The party's over.

    "Holidays," "festivals" "celebrations," "Hanukkah," "Solstice," "Christmas," "New Year's" — there are so many terms for the serial occasions of forced gaiety that set in around mid-November and run until, well, today, when it all coasts to a sudden halt and we return to our ordinary lives.
     There should be a term. "Relief" comes to mind. Because while we had a pleasant Thanksgiving et al this year — very low key — I am somebody blessed with an enjoyable ordinary life, so always embrace its return. I like to work. I like to set my own schedule, not leap to dance because the calendar says it's Dance Day. (Although, now that I conjure it up, a Dance Day would be a welcome development. Just imagine it. People doing the Electric Slide down the street, to the train ... oh right. Not so many go to work anymore).

     Don't get me wrong. I love my family. Nothing makes me happier than vacuuming the house for a few days, preparing for their arrival. Though there is a certain stress as well. Relatives walk in the door or we walk in their doors. You're expected to say something. I usually come up with "Well, we're here," or "Hi, good to see you." Then we all stare at each other. 

     And parties — don't get me started. It's like standing in the middle of a room by yourself only the room is crowded. Really, there always comes a point where everybody is talking to everybody else and I'm somehow not part of any of the gaily chatting groups, but left wondering if it's okay to pull out my phone or, better yet, just back quietly out of the room. At least at home there's the dog. "I've got to walk Kitty!" I cry, to no one in particular, and no one in particular seems to notice when I grab her and bolt outside for the next half hour. I love our dog.
    I searched for the antonym of "holiday" into Google and it served up "work." I suppose most people make their livelihoods through drudgery. I can't imagine. That must be awful.  A few days ago I spent 45 minutes interviewing a singer/songwriter who lives on the coast of Scotland for an upcoming column. She was a very well-spoken, very smart person and I really only ended the conversation because I had enough material for three columns. We talked about creativity and aging and children. 

     "That was fun," I thought, hanging up. Writing the column will also be fun, as will seeing it published. So do I make my living by having fun? Not quite. It's still work, in that it requires effort and sometimes I have to do it when I don't particularly feel like it. But work is also something I enjoy far more than making small talk or cleaning up the dinner dishes after two dozen guests roll off to their homes.
      The parties and dinners have been thrown or attended, the last one being New Year's Day. "Nice to meet you..." I said, being introduced to someone. "...or to see you again if we've already met." Which could have led to an interesting conversation if she were looking for that. But she had already turned her attention elsewhere by the time I'd finished speaking, and I gratefully fled to another part of the room. Now we're home free for ... gee ... almost six weeks. Until the ticking bomb of Valentine's Day.