And so this is is Christmas. (Or close enough, at any rate.)
And so this was going to be a picture of my Christmas tree.
But the tree doesn’t vary much from one year to the next. Some years it’s taller. Some years it’s fatter. Some years it’s to the left of the fire place. Some years it’s to the right. Although each year there’s an addition or two, and a subtraction through breakage, the ornaments themselves don’t change. And I’ve had the same tree topper and skirt forever.
So this year Pink Slip is featuring a smaller piece of holiday decor: a picture of my husband with our sweetie-pie nieces, many long years ago. (They are still sweetie-pies, but, as teenagers, perhaps not quite the sweetie-pies they were when they were little ones.)
Anyway, if my tree and my other decorations don’t vary much from year to year, neither do my wishes.
Peace on earth, good will to men, women, and children.
Prosperity for not just the 1%, but for the 99%, too. (With special care paid to the needs of the bottom 1% who are there for a lot of good reasons, the foremost of which seems to be bad luck.)
Good health – physical, mental, financial, personal, professional - for my family and friends.
A political process that’s conducted with more civility, honor, dignity, common sense, and truth than we’ve seen so far in the current cycle. (Is some straight talk about globalization, the future, our headlong return to the America of the 1890’s, and the state of the environment too much to ask? And how about some straight talk about what being an American can and should mean?)
And, to get a little personal and selfish here: a respectable showing by the Boston Red Sox, and decent weather for our (me, my husband, and those almost grown up sweetie-pies) trip to Rome in April.
I’m also going to put in a bit of an appeal.
Oh, I’ve had my hand stretched out before, and no doubt will in the future. But here I am, at it again, doing it for yet another worthy cause.
If you’re reading Pink Slip, you’re probably a reader. And if there’s one thing that readers need, it’s writers.
For ten years now, I’ve been a member of The Writers’ Room of Boston, a 24/7 writers’ workspace that one of our members calls his haven. Our writers are young, middle aged, and some of us getting on old. Some are widely published, some not so. Some you may have heard of, some you never will. What we have in common is the desire for and need to have a place of our own, where our work and our lives as writers are taken seriously, even if all we do is blog…
Every year, The Writers’ Room struggles to keep our rates affordable, so that young poets trying to piece together a living through adjunct teaching don’t have to give up eating to have a workspace. So that those working full-time have a place to do their heart’s work when they have an evening or weekend to spare.
We do get small grants – bless you, Mass Cultural Council and NEA – but it’s tough. We’re always looking for donations. (And that’s a somewhat “royal we”, as this year I was elected our organization’s president.)
So, if you’re reading Pink Slip, and are inclined to make a tax-deductible gift to keep The Writers’ Room going – as it has been for over twenty years – here’s the link. (Thus ends my one and only attempt to monetize Pink Slip.)
As has become Pink Slip’s end of year tradition, we – that’s Pink Slip and I - are taking the week off between Christmas and New Year’s Day.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting.
See you on January 2nd.
Can’t get a Pink Slip enough Christmas? Here are links to some posts of Christmas past.
Oh, Tannenbaum! (2007)
All I Want For Christmas (2006)
(Hey, these are pretty good.)