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So far this is shaping up to be a mood-swing holiday season: dire dispatches depicting sales clerks practically sobbing in empty stores, interspersed with consumer cheerleading headlines (Sparkle and shine: Hot trends for holiday '08) urging you to decorate only in silver! Sport sequins! Or ominously empty December social calendars contrasted with wine experts mulling whether that Okanagan pinot noir will really work for your party.

So what's it going to be this holiday: gloom and doom or merry merry?

Well, why not both? We know the score, we realize there is only one truly indispensable accessory for this holiday season, in which the sounds of fa la la la la will be occasionally drowned out by another more emphatic f-word when the markets fall yet again (or the government for that matter): It's called attitude, and no matter what your circumstances, I promise you, you will be called upon this financially (and now politically) challenged season to sport a very good one. Let's call it Worry and Be Happy.

My attitude challenge came early this season with a social first for me: a disinvite. A very nice woman, acting reluctantly as corporate grim reaper, e-mailed me that because of cutbacks I had been "taken off the list" of an annual party. Moi? Off the list? I was, needless to say, just a bit peeved. I composed several starchy replies, but wisely saved them till the next day.

Then, ego refreshed, it occurred to me that a) I didn't want to go in the first place - hell is standing in an awkward conversational grouping with people who probably won't laugh at your jokes - and b) this was an opportunity for generous wit.

"Not even Miss Manners," I wrote, "could give me advice on how to RSVP to a disinvite, but no worries, I am happy not to go." My reward was a gracious reply thanking me for understanding and letting me know I was in good company.

Just in case you think you are too socially valuable to be disinvited this season, consider the Toronto social doyenne who recently sent out hundreds of dollars worth of cards just to say that, sadly, the couple were not holding their gala this year.

The only pitch-perfect attitude if you're the recipient of this card? Reassure her that she's entertained you for years and everyone needs a break, and then invite the poor woman over for a glass of port and a hunk of stilton by the fire.

Then there was the couple holding a holiday fundraiser at a local restaurant, invitations all sent and replied to, who discovered at the very last minute that the restaurant had gone out of business. How to rescue that? With a cheery change-of-venue e-mail (after no doubt desperately working the phones) announcing a local restaurateur had generously stepped in to fill the breech. There's always a solution.

And finally, if you're the hostess still agonizing, as my friend was recently, about whether to go ahead with her annual glamorous Boxing Day come-one-come-all fete, take a cue from the conversation she had with her live-in university-grad son, who, along with his friend, told her how much they were both looking forward to the bash. "Well, we might not have it," she replied grimly. "No problem," her son said. "We'll get a keg and host it."

Genius! Instead of shelling out for pricey hors d'oeuvres and decent wine, let your kids host a holiday kegger to which you can invite some of your friends, too. (Bonus: Your friends probably won't be the ones throwing up.)

I won't burden you with those ubiquitous price-conscious holiday gift lists that always seem a bit desperate to me ("If you're single, offer sexual favours to three friends!"). But I will tell you that my hair stylist, whose social intuition I trust, says "stuff" is so over, and anything consumable - a nice jar of mustard, for instance - is the way to go. Hope she's okay with that - and maybe a donation to charity - instead of a big cash tip. I've tipped her all year, after all.

Here's the real bottom line in this dividends-roasting-on-an-open-fire season: What must never be scaled down is our open-heartedness, our feeling of social expansiveness, our desire to get together with people we love and just enjoy them. That feeling, that attitude, that moment is "priceless" as they say on the ad for your credit card. You know, the card that just got cancelled.