Sometimes we don’t immediately recognize them—those low-keyed saints who come marching through our lives. But this holiday season, I’ve made a conscious effort to be more mindful of the myriad of people who help make my own bumpy life function just a little bit smoother.
Take the guy with the truck who got my Christmas tree home from the nursery. I don’t have a truck, and it was unlikely the nine-foot tree could be successfully lashed to the top of my car for the trip home.
And the woman who said she “wanted to feel a part of it,” and slipped me some money to help cover expenses of a big, wonderful holiday gathering.
Another woman braved my perfectionism and came over to help decorate the house, not once, but twice, while I bustled about in my usual December “panic mode,” wondering if everything would all get done “on schedule.”
Then there’s the guy who braved it all—The man who “climbed the ladder” and decorated the “top two quadrants” of the tree. Talk about unbridled courage! While I handed up the lights and balls and yes, even tinsel (God help him), this man calmly followed my specific anal-retentive instructions to the letter—and today we’re still speaking!
So I want to thank these friends, and many others, for putting up with a hot-flashing, menopausal, prednisone-taking, somewhat irritable lunatic this season, and thank you all for coming to my rescue even when I didn’t particularly deserve it.
You are my Christmas angels, and I couldn’t/wouldn’t have done it without you.