Everyone left yesterday, the boys by car (the older white Toyota Avalon--Pearl--which is now Stephen's) and Heather by plane. They still got home before she did. Her flight to Fayetteville was diverted to Little Rock. The boys had a hellacious drive through heavy rain, ice, and snow, at varying places, and sounded exhausted at the end of the trip. Since Heather wasn't able to get home until 3 or 4 a.m. (bus from Little Rock to Fayetteville), I'm sure she's equally if not more exhausted.
It was a wonderful visit. Of course it started off with their flights being delayed and canceled till Esteemed Spouse wound up driving all night to Cincinnati to fetch them. Other than that "minor" glitch, thanks to Mother Nature's bounty, we ate a lot, watched the new movie "Avatar" (which was incredible), talked a lot, hugged a lot. At one point Stephen told me how much he appreciated the efforts I'd gone to in making the Christmas a really special one because things were so topsy-turvy back home. Heather's stepfather is in a nursing home now, and his Alzheimer's is really making it hard for everyone.
The most wonderful, special moment occurred between Daniel and me as he hugged me good-bye. He never says, "I love you," but he hugged me for a long time and actually said he loved me. Heather told us that his diagnosis was schizophrenia, but he won't talk about anything. I don't think he is schizophrenic, but maybe I'm in denial. If he is, then it is mild, and after all, each one of us on planet earth is just one degree or another of mentally "normal." One man's normal is another man's crazy, and that applies possibly even more for us oh-so-judgmental women.
Sally called today to wish me a Merry Christmas, and I told her my side of the story about the family dust-up. I think she understood. The only dark spot was when Amber told me she had a book she wanted to send me, "23 Minutes in Hell." She tried to get me to promise I'd read it. Geez. Now they've got the children after me. Poor Aunt Sharon, going to hell. After all, I am such a sinner. I'm not the one who cheats on her spouse, beats her kids, starves them, turns them out of their home, and other sins that could be listed for quite some time. I've simply committed the greatest sin of all: I don't buy into their dogma. Let's forget that I give to charity, try to treat other people fairly and kindly, and open my door, my heart, and my home to people who need help. What does that count if I don't get down on bended knee, get a glazed look in my eyes, and babble meaningless prayers to the God Who Isn't There.
I posted on Facebook that we should try to put the Merry back into Merry Christmas since all the religious ones on there were cawing and hawking about putting Christ back into Christmas. I've never cared for the abbreviation Xmas, but I'm tempted to use it just to aggravate those folks who are determined that there is a left-wing atheist conspiracy to rip their superstitions away from them and replace those superstitions with (gasp!) logic and reason.
Okay. I'm feeling grumpy. I admit it. My beautifully and joyfully decorated home just isn't the same now that my family is gone. Even the cat is in hiding. We're still eating festive leftovers. Given the heavy snow that is supposed to fall later today and all day tomorrow, we may be truly thankful to have leftovers to eat.
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