High Dudgeon

This morning I threw open the little window in the closet of Jerry's study. If I stand on tip-toe, from there I can see directly into Laura's courtyard next door.  I called to her daughter Leah,  freshly arrived home from college in Boston.  She looked splendid, red hair bouncing, with a new green handbag, off to meet someone for breakfast.  Then Laura appeared at their door.

"Come to our Hanukkah party tonight," she called up to me.  "Between 6 and 6:30."

"I'll see," I said.

"Are you in a dudgeon?" she asked. 

"Yes!" I answered. That sounded right.   I came straight indoors and looked up "dudgeon" in the dictionary to make sure: "a fit or state of angry indignation usually provoked by opposition."

Well, if the opposition is the pressure to conform at Christmas, then I've been in an annual December dudgeon ever since I figured out there wasn't a Santa Claus. At that point, it just became a matter playing along.  One year Jerry and I escaped to Hawaii.  Another year I took down the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. Boxed up the ornaments and threw the tree out the door. Laura's been my neighbor for 24 years, and she's heard my complaints many, many times.

This year we have houseguests (Jerry's daughter and her husband) and a number of people coming for Christmas dinner.  It's important to keep up my spirits.  Today's remedy:  A brisk walk around Lafayette Reservoir--nearly three miles--and then a peppermint hot chocolate at Starbuck's.