Holiday Stories
Dec. 19th, 2004 08:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charliesmumIt's snowing now. Charlie is very happy.
Did pretty much nothing today but watch TV and attempt to make cookies. Tip-You can't use whole wheat flour to make sugar cookies. They taste like Triskets.
Anyway...saw a fun movie from 1945 starring Barbara Stanwick, whom I've decide is one of my favorite actresses from The Golden Age of Hollywood. The movie was A Christmas In Connecticut. Barbara must have worn 10 outfits within a two day period. The clothes then were beautiful.
I also watched some silly thing starring Kathy Ireland as Santa Claus's daughter Kristin.
I noticed this odd trend in modern Christmas stories, at least the ones that aren't some kind of take off of A Christmas Carol or It's a Wonderful Life. Many of the plots seem to revolve around a family with a widowed father, who is buried in his work and doesn't pay enough attention to his children, and it takes some woman to come along and renew the spirit of Christmas. What does that mean? That only women can carry the spirit of Christmas? Sort of makes sense when you think about it, it was Mary after all who gave birth to Jesus.
A few years ago I wrote this poem about Holiday stories, that I figured I'd share with ya'all now. Cause, well, it's my journal, and I can. Feel free to ignore it.
If my life were a holiday story
then right about now
I’d meet a stranger who looked suspiciously like Santa Claus
and then the present I wanted to buy
but couldn’t afford
would be under the tree when we woke in the morning.
Then I’d believe in miracles
and find true happiness.
The end.
Or
Right about now
someone who turned out to be an angel on earth
would appear at my lowest moment
with guidance and love
and a white dove,
and I’d know that I wasn’t alone.
Then my problems would somehow get solved
and I’d believe in miracles.
and find true happiness.
The end.
Or
Right about now
I’d discover the true meaning of Christmas
while walking through the woods
on a snowy evening.
Or
I’d speak from my heart to my family
in a five minute monologue
and they would understand
and we would hug
and all would be forgiven.
Or
The universe would give me a second chance
to make things right
and I’d believe in miracles
and find true happiness.
The end.
But the truth is
We don’t get pat endings
or ‘Dios ex Machina’ miracles at the last moment.
All we get is the everlasting hope that maybe this year
We’ll remember that what’s in our hearts
Is more important than what’s under the tree,
and that, perhaps,
this year
we’ll find true happiness.
The end.
Did pretty much nothing today but watch TV and attempt to make cookies. Tip-You can't use whole wheat flour to make sugar cookies. They taste like Triskets.
Anyway...saw a fun movie from 1945 starring Barbara Stanwick, whom I've decide is one of my favorite actresses from The Golden Age of Hollywood. The movie was A Christmas In Connecticut. Barbara must have worn 10 outfits within a two day period. The clothes then were beautiful.
I also watched some silly thing starring Kathy Ireland as Santa Claus's daughter Kristin.
I noticed this odd trend in modern Christmas stories, at least the ones that aren't some kind of take off of A Christmas Carol or It's a Wonderful Life. Many of the plots seem to revolve around a family with a widowed father, who is buried in his work and doesn't pay enough attention to his children, and it takes some woman to come along and renew the spirit of Christmas. What does that mean? That only women can carry the spirit of Christmas? Sort of makes sense when you think about it, it was Mary after all who gave birth to Jesus.
A few years ago I wrote this poem about Holiday stories, that I figured I'd share with ya'all now. Cause, well, it's my journal, and I can. Feel free to ignore it.
If my life were a holiday story
then right about now
I’d meet a stranger who looked suspiciously like Santa Claus
and then the present I wanted to buy
but couldn’t afford
would be under the tree when we woke in the morning.
Then I’d believe in miracles
and find true happiness.
The end.
Or
Right about now
someone who turned out to be an angel on earth
would appear at my lowest moment
with guidance and love
and a white dove,
and I’d know that I wasn’t alone.
Then my problems would somehow get solved
and I’d believe in miracles.
and find true happiness.
The end.
Or
Right about now
I’d discover the true meaning of Christmas
while walking through the woods
on a snowy evening.
Or
I’d speak from my heart to my family
in a five minute monologue
and they would understand
and we would hug
and all would be forgiven.
Or
The universe would give me a second chance
to make things right
and I’d believe in miracles
and find true happiness.
The end.
But the truth is
We don’t get pat endings
or ‘Dios ex Machina’ miracles at the last moment.
All we get is the everlasting hope that maybe this year
We’ll remember that what’s in our hearts
Is more important than what’s under the tree,
and that, perhaps,
this year
we’ll find true happiness.
The end.
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no subject
on 2004-12-20 02:59 am (UTC)Nice poem!
no subject
on 2004-12-20 05:08 am (UTC)The poem was great!
no subject
on 2004-12-20 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-12-20 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-12-20 12:12 pm (UTC)Great poem! The holiday story plots made me giggle. So true! :-)
no subject
on 2004-12-20 04:31 pm (UTC)Kristin? I agree with Lizzy, why Kristin?
And that's a very sweet poem, even though I don't care for the hollidays, I liked it.
no subject
on 2004-12-20 07:20 pm (UTC)A friend sent me a letter the other day, and kindly included over two pages of titles-and-summaries of Christmas movies airing on tv in his area; almost every one featured either a widow or a widower. (The couple that didn't featured a lonely, married-to-their-work single adult.) We were mystified.