The Christmas Ladies.

Yesterday I saw clusters of ladies in Christmas sweaters swarming around the garlands laid out neatly in front of the garden center, and I thought to myself, "Don't they look cute?" I was struck by how adorably uniformed they were with their bright red and green sweaters, impeccably coiffed hair, and wattled necks. They oohed and clucked and consulted on the sizes of boughs. Lunch had just been consumed, or was about to be, at one of the very good, very pricey little restaurants nearby. I recognised them, you see. They are the kind of people my mother would have been had she lived into her sixties.

I used to think my mother's lifestyle agonizingly bland and overly precious. She was not a pretentious person but she did like things to be "nice" which I equated with "sedate." Her tastes in people ran to the sort who could be depended on to make a fourth at bridge or enjoy taking the Home Show tour: genteel, affectionate, and not terribly interesting. I can still recall, though I've tried to forget, the stifling dreariness of endless Sundays spent visiting these friends. Frequently, I was allowed to bring a book along and sit in a corner reading, but most of the time I was expected to make conversation. It was not much fun for anyone involved. I was a dull little girl with a deplorable tendency to blurt out uncomfortable comments. It's a wonder I developed social graces at all.

Anyway, the Christmas ladies charmed me and the general air of holiday merriment pleased me. I nearly bought a garland, myself. I went and had lunch at a nearby little restaurant instead. Hi, Mom.

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