snark

This arrived as a blob.

A moss-covered blob tucked into a gift box with a card attached exclaiming: 

Merry Christmas! 
Love, Mom

Accompanying the mysterious, moss-covered blob were instructions:

Do Nothing. 
No water. 
No care. 
Just sunlight.
And in several weeks you will have two gorgeous, blooming Amaryllis flowers.

Mmmmmkay…I chortled, as I am known to do when sent weird shit with questionable instructions from the land of Abracadabria. 

I called my mother to interrogate, thank her for her thoughtful gift. 
“What did you send me?” I asked in the nicest way possible.
“Oh, do you like it?”
“I, I, I don’t know yet.”
“Just give it some time.”
“Okay. Question…”
“Yes?”
“Is it supposed to look dead?”
She laughed, “That’s crazy, isn’t it? But in a few weeks, it will be beautiful!”
“Yes, crazy.”
“Gotta go, The View is starting and Whoopi is ranting about—”

I let her go. Because after decades of experience—my life works out so much better when I do.

During the winter months, the sunniest spot in my house is the dining room table, so instead of the usual poinsettia extravaganza, I sat the blob on a plate in between two candles and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“That’s…interesting.” One of my friends commented, pointing at the blob.
“It’s a Christmas blob… from my mother.”
“Pretty.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Festive.”
“Right? I mean, it’s got green moss.”

Along the way, it sprouted horns. Or, buds. I wasn’t sure having never raised a blob before.

Then, sometime around the end of December, like a goddamn Christmas miracle, the blob bloomed. Except it happened when we were in Sedona so I wasn’t there for it. 

But you can imagine my surprise when I returned from my holiday to a blob that had morphed into a real-life Amaryllis!

I mean, it’s gorgeous! And I did NOTHING! Less than nothing. I mocked it every chance I got and it still bloomed!

As usual, there’s a lesson or five in here for me.

1. Beautiful things can have very humble beginnings.
2. Even when it looks like nothing is happening—SO MUCH is happening behind scenes.
3. A watched flower never blooms. In other words, look away and let the magic happen.
4. Do NOTHING more often. Trust the process.
5. My mother is the Yoda of badass gift givers and if I ever forget that, I’ll need y’all to remind me.
6. Mother Nature’s naturey game is strong!

Carry on,
Xox

Dear Janet,
This is a letter from the most neglected thing in your home at the holidays (besides your legs, which go unshaved in December as a timesaving measure)—the back of your Christmas tree.

I mean, I know I face the street, and people really can’t see anything beyond the white lights as they walk by, but this year I feel pressed to complain about the meager amount and shall I say questionable (I’m being delicate) choice of ornaments you’ve chosen to hang (a better word might be, hide) back here.

But enough with decorum.

She can’t be serious, I thought to myself, when you hung that dumbass plastic snowman who’s supposed to also be a construction worker (clever. Not really) in what I consider a prime spot of pine tree real estate. But hey, I get it. I’m the BACK of the tree. What did I expect, the sparkly gold-flecked Buddha? The peacock with real feathers, or the man in the spaceship? Noooooo. Those are your favorites so they get to hang in the FRONT!

This is an almost seven-foot tree and you’ve hung a total of five ornaments back here. FIVE!

To say it looks sparse would be like saying water is wet.

If a mullet says business in the front, party in the back, then this tree is an example of a mullet in reverse. We can hear the party happening in the front while back here it’s crickets. And I’ll tell ya why.

The ornaments you’ve relegated to this “no man’s land,” this great forgotten evergreen expanse, are either ones you’ve been gifted and don’t give a rat’s ass about—or they’re broken. Take for example the beloved ice skater from your childhood who had the misfortune of losing a leg in the Great Tragic Vacuum Cleaner Incident of 2011 (perpetrated by your blind housekeeper Maria—whose coke bottle glasses should read: Objects are closer than they appear).

Anyway, she—the skater, not Maria—let us all know in the first five seconds that she used to reign over one of the coveted front and center spots on the tree, but now things have changed. My how the mighty have fallen (literally) and so we all (the other four misfits and myself) we have to listen to her go on and on about her freaking triple Axel, the morally bankrupt Russian judges who couldn’t recognize real talent if it skated up their skirts—and how unfair her life has become!

Oh, I’m sorry. Has your privileged life as an imaginary elite athlete in a wildly expensive sport taken a turn, sweetie? Tell your troubles to Jesus! I’m dying! I was cut down in my prime so you could hang here and complain all the live-long day!

Listen, Janet, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, judgey, and bitter—but I am, so deal with it. It’s Christmastime. Shit gets real. And the backside of trees, we have feelings too.

That’s all. I guess I just needed to vent. Hey, is that Celine Dion singing Silent Night? I LOVE that song! I have to say, I’m feeling so much better!

Merry Christmas everybody!

Carry on,
Xox