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Anne Booher's Stocking
This beautiful, homemade stocking, presented to me in 1984, was discovered last week in a dilapidated moving box marked “Xmas Items and Clothing”. Tossed among this item, a nutcracker, and a small rocking horse were eighteen pairs of athletic socks. Merry Christmas!

 

Debuting our newest guest blogger:  Thank you Anne Booher!

Every year after the holidays, my husband and I look at each other. A little wiser this year than last, we decide. Never again will we embark on a trans-continental flight for our family of three, board two dogs for two weeks, rent a car and drive from family to family, satisfying everyone’s need to see everyone. Next year will be different. We will stay wherever the Navy has stationed us. We will invite our family and friends to our lovely home in a state they’ve never visited before (fun!). We will put the yet-to-be-unpacked cardboard boxes in the garage and peel the numbered moving stickers off of the guest bed. We may even buy festive towels. They will come because they love us and understand that we move all of our earthly possessions every two or three years. We comfort ourselves in knowing if they don’t come, we will enjoy a quiet Christmas alone.

Yet here we are again, holidays upon us, updating our dog’s shot records for boarding and planning a drive from Texas to everyone.

My first Christmas away from home was the Christmas after I got married. My momma gave me plenty of my favorite decorations with which to make our First Christmas Together memorable and special. And it truly was. When the time came for a new duty station, the items that were so dear to my childhood and now represented a new beginning were packed into a box and labeled “Christmas Decorations.” That box has not been opened since it was packed six years ago. It sits next to my husband’s beer fridge in the garage, watching me as I grab our well-worn suitcases for yet another thousand-dollar-thousand-mile adventure. Wondering when I will be able to peel off the tape and rediscover its contents. Which, hopefully, won’t include fruit or candy I left in the stockings.

Alas, there is no solution to my problem, aside from the trite observation that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity. We could very easily report to every family member that we are taking a stand. You wanna see the baby? Fine. Come here and see her. I’m staying in Texas, not driving anywhere, watching the TBS marathon of “A Christmas Story” whenever I darn well please, digging my 1985 animatronic Rudolph out of the depths of storage and drinking eggnog until January 2. But then we wouldn’t get to see Nana. And how much longer does she really have, anyway?

 

 

 

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