Comfort and Joy

I reluctantly opened my eyes, acutely aware that I had fallen asleep in the recliner and as a result, the urgent jog to the bathroom would be less than easy. The house was darker than usual, and I immediately suspected a storm rapidly approaching causing the cloud cover to block out the southern summer sun. Awkwardly, I trotted down the hall, my aching hips and lower back reminding of my bedtime faux pas with every attempted stride. Personal business complete, coffee brewing and pets fed and cared for, now to free the kitchen from last night’s dinner remnants. Clean enough to pass muster, I grabbed my second cup of life affirming caffeine and headed to the deck. My morning ritual always included at least thirty minutes in the back yard with my dog, coffee and my thoughts. Today, I feared I’d only get half that time if I was lucky. The rain began as a swirling mist, too fine to chase us inside, but I knew it was only the beginning. The breeze turned to wind and the miniscule droplets continued to float in circles rather than find their way to the ground. I had to admit, the cooler temperature was refreshing, although the thermometer reading was pushing ninety degrees. 

Somehow, I couldn’t focus, somehow the actual day of the week eluded me, oh, what the hell did it matter anyway? As the mist morphed into actual drops, their weight and gravity itself forced them to Earth. It was time to call it and retreat inside where it was dry. Sadly, I hadn’t even finished my first cup of coffee, but then again, my usual entertainment of birds, bees and butterflies in the bottle brush trees was not available. The curtain of rain closed on my favorite stage, there would be no matinee today.

Every day brought the same mundane order of basic and boring necessity. I slowly made my way back to the living room with a fresh pour in my cup. Typically, this would be the time I flipped my laptop open and got to work. I loved freelancing from home, a goal I was proud to have reached. Today, the dark room and dreary mindset encouraged an atypical behavior as I switched on the television and began to scroll through the various streaming sites for something, anything to catch my attention. I had no expectations as I popped along the extensive lists of options. Maybe a new series, or possibly a classic movie? My fingers froze and hovered over a particular selection, hesitating to reach for the middle button. A spontaneous smile formed as I made the decision to click on the one holiday themed movie still available in June. The very thought of a predictable and sappy Christmas movie excited my soul. I hit pause, and made my way to the thermostat, turning it down from seventy-four to sixty-two. I poured yet another cup of joe and searched the tiny kitchen drawer where I kept the boxes of instant pudding and gelatin for what I had hoped was still hidden. I was in luck, there were several wrapped candy canes left over from six months ago stuffed on the side of that odd little drawer. I selected one, unbroken and not yet stuck to the plastic, unwrapped it and dropped into my coffee. On the counter was a box with two chocolate croissants left from the weekend: the perfect holiday breakfast! 

Treats at the ready and the temperature slowly dropping, I wrapped myself in a blanket and pressed “play.” Immediately, a loud and exaggerated instrumental version of a popular Christmas Carol filled the room. Stirring my coffee with my candy cane, I couldn’t help but think; if I only had a pair of fuzzy slippers and a red buffalo plaid throw blanket, this would be a perfect moment. However, it had been so long since I had a perfect moment, the one I was experiencing was close enough to count, even without the slippers. I’ve never indulged in a luxurious bubble bath surrounded by scented candles, accompanied by chocolate covered strawberries, an expensive bottle of champagne and a trashy novel, but I can imagine this was even better. 

 The opening credits flashed across the screen as images vacillated between the most beautiful snow dusted pine forest and a perfectly decorated quaint and sleepy main street, complete with a painted white gazebo adorned with red velvet bows in the “town square.” Did such a place truly exist? Certainly not in Florida. The music softened as the main characters took frame and were about to reveal their purpose to the plot. During the actual holiday season, my guilty pleasure had always been these poorly made yet undeniably joyful movies, all based on the main character returning home for the holidays in order to save a family business, an old Inn, building, or festival, eventually joined by a previous love interest, teaming up to save Christmas hand in hand. No matter, I needed the feeling this movie was already evoking, comfort and joy. 

