Social Media Scrooge

Citizens of Earth have lived through many ages – the Stone Age to the Middle Ages to the recent Space Age.  Currently, we’re in the Computer Age, also known as the Information Age.

Maybe it should be called the Social Media Age.  Facebook.  Twitter.  YouTube.  Pinterest.  LinkedIn.  So many social networking sites that connect us with people and information!

I often go on Facebook to learn all kinds of news about my friends and family.  At this time of year, I’ve noticed many status updates about Christmas preparations.

I’ve also noticed harsh criticism for those who like to decorate early.  In mid-November, I was shocked by the mean-spirited comments several people made after a friend posted a picture of her newly-decorated Christmas tree.

Seriously?  Of all the things to grouse about, people are choosing to get upset about decorating a Christmas tree?  Annoyed by someone wanting to enjoy the holiday season by starting early to avoid the rush and panic?

Let me explain something about Christmas:  It takes a lot of preparation and work.  You know that saying, “the magic of Christmas”?  Well, it doesn’t refer to waving a wand and having everything come together on its own.  The tree doesn’t decorate itself.  The presents don’t wrap themselves.  The turkey doesn’t remember to defrost itself and jump into the roasting pan.

Who takes care of those things?  The same person who set up her tree early and paced herself so she could keep the spirit of peace, good will, and cheer throughout the holiday season.

Don’t knock it, Scrooge.

Anticipation

This time last year I wrote an article called “The Top of the Hill”.  It was about me turning thirty-nine and dreading turning forty.

Well, this week I’ll reach that milestone, and you know what?  I’m fine with it.  No big deal.  I’m forty!!  I’ve earned my gray hairs, spider veins, and skin tags!

Before I turned thirty, I also panicked.  And I’ll probably freak out about turning fifty.  But I’m starting to see a pattern:  Sometimes the anticipation is worse than the actual event.

It works the other way too.  Sometimes the anticipation is better than the event – like the vacation you planned for a year then vomited the entire time.

When I was a teenager, the thought of moving away from home was frightening.  I couldn’t fathom ever being ready to live away from my family.  But I did it.  I lived on my own for six years before I got married.

My daughter worries about moving away from home.  I tell her not to worry – that when it’s time, she’ll be ready.  Funny how that works.  Anticipation can help us to prepare for and accept what’s coming.  A wise man once said, “If you are prepared, you shall not fear”.

Then there’s cleaning toilets, ironing, and dusting – three chores I detest.  When I anticipate them, I am miserable.  When I jump in, get it done, reward myself, and bask in the triumph of a job completed, I am happy.  Why do I waste time and energy dreading things?

I hope that as the years go on, I will wisely remember to savour each moment and each challenge, looking forward – with the joyous, motivating kind of anticipation, not the worrisome, anxious kind – to what the next day will bring.

The Top of The Hill

This week I turn the age that some people decide to stay at forever.  No, not twenty-nine; the other one.

Late January is a nice time to have a birthday.  It’s far enough from Christmas that I have money again, and it’s something to look forward to during the cold, winter months.  Well, that was when I actually looked forward to birthdays.  Now I can totally understand midlife crises.  I’m almost there.  Eek!

The first half of my life was all about growing, learning, and looking to the future.  Graduating, falling in love, getting married, having children, buying a home, pursuing careers, chasing dreams…

What will the second half be like?  I guess that all depends on my attitude and the decisions I make.  With five children, though, I’m pretty sure I’ll have grandchildren to love and spoil.  That’s something to look forward to.

The year I turned twenty-two was my hardest birthday because I realized I wasn’t where I had hoped to be by that point in my life.  But with that realization came the motivation to take control and make decisions that would move me forward.

My husband’s birthday is the day after mine.  One day every year (my birthday) he can claim that he is three years younger than me.  Calling your wife old on her birthday is not a wise thing to do, so I pat him on the head, snarl, and remind him that I’m not quite a cougar.

On my birthday, he takes me out to eat.  On his day, we share a cake and open presents.  When he turns forty, however, he has requested his own cake with forty candles to blow out.

We’ll see; by then he may have realized he’s reached the top of the hill and want to stick his head in the flames instead.