Enough

We did our "christmas shopping" this morning. Which is to say, groceries, since we must have enough to eat on the holiday. We've been remembering army stories a lot lately, perhaps it's the cold. The temperature isn't that low, but it's been the kind of cold that cuts through and exhausts energy. Yeah, that's digging into those memories. Colorado Springs, Ft. Carson, we'd taken a the weekend before as leave, while most others opted to rush back to spend it with their families over the holidays. The base didn't tell us remainders the chow hall had different hours and a Christmas meal - until it was over. We were not provided any food that day. No one would deliver food on base, taxies were not allowed on either, so any kind of Chinese food or pizza was out. The 30 or so people in barracks ate sweets from family care packages, and drank. I knew better than to drink anything on an empty stomach, and was already sick of sugar. Late in the afternoon of our fruitless attempts to obtain real food, oranges appeared. We scored a few each and ran off to eat them together.

We promised each other on that first christmas together that we would always have enough food on that day. This will be our 29th, which feels really nice.

Freeze-dried strawberry block in the MREs were a strangely appealing treat, even though they were the consistency of styrofoam. So when we saw this, we both immediately pegged it as Holiday Food.

Of course, I've worked a number of christmases and been on call for more. Dylan's parents have struggled, foiled in their assumptions we participate in their traditions, eventually giving up in the face of reality. The worst involved his father reading the bible christmas story, slowly, aloud, to the captive family. ugh. I figure any joyous expression must be optional. No assuming, never of course.

Our moving friends still wanted to get together last night, so we went, carpooling with another friend. Reminds me of when I had the Groundhog open house three weeks after moving in, partly to prove to everyone at work that I meant what I said about getting all the boxes empty.

Wondering again how I got so good at packing, and I think I must give my father credit. He could pack a trunk for a car trip like a demon. He was a demon, so that does follow. A scrounger and a packer, he really did keep his garage and basement, wood and tools, in good order. Funny, I never thought about this before. That ability, if not the general inclination, to keep stuff fairly tidy, came from both of them. Yes, it's a bit like finding a speck of gold in a pile of debris, but there it is, and I will use it.

Dylan did not like holidays, the expectations, the idleness, the forced festivity. By scraping it down to time together and a day off work, we have come to a happier place. He likes the tree(s)and lights I put up.

We shall celebrate in our small, quiet way. With dried strawberries. And enough food.