Ah, Christmas! The time to celebrate the birth of our savior. The time for peace on Earth, good will toward men. If only this feeling of joy and serenity could last longer than the time it takes to open presents. I think Christmas has become too commercial. Here I am with my family- my mother and my brother- and all I can think of is that I will be glad when Christmas is over. My brother has more to complain about than I believe is humanly possible and in my mother's attempt to calm him down, she only makes his mood worse. Thankfully, my brother will go home on Monday. Then Mom and I can get back to business as normal. Whatever normal might be these days.

I'm supposed to go down to Linda's for New Year's but I really wish that I could have a week or more to recover from my Christmas. It will take me a while to clean up the mess and recoup my financial situation.

Ah, Christmas! Wish the meaning was more clear and people could just be grateful to be together. We spend too much and in these times that's not a good thing. Christmas should not come at a price. It should be a time of peaceful worship and gathering together for that common cause.

Perhaps there is hope yet that things will turn around and we will become a more grateful, spiritual people.

Here is the poem that sprang to mind this Christmas. Somehow I thought it said something else. But maybe it sums us how I feel after all.

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

William Wordsworth