List.

Nodding daisies, I know how you feel.  

Had one on my toe, but it stalked off, too - jumped in some other vase, I'm sure. 

Traitorous Aster. 

Sleepy, bowing stems too thin to hold their caricature heads up. Fountain streams, bowtails that fall out of line, over the edge of the cup, 

I wonder if it's my fault.  

I kill plants alot. I've learned not to buy them, no matter how cute, because they end up frail, withered brown things on my tabletop. Howard saves them sometimes, sometimes not. Our Savior of Vegetation. 

I leave them there for weeks, sometimes, watering them and fussing that they might be resurrected. 

On the third day, Christ rose from the dead.  

In the third week, my plants land in the trash. No miracles for them. 

There's a forgotten tumbleweed in a corner of my yard. Tumbleweeds are different, they grow to die. Only in death, splintered off from their life-giving earth, they fulfill their true purpose; shaking out their seeds as they tumble and stumble across the ground. I wonder if they're lonely, tumbleweeds. If they hold back, never truly connecting with other plants. If they don't make any real friends because their fate hangs low before their eyes. The other species whisper about the aloof tumbleweed, wondering "what's his problem?". But the green shoots don't realize in their shortsightedness, like teenagers in their invincibility they just don't see the truth and the tragedy of it all. The wise and weathered tumbleweed knows what's coming in the autumn...  

Christmas Eve, stolen long ago from an ancient tradition of birth and rebirth. I miss my own ancient traditions of snickerdoodles and fudge.  

Of the dog chewing through the crumpled wrapping paper, of stockings hung by the chimney with care.  

I miss the silly advent calendar with the mice on it.  

"Murder-your-own" Christmas tree outings. 

I'm working through Christmas, this year. I figured it's better to let the people with kids stay home. I sort of wish I could just skip the whole thing.  

But I bought a tree of my very own for the first time, yesterday. It's about 8 inches tall, rooted in a copper-colored pot, Its branches reach out, offering a tiny snowflake symbol of peace. I thought long and hard about the consequences for the poor little thing - becoming *my* plant isn't something I'd wish on my worst enemy. But I bought it anyway, I need something that says "It's Christmas" around the house. It shivers and sparkles on the table by the front door. I put two presents on the floor next to it, satisfied with my lame attempt at a tradition.

My daisies bow deeper: out of exaggerated respect or exhaustion, I'm not quite sure. 

I want a dog. A puppy for Christmas.  

Shorter, redder hair, too.  

And a red convertible to match.  You could just set your reindeer to work on my Volkswagen...

I want world peace, an end to hunger and violence. I want my cousin to be ok.  

Please, Santa, now that I have a Christmas tree, would you put my family under it tomorrow morning?  

Or, maybe just some new slippers, a book or two, and something that resembles a heater for my car.  

If it's not too much, I'd like homes for all the lost children in the world.  

A green thumb.  

Cooking ability.

I've been very good this year; kind to my friends and strangers. I didn't lie, cheat, or steal.

Can I have longer legs? Warmer weather? New eyeliner?

I would just love a basket full of patience. Sanity. Wisdom. Extra time.

I want a new laptop for Christmas. Or, a bigger garage. Either one would be great.

Or, if you can't do any of these things, give me another year of blessings like this one: filled with the love of my family and friends, success in my artistic endeavors, challenges that teach me how to be a better human being, enough money to get by comfortably, a good job that keeps me interested, and a warm home with a wonderful husband in it. If you could just make next year as good as this one was, that would be more than enough.

Thanks Santa. I'll owe you big time.

-Me