So the holidays have come and gone. I’m no longer an 8-year-old with a loot to lord over, no inventory of gifts galore gracing my toy box. Nope. No siree. This year, my loot totalled two gifts — and dagnabit, do I feel lucky. Two received for two given, and I’m even-Steven.

It’s amazing how the number of presents we receive sort of dwindles as we get older. I guess people figure we’re all old enough to withstand the disappointment. Not that I’m disappointed, mind you; I’ve always been of the mind that the holidays are for the kids — the decorations, the gifts, the feasts, all for the kids and the kids at heart. And frankly, this year has been long and lean for me. I can more easily withstand an occasional Scrooge holiday than I can withstand the after-holiday bills… for when the pennies are poor, shopper’s regret is a constant companion. If I don’t receive a lot of gifts, I feel much better about not being able to give a lot of gifts out either.

So it’s all good.

Besides, I was able to go carolling again this year, and that is always the best part of my holidays. It was at the same place as last year, with the same set of great folks — only it was three times the people, maybe more, making it all the merrier. We sounded so much better than last year, our fearless leader Steph even had us sing to empty homes.

We got candies and cookies and offers for payment (which we gallantly turned into promises of donations to the nearest charity). We also sang until I couldn’t feel my feet, it was so cold… which made coming back inside to mulled wine and a warm house oh-so-good. The drive home was even better; I slept like a babe with the mulled wine in me. (Don’t worry; I wasn’t driving.)

Nevertheless, I’m hoping next year is better; the Scrooge lifestyle simply does not appeal to me.

Next year, I’m turning 8!

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