Rhapsodies

Well I’m psyched. I just made my reservations for my trip back east for the twelve days of Christmas. I’d been putting it off for a while my excuse being I wanted to confirm a few last minute things before I decided exactly when I would leave. Of course that was mostly an excuse behind my usual foot dragging and so once I found out what I needed to know I was all out of excuses.

I’ve finally gotten the hang of using Expedia, or more accurately I’d gotten over my fear of it. A lot of these online stores, especially the ones involving large purchases make me nervous. It’s too easy to make a mistake.  I still prefer using a travel agent for the simple reason of having some one to blame if anything went wrong. But as I said, I’d put it off too long and had to take the plunge.

Fortunately It all went off without a hitch, and my departure on December 20th is all set. The only thing resembling a mistake was my mother misreading the return time and thinking that I would be there until the 11th which would conflict with them going on their own trip on the 7th. After a brief panic, where I worried that I’d put down the wrong date. I realized the way Expedia printed the itinaray made January 6th 2011 look like January 11th at a very brief glance. Still I knew about the trip so I should have asked before I’d made the reservation thus avoiding a very close call.

But I digress

I always enjoy getting back east for the holidays. Christmas has a lot of emotional baggage for me. Perhaps it’s because the holiday is so culturally charged that it’s when I get an overwhelming sense of homesickness on top of that as one of the many “Seattle orphans” I find myself stuck in Seattle when everyone else has gone to their families. The fact that one is constantly reminded of this by the commercial overkill does not help either.

Because of all of these factors for my first couple of years living out west, Christmas was the season of getting slammed by depression. Over the years I’d found some ways to deal with it. Throwing a potluck for my friends who were also stranded (unfortunately poorly received or worse but that’s another story.) or finding “substitute rituals” the most successful being my annual Christmas specials on the strip. But ultimately the most successful way to get it all out of my system is to just go back home.

Christmas in New England is nice. I won’t say it’s Norman Rockwell nice but still it’s very nice. It’s the family network, the feeling of history, the REAL winter. It’s some thing I find very therapeutic and while I don’t have to do it every year, every once in a while helps a lot.