Holiday, not a sentence of execution

He lay there, staring at the ceiling and tried to remember.

You see, in space, there are no days, no nights. Calenders are matched too often to a planetary occurrence, a solstice, equinox, the first harvest . . . .

But when family comes to call they bring their calender with them. You are reminded of the ‘where you came from’ and the ‘whens’ associated with that. Some guests bring a lot more luggage than others, emotional, temporal, and physical. So it was Christmas.

You’d think his bank balance would make it easy for him to buy gifts for his family. The opposite was true in several ways. He had more choices and latitude but he knew that bigger was not better. His family would not count the cost but the heart and the thought.

So he lay there, staring at the ceiling and he thought back to the first Christmas he could remember. Then he shook his head as tears filled his eyes. No, bad way to start.

He gathered all his memories of Christmas and bundled them together, turning it over in his mind trying to see the shiny parts. Food, laughter, people you seldom saw coming to stay, more food, the madness of shopping and the blessed relief of completion. Oddly he did not really see the getting gifts as a shiny bit. It was the giving that made his holidays . . .the light in someones eyes when he got it right.

But he had not seen his family as much, he did not know the ins and outs to be able to hit that magic something on the head. Isk and isk directed cards were a cop out. He would not settle for that but what could he do? He tensed as he tried to find a way out of the trap he had build around himself. His mind was entangled in ribbon and tinsel, wrap and pine bows blocked his mental escape. The more he struggled with the problem the worse it got and the chaos in his mind grew. His tension in his neck and shoulders increased and his breathing shallowed as it all hit him at once.

She murmured and shifted in his arms.

Relax . . . . it is a holiday, not a sentence of execution.

He worked on relaxing his muscle groups, once set at a time. Shoulders, neck, arms, breathing, face. Peace returned and the trap in his mind once again was a ball of happy memories. With the calm came the revelation . . . he knew what to do.



Nothing much Eve . . .though I have been making a lot more notes about what happens next in the blog and in Mike’s adventures.

I appreciate the offers of sanctuary and corp membership. I promised myself I would wait till the New year before settling on a new home (If I can find one that can put up with me)

May you all have a special season of your own and when it gets too hectic, return to the title of the post


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One Response to Holiday, not a sentence of execution

  1. Bob Fenner says:

    Mike, absolutely spot on blog my friend. Here is to family, friends and the joy that they bring us. Have a good one mate, and keep up the good work!

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