Just Passing By

Goji and I sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office for almost an hour before the doctor was finally able to see us. This was highly unusual because we had an appointment and the secretary was generally good about spacing patients apart. The doctor apologized profusely and thanked us for waiting patiently. When I inquired if there were more sick people who showed up that day, she confided that more people tend to get depressed this time of year. They went to see her for physiological pains but poured their hearts as the consultation progressed.

This is a sad time for a lot of people. It is for me too. Even my brothers, who are usually reserved, expressed how they miss the giddy feeling we all shared growing up. Santa was very much a part of our childhood and Christmas eve was always about raiding our Dad’s drawers for his socks so we can hang them by our beds. We made sure we had notes in the socks so Santa won’t confuse which sock was for whom. Daddy would always tell us about Santa and how he can’t be seen at all because each child who sees him adds a year to his life. Heaven forbid that he should grow too old to be flying around. And so when we hear a noise on the roof, we would all scram to our beds and close our eyes so we don’t accidentally make him years older.

Even when we didn’t have much growing up, and the Noche Buena spread was simple, my parents made sure we felt like millionaires. There was so much love to go around. When all but one moved out and we had our own families, we still converged to that house in Mayflower Street to get a refill, no, make that an overdose, of love. Even cousins, friends and neighbors drop by and stay awhile to chat because they always felt welcomed.

That is all so far away and such a long time ago. Santa stopped coming when we were older but he came back to my own house when I had my own kids. I no longer feel the same intense excitement I had as a child when December rolled around. Having spent four Christmases (counting this one which is two days away from now) away from home don’t help either.

As I write this, my thoughts lead me back to those poor souls who don’t have anyone but the family doctor to share their pains. I’m so much luckier. I have my hubby and two kids with me, my family back home who think about me, and most of all, I have those wonderful Christmas memories to get me through another Christmas away from home.

My God just saved me from a definite tragic accident.

Two nights ago as I drove myself home, my brakes failed and I skidded on the icy road and ended right smack in the middle of a busy intersection. It was a surreal moment. I braked and instead of stopping, my car proceeded to move forward. All I could do was look to my left and raised my hand, willing the driver to stop, begging him not to hit me. I was sure I was going to die and my first thought was, please dear Lord, not before Christmas. I would hate for my family to mourn me on a joyous holiday season.

It was a miracle that everyone left that scene unscathed. As I replayed that horrifying few minutes over and over, I was more convinced that God’s hand slowed down the oncoming cars from both directions so I can safely pass.

I am thankful that I escaped that accident but it also got me to thinking. What if that was my time? And of course, being the Crazy Kaye that I am, my thoughts turned to these:

1. I hate driving in the snow. We should move to Seattle tomorrow. Yeah, lets!
2. Maybe I should indulge myself more in little luxuries. Eat more chocolate, use the nice teacup set I’m saving for special occasions, sing louder, shop harder.
3. Oh no, I haven’t even greeted my friends and family Merry Christmas yet. Maybe I’ll visit them when I’m already a ghost.
4. Oh shit, what undies was I wearing? Will I die with my ugly panties on?

Near accidents can get your brain in overdrive.

The fates are conspiring against me!

I woke up with a hoarse, raspy voice and a sore throat that hurts like hell for coughing all night. I have a teleconference scheduled this morning with a client I’ve never met. So as I drove to work, I sang along the Christmas tunes on the radio hoping to warm up my vocal cords and coax my voice back. During the hour-long phone call, I strained to carry on a decent conversation. It amazed me that he didn’t hang up although I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand half of what I said.

Then  at lunch, an email from HR announced that there was a special ice cream cake in the office kitchen for the December birthdays. Guess who’s in it? Me!

I have waited all year for my birthday cake moment and I can’t even eat a bite because of my stupid cough and colds. All year, starting in January, I watched as everyone was celebrated because it was their birthday month. Being a December baby, I’m last in line of course. Now that it finally came, I can’t even enjoy it.

So as I watched everyone take a nice big piece, my good mini-me kept saying, “Stay away Kaye. You know that’s just gonna make things worse.” And my bitchy-me said, “Of course you can, it’s just a cake that happens to be cold.” Besides, it’s chocolate. And the ice cream looks really creamy.”

Well, all I can say is, My. Birthday. Cake. Was. Sinfully. Good.

Oooops.