a great gift for my niece, I'm scanning movers' quotes and trying to get the cable hooked up. Instead of working on a present for my sister, I'm cramming newspaper-wrapped valuables into "small" boxes.

It sucks — a lot — because this year... this year, I really need Christmas. (Don't we all?) And I'll find it. I haven't packed the Christmas DVDs up yet (or the liquor — shhh!). I bought a big bottle of gingerbread flavoring for the lattes. I'm also going to try to cut myself as much slack as possible the next few weeks because Lord knows I deserve it. I've been very good this year. (Mental note: Without newspapers, what will you pack with? You'll have to buy bubble wrap, and that can get pricey... is all I'm sayin'.)

The Grinches can do their best to try to usurp the holiday cheer right out of me. But in a few weeks, it will all come flooding back. Trekking out in the countryside with my brother, trying to find the perfect ginormous Christmas tree for the Shoppe party. Piling up the presents under the living room tree until my nephew can tear into them. Sitting in the darkened room mesmerized by the twinkling tree while watching "The Muppet Christmas Carol" with the folks for the seventh (Dad's 12th) time this year.

I can't wait.

Thanks for allowing me the Hallmark moment.
Merry Christmas.