I can honestly say that Christmas is not my favorite holiday . . . other than presents, there is not much to appreciate in the hot heat of a Vegas Christmas. I always feel like such a child at Christmas time, seeing it as a day off, filled with presents and no other symbolic meaning. But where's the fun in celebrating it as a symbolic day? There isn't . . . I've tried (way back before Lindsey was born and I had to deal with the hell that is living with Ed Willows, searching for faith to lead me through). It was a complete bust . . . no fun, no alocohol, nothing . . . and ever since, there has been plenty of "fun" (as much fun as comes with the tiring hours that Lindsey gets up to open presents).

This year, I plan on changing things. I guess it would be like a New Year's Resolution but at Christmas . . . so let's call it a Christmas Resolution . . . only that sounds completely stupid and once more: childish. So, I just won't give it a name. It's a simple pact I've made with myself, to have a Christmas I've always dreamed of: snow in the desert (okay, maybe Linds and I will have to go somewhere for the snow), presents with beautiful big bows neatly placed on top, sipping hot chocolate in a big turtleneck with a fire in the goddamn fire place (without dying of heat) . . . so maybe I AM a bit over-enthusiastic. But damnit, I want CHRISTMAS . . . not just a day of presents.

I want a big, bright, green Christmas tree with lights, ornaments, and hell, even silver tinsel. I want a creche to sit on a drawing table in our family room. I want an advent wreath, complete with candles, to sit on our dining room table; I want it to be lit at every dinner. I want to see Lindsey smile a gorgeous (and well-rested) smile on Christmas day. I want her to appreciate everything she gets. I want . . . I want happy Christmas memories.

I wrote this all out once, all my Christmas wishes . . . a long time ago when I was young and naive. But deep inside me, I still want every last one of these things . . . sure, I've grown a bit since writing all these things down but I keep the list so that I can come back to it every Christmas and have at least one item on the list. Lindsey's happiness is commonplace but I want more than the everyday circumstances.

I keep this "Christmas List" in my locker at work, always reminding me before I go home and before I start my day, of the things I've always wanted. I rationalize it all after it DOESN'T happen by asking myself truly: "when will it ever snow in Vegas?" Never . . . not to my knowledge at least. Like they say: 'when pigs fly . . .'

Speaking of when pigs may fly . . . I finally have a three day vacation. Guess I finally conned Gil into giving me what I want . . . hell, I wanted to tell him that was enough of a gift for me, just my three days. Not that I don't LOVE my job *cough, cough* but it does get . . . overwhelming---especially in the "giving season." It's depressing to know that the murderers do not even stop for holidays . . . but I learned that a long time ago. . .

December 24th: Christmas Eve

My first day off . . . I am thoroughly intent on relaxing the day away. The presents are wrapped and the poor excuse for a tree that I own has been decorated. As I lay back in my spot on the sofa, there is a knock at the door. A sigh escapes my lips and I force my body from it's half-sitting/half-lying position. There, outside my door, stands a UPS man. My first thought: "What the HELL?" My second thought: "Open the door, dumbass." My hand flys to the knob and I shut my open mouth, hoping to rid myself of the confused look on my face. The small man struggles to bring the package to my door, pushing and pulling at it. It looms next to him, more than twice his size, as I open the door.

"Delivery for Miss Catherine Willows?" I nod silently, "Please sign here."

"Thanks." I give the pen back to the small man and he walks away, probably none too pleased that he has to work on Christmas Eve. I stand in the doorway, contemplating how exactly I am going to get this package into my house. It is marked: "FRAGILE THIS WAY UP" and looks like it will just sneek through my door. I may need help . . . but no one is here so I'll just have to do it all by myself. I scramble behind it and push it through the door. I was right . . . it just barely made it.

I rip open the cardboard and push away stray styrofoam peanuts that cling to the massive green tree that stands before me. I suddenly feel like the delivery man . . . so small next to this . . . this thing. Tinsel hangs from it in nicely arranged globs and ornaments dance around the tiny multi-colored lights. I reach up to admire one special blue ornament when I am pricked . . . this tree is real. I, Catherine Willows, have received a REAL Christmas tree, fully decorated, from a rather small UPS man on Christmas Eve. Can this day get any weirder?

Oh but it can . . . that lovely little blue ornament held a message . . . actually, MANY little blue ornaments held one collective message: "On the DAY BEFORE Christmas, my true love gave to me . . . a fully decorated Chriiii-ssss-tmas Treeeeee . . ." (with randomly placed music notes adorning the sides). Cute . . . scary but cute . . .