“i can’t pull the sword from the stone,” a longtime friend hollered across two grocery aisles. she was waving a bag of marshmallows and a giant box of rice krispies. just minutes earlier, our carts had collided in front of shelves full of bags of flour — white, whole wheat and almond — cans of pumpkin and plastic tubs of icing. she was tired, she said, complaining that people kept asking her if she was ready.
“ready for what, exactlyyyyyyy,” she moaned, dragging out the second syllable until it became a whine. with 22 assorted family members expected to land at her place on christmas eve, a mother-in-law who insisted on homemade trifle (with sherry, please), and a recent leaky roof that just about obliterated all her savings — and gift money — she was in the midst of figuring out how to make the most out of doing the least. she had also lost her mother a few years ago, a gaping absence still felt at the dinner table, especially at christmas.
and it wasn’t that she was a holiday-hater, she said. she just wished it was a little easier, that there were fewer obligations, and well, that she didn’t feel so sad.