It’s Still Christmas

My family and I haven’t yet gathered for our holiday meal and the date to exchange gifts. My detour into the hospital on Christmas Eve put the halt on any type of Yuletide celebration. My kids were not happy that they wouldn’t get to see me. Hospital restrictions prevented that, but I wasn’t upset. I felt so sickly on Christmas Eve that he hospital was the only and correct place for me to have been. I needed to be in the hospital getting IVs and medications. Of course, while there I was tested for the Covid virus. Even though I had no symptoms at all, I of course tested positive. The only thing even close to a symptom I had was that I lost my appetite. By the time I returned home five days later, I’d lost almost twenty pounds and gained a Foley catheter. Somehow I don’t think it was an even trade.

My family still needs to set a date for our holiday gathering and I need to wrap the few presents that I’ve already purchased and covering the corner of my bed. The delay in celebrating Christmas caused me to recall memories of one of my good friends and bosses. She passed away several years ago, but she always gloated about being Russian Orthodox Catholic. While others got caught up in the rush of buying and wrapping gifts, planning the holiday menu, and decorating for the December 25th gala, she would relax, chuckle, and say that she had twelve more days to get ready. She bragged that she would often wait for things to go on sale after the Christmas holiday to buy cards, wrapping paper, decorations, and even many gifts with lower prices.

Marge was a short, thin woman that smoked like a chimney. She was a intelligent and fair boss who was closely involved with the emergency department and her employees. If anyone made a mistake, she’d pull them aside and take them to task, but when the butt chewing was over, she’d say, “Let’s grab a cup of coffee” and the incident was forgotten. I miss that old gal. Anyone want to be Russian Orthodox?