Sure, I am 72 but I am still a child. My entire life looks better when I have the Hershey Kisses silver wrapped pleasure laid out before me on my weekly path.

I am having a visit from my son, his wife and the amazingly wry toddler girl they have created. So because of that anticipated pleasure, the frosting cold on my windows and gnawing numbness at my feet does not bother me. The neighbour who parks his gigantic pulsing truck in my parking space does not bother me. My mind is living in the future place of experiences not yet arrived.

Like setting out with a basket, I look for the easter egg delights that are to come. A Netflix special, a dinner with friends, the three books that I have purchased and envision myself reading with a cup of Orange Spice tea at my elbow all await me.
How simple it is to simply learn that I need these scheduled surprises; these orchestrated moments of the music of the senses; these rewards scrawled on my giant calendar.

 
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For me, Christmas is not about buying things, not about running around to see what I might be missing. But I am learning that shutting down does nothing to make my spirit bright.

The muffin at the coffee shop on Sunday morning makes me entirely happy. I can hear myself say to me, “This is nice. This is really nice.”

There are the big victories and then there are the victories that simply coming from learning what makes life brighter. I am a child who wants sparklers, sitting by the lake, a good tasting beverage and a foot swinging conversation. But first I have to plan and map them in my future. It is a plan. X marks the spot where the treasure is hidden.