Thursday, November 30, 2017

A Grown Up Christmas


Last week was Thanksgiving, and the always entertaining Black Friday, and it got me thinking…

You know, my mom, my sister, and I used to love to go to Crystal River and shop every Black Friday. It was so low-key, y'all. The worst fight we ever saw was between two senior citizen ladies with grocery carts in the Waldenbooks. Crystal River was awesome: you could get a close parking spot, there were no brawls, no one got tazed. Unfortunately, most of the stores in Crystal River closed down…much to my dismay. We then tried Ocala one year, which was insane, and we came home with a nice-sized ticket from the Marion County Sheriff's Department. The next year we tried Lake City, which was much more enjoyable…But the last several years we haven't partaken in Black Friday festivities.

I won't lie, I did online binge shop a little for myself over the past weekend. Dang Torrid sales and emails. They were killing me.

Truthfully, I have been picking up Christmas gifts since around April. I am almost through, with the exception of a few small items. I have only had one true "Aleta freak out" moment where I forgot what I'd bought Mom as her big gift. I knew I'd gotten her one. I knew I'd already paid for it…but try as I might, it took me several days to remember WHAT I'd bought her. After I finally remembered, I laughed and laughed, because how could I have forgotten THAT?

You know, there were years when I was younger, and I had certain must-have items…items I'd put on my wish list that I wanted/expected under the tree. Nowadays, what I want is something that can't be found under the tree. I want time. Rather than a gift, I want time with my loved ones. I would trade an expensive gift for a night spent sipping hot chocolate, in my pajamas, watching Christmas movies with my loved ones. It's the small things, like that, that truly matter.

Perhaps it wasn't the great deals that meant so much all those years spent Black Friday shopping…but more the time spent with Mom and Rheba.

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