PhotoPrompt--Grandparents

From Delores at "thefeatherednest"

What I remember most about my grandparents are their hands. 

Grandpa had big hands, calloused and worn with broken nails.  But, he held my little hand as if it were a china tea cup.

Grandma’s hands smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.  She cupped my little hands around a baby chick.  

I miss them, how they sounded, the smell of Grandpa's shirt, the softness of Grandma's apron.  But, most of all, I miss their hands on mine.

Hunting for Humor

I am hunting for humor.  I have been searching for it for some time.  This time of year is so hard for many people, and I am no exception.

It confuses me somewhat, as this is a joyful time of year. 

Christmas—joyful.  Songs—irritatingly upbeat.  Decorations—bad taste at any other time of the year, but not now.  Demands on time—give, give, give but finding joy in the giving.

Church—cantatas that celebrate Christ’s birth and our salvation; that’s good. 

Holiday foods—another good thing. 

Cute and happy children—a real plus.

So what is my problem?

Basically, I have a dark side that I fight against. 

It is depression, something that has plagued me for much of my adult life.  It didn’t have a name until people I loved started dying. Finally the dark cloud that would come over me had a title and a treatment.

This time of year brings the memories of those who have died, who are celebrating Christmas in Heaven, to the front of my brain.  While I keep plodding along with Christmas joy, my humor is hiding somewhere.

Maybe it is in the sock drawer.