I don’t always love Christmas. There, I’ve said it. I might as well add that I don’t like Disneyland and I don’t instantly love every dog I meet. I think that’s the Grinchy Trifecta, right there, although even Grinch has his dog, Max. So I’m officially Grinchier than the Grinch.
Like many people, I’m prone to dark moods during December. (And January and February …) I love the Northwest but I do get the blahs after many consecutive gray days, when I suddenly become hyperaware of everything that feels wrong in my life. These wintry blues cover everything from past regrets and relationships to the hole in our dining room ceiling that still needs patching after plumbers punched through the drywall a year ago to fix a leaky shower upstairs.
Of course, I’m perfectly capable of being sad in July. Feelings ranging from mild discontent to inconsolable sorrow are part of the human condition in every season. I think that may be why people like dogs, because their relentless enthusiasm is a welcome counterbalance to our occasional gloom. Cats are shameless pleasure-seekers, too, but hardly anything is more entertaining that watching a dog absolutely lose its mind over a walk, a ride in the car, a belly rub or a piece of sausage under the table. Actually, those are all things that make me happy, too, except I prefer my sausage on top of the table, without the dust bunny chaser.
Maybe dogs do know the secret to a happy life, and it’s this: Look for the sausage under the table, because in the dark, shadowy places of life, there’s often a bit of unexpected joy. Keep your eyes open for anything to savor and then savor it like crazy — some little bit of pleasure, some glimpse of breathtaking beauty, some crack in the wall of sorrow that lets the light through or admits a tiny green tendril of growth. Watch out for the cracks.