The holidays linger like bad perfume
You can run, but only so far
I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave
But if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me
Before knowing exactly how much more often I’d be traveling home these past few weeks, I’d scheduled some fortuitous Fridays off from work, as much to make use of accumulated vacation time (unused from these previous months of non-travel) as for holiday errands and deliveries. This past Friday was one such day of minor running about, as I made my way to Amsterdam to drop off some food for my parents. The timing worked out beautifully, as the new Taylor Swift album had been released the midnight prior, and there’s nothing better than listening to good music while driving on a sunny day. This particular album was perfect for a drive on the verge of winter.
Dropping off some adobo and banana bread I’d made that morning, I stayed a safe distance from Mom and Dad in the garage as we talked of family and friends, of the sun that was still shining in December, of the changed holiday plans for this strange year and season. Yet it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t sorrowful – it was actually nice. The idea of a pared-down and simple Christmas hewed closer to home, held closer to our Christmases as children. Maybe that’s part of the lesson the universe wants us to learn right now. When the pupil is ready, the teacher always appears.
Who’ll write books about me, if I ever make it and wonder about the only soul
Who can tell which smiles I’m faking’ and the heart I know I’m breakin’ is my own
To leave the warmest bed I’ve ever known