The warm cup between my hands felt cozy and content. I allowed that all too familiar and elusive sensation take over. I became so entirely immersed in my holiday delusion; my son’s footsteps remained undetected until he was standing right in front of me. Startled, I looked up to see his quizzical expression as he glanced from the television screen to me, sitting under my blanket with a candy cane hooked over the rim of my cup. He shook his head and reminded me it was in fact June, then asked if I was indeed having some sort of mental episode he should be concerned with. I assured him I was fine, and my soul simply needed this unseasonal reenactment of a snow day. 

The movie was in full swing, and the predictable storyline had already revealed itself, leaving little to my imagination. The townies were rallying to save the annual Christmas Festival and cookie baking contest. The local businesses, typically flush with holiday cash, held a meeting to discuss fundraising ideas as they politely complained about their deficit due to a new big box store which recently opened just a few miles away. The weak plot didn’t detract from my daydream, and the tiny otherwise immaterial nuances left me giddy and longing for that “semi-charmed kind of life.”  I didn’t dwell on the tears from the protagonist, but found myself wondering where I could get a sweater similar to the one she wore to the tree lot. As her knight in shining armor fought off the obvious advances from his old flame, the local florist, I envied his ability to enjoy a refreshing glass of water straight from the tap. Even when Granny's favorite ornament took a header off the tree top and met with an untimely demise, never to be replaced, I was focused on the fake snow falling just outside the window, trying to remember the last time I felt a real snowflake land on my cheek. Surely, this magical world could not only be reserved for movie scripts. 

Friends and neighbors brought gifts and baked goods to one another, never asking for their platters or plastic containers back. It was a glorious rendition of a life worth living, Christmas or not. The local cafe continuously boasted their holiday coffee blend to each and every patron, each and every time. Of course, it enticed all who entered, and the lush libation served in a Santa mug topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings warmed cockles and solicited smiles throughout the story. I looked into my own cup with its pathetic stale and half melted candy cane, now tepid and less appealing and thought of the strange irony as I read the embossed words “witchy woman” across the front of my favorite dollar store mug.

My truth felt like that last disappointing swallow of cool coffee, falling short of magical expectation. I had no use for that beautiful sweater, and despite the three filters hooked to our water tank, we still couldn’t drink safely from our tap. The one decent neighbor we had sold his home last year to his son, daughter in law and their two teens. I met the wife once and if you offered me a million dollars to tell you her name, I’d remain broke. Believe me, I haven’t yet reached curmudgeon status but the loud music and stench of cheap weed permeating the air in our back yard almost nightly makes me want to hurl. Certainly, we did not live in an unsavory neighborhood, but it was a far cry from “Holly Town” or “Mistletoe Hills.” 

My movie ended and as the closing credits rolled, I took those last few moments to bask in the joy of my makeshift holiday. The house was chilly, and my blanket was safe and reassuring. I struggled to hold the fantasy in my mind, and soul before my reality crept back in. Soon, too soon, my mind thought of the whirring electric meter, working overtime, racking up dollars and cents to attach to my next bill all for the illusion. My son cautiously sidled into the living room, noticing the television was back to the home screen. He sat next to me and asked if I’d like him to make a fresh pot of coffee. I agreed, thinking one more cup would buy me an extra thirty minutes or so before my snow day came to an abrupt end. 

I opened my laptop for the first time all day and instinctively began to sift through my emails. But I wasn’t exactly eager to resume the daily routine. My son rejoined me with fresh cups of coffee in hand. Without a word, I opened a new screen and searched small towns in a few states with discernible seasons. We spent hours ogling over beautiful homes, scenery and local landmarks. The very idea of moving must have evoked that comfort and joy emotional experience for my son which in turn, kept the illusion alive for me as well. It was the most fun we had together in some time and sparked conversation I would have never imagined. Maybe it was the nip in the air, or caffeine overload, but I found myself seriously considering a move, and my son’s eager contribution to the preliminary research reinforced the notion. Our lives were about to change, and we were inspired. If not for the one Christmas movie still listed for streaming in the middle of June, we may never take the chance at a life with the potential for magic, comfort and above all, joy.