Significant Stuff

December 26, 2010

The last middle-of-the-night noise that I recognized was our Christmas tree falling over.  Again.

No big deal.  I was awake anyway.  I’m on a pondering kick that won’t let my brain rest.  The current subject is party invitations, of which there are a plethora this time of year.

We get invited to our share.  We invite people to our share.  We don’t get invited to some.  We don’t invite some.  We’ve been invited and not wanted to go.  We’ve not been invited, but wished we had.  It’s not balanced, fair or quid pro quo.  Well, it is quid pro quo sometimes.  We’ve invited because we’ve been invited, but not all the time.  Each situation is different.

I have a friend who religiously doesn’t mention her social calendar just in case there’s an upcoming event that someone was not invited to.  It’s not uncommon to have lunch with her one day and then see her at a party the next evening without having mentioned our respective plans to attend.

I have other friends who mention every social event and just assume that you a) knew about it and b) were invited.


We mark our lives with gatherings.  The people we surround ourselves with fluctuate, sometimes surprisingly, even between good friends.  We have a responsibility to ourselves and to each other to respect that.

It’s hard to be excluded.  It thwarts that little kid sense of fairness.  The grown-up me embraces that that’s the way of things and that I make those same choices every day as well.  It’s about good grace.  It’s about manners.  It’s about being truly happy for people.

It’s about rising above the petty desire for delicious, delicious revenge.

Oops, was that out loud?


Susan Scot Fry

Update… This has got to be one of the oddest posts I’ve done this year.  It’s all sideways and smacks of passive-aggressive juvenility.  (yes, I just made up that word.  but you know me.  i do that.)

Update… Odd post for a day that I spent at two Boxing Day parties.  I had absolutely lovely times at both the Henry house and at the Farris-Hicks home.  Sometimes, I’m just an odd duck.


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