Decorating, decisions, and deadlines

"But I don't know where any of this goes!"

Now imagine hearing that sentence repeatedly, in a totally whiny voice that breaks in a super pathetic way, and with hand gestures like a two year old. Now you've got my Christmas 2016 decorating refrain. Bob, of course -- the stinkin' calm in the storm -- said that this was my first time decorating this house, and that he knew it would be beautiful. Dang it.

Working on a hard deadline while going through chemo is sort of a joke.

I considered the weekend before Thanksgiving my last "free" weekend. It had been 10 days since my fourth and last AC treatment, and of those the last 3-4 days I felt nearly normal. It was a good thing, too, because the family had tickets to the Notre Dame game, which would be my very first time. And it was a doubly good thing I was feeling decent because it was miserably cold and snowy, and it was going to take quite a bit of energy to navigate this whole day, get to see the things on campus I had only heard about, and see the first half of the game. At the end I was tired, but happy (not with the score of the game, of course, poor ND).

Sailing on the wave of a good Saturday, Sunday was to be my basement decorating day. But, with everything like this, it's never as easy as it sounds.

Did I mention the deadline?

We had bought a little artificial tree to set in front of the big window in the basement family room. Just the perfect size. Bob got the tree up and the lights on it. This has been his job for every tree we've ever had. It's tradition, and he's good at it. As a bonus, he set up a little Christmas village on a table, with a train running around it. It was so dear. After his set-up, it's my turn.

You should know that Bob is "The Christmas Guy." He's the one that loves the holiday with abandon. He is ho ho ho and jingle bells and lights and wreaths and trains and Santas and presents and Christmas music playing non-stop in his truck from November 25th until December 25th.

The storage closet in the new house is (for now), my "Monica's closet." (For those of you unfamiliar with the term, Google it.) So to get at anything, I had/have to drag some boxes out, rearrange, make a path. It's all very exhausting, even without chemo. I found (most of) what I needed for the tree, the mantle, and the shelves, and in the end in spite of all my whining, the basement looks pretty good.

This is where Bob will spend the majority of his time recuperating from his surgery, which is tomorrow, and that was the deadline. (While I'm still going through chemo. Now weekly.)

We knew this day was coming. With two major diverticulitis incidents resulting in week-long hospital stays in the past few years, Bob's really been living on borrowed time. Plus the pain. Daily pain. So, Dr. G. set the date, and Bob will be having that damaged section taken out, and will be laid up for a month.

We had decided weeks ago to go without a tree in the main floor living room. "With everything gong on," became our motto. I told Bob I'd just do the mantle, and the shelves, and it would be... cute. Cute and depressing, I decided. So we agreed. Christmas everywhere. I sent Bob out to buy a tree he never would have looked at had I not requested it. I wanted a short, fat, soft, fluffy, old fashioned, Christmas tree. This is not Bob's style of tree, so it was a tough assignment for him. (The Christmas Guy likes his trees tall, with compact needles, and expensive.)

So for the second weekend in a row I had decorating to do. This is where the major whining started, because if you take out a calendar and look at it, Wednesday was my first of 12 weekly Taxol treatments, Thursday was Thanksgiving, and then I had three days to get it all done before going back to work on Monday. Then, shorten that to two days because: chemo.

Bob did his thing with the tree, and then for those two days I alternated decorating and resting. I managed to get at least a little Christmas just about everywhere, and it looks nice. Now wherever it feels best for Bob to be resting, upstairs or down, he'll have his Christmas around him.

And so will I.

"With everything going on" it would have felt worse to do nothing.

I read a great quote from Pope Emeritus Benedict on Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent. It has to do what what our faith is about, putting on Christ for each other. "Faith is...a liberation of my I from its preoccupation with self, a liberation that sets me free to respond to the Father... Faith is... a breaking out of the isolation that is the malady of my I."

Even though I'm far from living that perfectly, I like to think that doing this for Bob, so that he is comforted and comfortable and surrounded by Christmas, which makes him happy, moves me a tiny bit closer to that state. And closer to where I want to be at Christmas, ready to welcome the Word made flesh into the manger of my heart, again.