Another holiday by myself. Not every holiday is by myself, but it feels like every when I am by myself. So I did the by-myself things. Take a walk, read a chapter, call a friend, crochet a row, eat a cookie. Hmm, somehow a holiday rather resembles most days.

It use to be that a no-plans holiday, was still a holiday because it felt much different than any other day. Give Bill and me a no-plan day, and we planned. On the fly, in the moment. Go to the movie with me. Let’s barbecue burgers. Want me to beat you at Backgammon? Take me on a drive. Even a holiday with some usuals was special in some small way. Does anyone else kinda enjoy doing dishes together? Washing the car together? Miss it!

I suppose a single gal can make plans. Supposedly. What would they be? How do I do that?

Maybe it’s the company, more than the plan, that makes a holiday special. Maybe it’s your forever friend, the person you do life with and holidays with. Maybe holidays are holidays only because you get to do the day a little differently — together. I think that must be the special in a holiday.