What I like most about Christmas is hope. It’s the time of year where irrational hopes can flourish along with decorations, carols and gatherings. This year, I hope that my Christmas cookies will have no calories, that my husband will forget about making his fruit-laden Christmas cake and that Santa will leave a Lamborghini in the driveway.
I hope that my golf scores will magically decrease and that I will get out of bunkers without first shoveling out a wheelbarrow of sand. Even better, that my ball never again finds a bunker. Or water hazard. Or, oh, never mind.
I hope that all my family and friends will remain healthy and come to visit (for a few days), that we can all agree on the same movie (Love, Actually) and that Publix will have some cream cheese for our Christmas bagels.
I hope that my book groups and golf groups continue to flourish and enrich my life even if I have to read some books I’d never have picked (but absolutely no James Patterson).
I further hope that red tide goes out for good and takes Covid, masks, vaccines, anti-vaxxers, face guards, boosters, Delta, Omicron and the rest of the Greek alphabet with it. I really, really hope that the three shots I’ve got work.
I hope I never have to live through a tornado like the ones that pulverized Kentucky, a hurricane like the ones that pounded the Panhandle or a volcanic eruption like the one in the Azores.
I know, they’re all hopes, but just maybe, if I’m really good…
Merry Christmas and a MUCH BETTER 2022 to you all.
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