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The Christmas Grapes By Maggie Turner |
December 07, 1999 The Christmas Grapes I am up before light this morning. Attila left for work over an hour ago. "The Teenager" is busy in the bathroom, positioned in front of the mirror, preening and applying various chemical enhancements. I have my coffee beside me and sit with the laptop hoping to avoid confrontation. Mornings aren't good for "The Teenager"; interaction only serves as an irritation. I keep a low profile and breathe a sigh of relief when the door closes behind her. Children are magnificently beautiful when they are asleep, no matter how old they are. Today I am paying bills again. These little devils sit waiting in the shadows. I know they are there and pretend that they are not until their presence cannot be ignored. So I write checks, lick stamps and bash away at Excel until it all seems under control, until the next time. In my fantasy life I never have to worry about details like bill payments or cleaning the evestrough. Now that I think of it, my fantasy life resembles the life of a teenager... It is another grey day; the world outside is almost colorless, displaying endless variations of black and grey. When the sun shines the blue sky mediates the drab colors. I welcome the evenings when brightly colored Christmas lights light up houses lining the streets. Even snow offers some relief from this visual monotony; the contrast brings the landscape to life. Soon the sun will shine or it will snow.
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