THINGS

Okay, it's like this. I am not a material girl. It is not necessary for me to have "things" to feel worthwhile and fulfilled. I know very well that we come into this world empty-handed and there isn't anything that I've accumulated here in this life in a material sense that I'll be totin' along with me wherever I go from here. I have stuff, sure. My music is more important to me than it should be. My photos are dear to me and irreplaceable. Things my kids and grandchild have made for me are precious. My husband (who I am growing weary of referring to as my hub/hubby/husband and will unveil his new title in a post very soon.) and I had accumulated a mind-boggling collection of "things" with which to furnish our dream house during our 10-plus years of engagement. (A story for another day.) Yes, that is a long time to collect. And the cool thing is, that when we found our dream house, which we live in now, there seemed to be all the perfect places to utilize and display our treasures. For the most part. And as a result, there is a rather eclectic theme running through our home. We have lived here for going on 9 years and we have yet to decide on a "style" and decorate our livingroom accordingly. It is just kind of a mix of whatever. At one point almost all of the wood at least matched. Then we found an entertainment center we liked a lot and said the heck with continuity. I'm going to give our decorating style a name. Hand-me-down Wall-to-wall. The ceiling fan and the entertainment center are our very own picked-out and paid-for "things". The recliner was a wedding gift, the couch and chair and one end table belonged to my sister. The rest of the tables belonged to the hub's grandparents. Lamps- who knows? I don't know where I'm going with this but I wanted to establish (And tell me if you think I've fallen short...) that "things" are incidental for/to me and that would pave the way for me to tell you all the great Christmas gifts I received without sounding shallow and as if I missed the true meaning of the holiday. It is nearly over and I didn't want the opportunity to pass. And then of course, so that I don't seem overly obsessed with posessions (mine) I would ask you, Reader, to tell me what Santa left under your tree...

It would go something like this- and I swear to God, I have in my attic, letters to and from dear 12-year-old friends dated probably December 27, 1968 that said as follows: Dear So and So, Blah, blah, blah. What did you get for Christmas? I got blah blah blah. I wore my new blah blah today and Rick smiled at me. I hope he is in my art class next semester. Please write back soon.

You had those letters too, you threw yours away. I'm not attached to "things" at all. ;-)

How about you just tell me what you got. You can leave out the sox and underwear please.