This wasn’t my original post for today but I thought I would go ahead and contribute to the postaday regarding “Nest.” Last week, someone asked me, “Why do you still decorate for Christmas, if you live alone?” I decorate for every holiday and I keep my exterior full of life, with my plants, and décor for all seasons.
For a moment, I was confused, before I understood her point. At 34, I am newly single for the past year/almost divorced, and I live alone in a pretty decently sized house. I don’t have children yet. I don’t have anyone to share the holiday spirit with until Christmas Eve, which I host, and my family and close friends come to celebrate with me. But like most things in life now, I do it for me. I do it to make me happy. I do it because I love it. I don’t do anything for anyone else, except for me. Christmas cheer is something magical that I’ve felt my entire life (except for when my parents put those wretched doves on our tree, which made me hysterically cry whenever I saw them). But it was the most magical when I woke up on Christmas morning and saw that Santa came while I was asleep. And then I peed my pants. Every single Christmas. Until I was 6. Or just last year. I mean, who is really keeping track anyway? These are my fondest memories, in addition to our family breakfast, my Dad singing Feliz Navidad and dancing around to Johnny Mathis’ Christmas Album.
This is my little nest which I cherish. It’s not a lot, it’s not brand new, but it’s mine. The house that I knew was “home” the moment I saw it for the first time in 2013. My little home that I am going to make magical every single day that I have the blessing of living in it.
1985 (2yrs old), 2016, 2016 and this year, 2017