“You look like Santa Claus,” he said. Then she said. Then she said it, too.
That’s right. They were words uttered my general direction not once, but three times this week.
I remain dubious of the innocence of that remark.
Sure, I happened to be toting several bags filled with goods. I also happened to be wearing a rather snug sweater, thanks to the myriad of sweet, holiday treats paving the way to festivity.
It’s such a delicious time of year . . .
Thankfully, I have the day off. One, I intend to clean the house; two, if the forecast is to be believed, I shall be shoveling snow. Nothing quite burns calories like a lady flailing about a slick driveway, trying to lift shovelful after shovelful of wet snow with her puny little arms.
Of course, then I’ll probably be cold . . . so I’ll have to bake cookies to warm up . . . of which I cannot possibly share until I’ve tested them myself.
But such is life.
And if you have it, you most certainly should live it.
With that, dear friends, I wish you a joyous Christmas. May it find you safe, surrounded by those you love, and filled with good cheer.
Well, hello there. And happy December!
How are your festivities coming along?
It’s been a frenzy of activity over here. At least it would be a frenzy, if I could work up enough energy to get it done. Still, considering I managed to pick up that wretched bug that’s been going around, I’m fairly proud of myself. The tree is up! Granted, it’s half the ornaments it usually boasts — and if you look closely, you’ll see a clump of ornaments here; and spot bereft of ornaments there. And since we didn’t get the house painted (only partially prepped), the walls are bare, a few light fixtures are MIA. But by George, we’ve got candles and the twinkling of lights.
For all intents and purposes, I’m ready.
Good thing, since the calendar seems to be filling in quite nicely. Today, for instance, marks our office Christmas party — a paint and sip. While I’m all for jumping ship early, and sitting around, sipping — I’m none too keen on the idea of painting a seascape. But no one likes a Grinch (and God don’t like ugly), so I’ll don my party pants, paint with enthusiasm, and keep Bob Ross on repeat: No mistakes, just happy accidents.
Seems a good mantra for the holidays as well, no? After all, I dare say the best way to truly celebrate the season, and all that it stands for, is to do so with a little imperfection.
With that, merriest of weekend wishes to you, my friends.
This may come as a surprise, but my pets are a bit quirky.
Mr. Bean, for example, went through a stage wherein toys held no sway. You could hold up a bedazzled bird, fringed with feathers, hanging from a string, dancing to laser light, and he’d nary bat an eye. But now that he’s a spry thirteen, he’s tracked, batted, and pounced his favorite rat across the living room floor more times than I care count.
And he knows: toys are not to be toyed with beneath the tree.
So he’s taken to sending up a cry for help anytime his favorite foam ball rolls beneath the boughs. Not a subtle cry, I might add (it’s taken awhile to realize he is not, indeed, getting ready to hack up a hairball).
At first, it annoyed. After all, I’ve work to do—deadlines to meet—I’ve got to get it done so I can shop, write cards, wrap gifts, bake, celebrate Christmas, for the love of God and all that is holy!
Of course, I need only witness a few wild felines ascending the heights of O Tannenbaum to realize I’ve got it good.
Not only that, but if I pay attention, I just might learn a thing or two about celebrating the season in high fashion . . .
You see, my kits view wrapping gifts as a grand adventure (all the more so if it happens to entail 50 yards of ribbon and a myriad of jingle bells);
They view treats with an air of excitement (and nary a thought for calories);
And they view the hours as something best spent in the company of loved ones, lounging about next to the twinkling of light.
I fully intend to view the coming days in much the same way. With that . . .
A Merry Christmas to you–may be it be perfect, in all the ways that matter!
There are few traditions so long standing and true as the celebration of Friday . . .
Speaking of which, I celebrated last Friday with The Oak Ridge Boys.
I purchased tickets for my mum and me because, well, it’s the Oak Ridge Boys.
Not that I’m a big country music fan, mind—but The Oak Ridge Boys Christmas (circa 1982)? Well that’s another matter entirely. I grew singing to “Christmas is Paintin’ the Town;” shedding a tear to “Thank God for Kids;” and dreaming to “Happy Christmas Eve.”
Even today, Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without those boys, singing those songs.
Of course, as so often happens with tradition, you mustn’t deviate. Why, just last week they sang “Jesus was born today . . . “ Only their bass player failed to play the fancy bit during the acapella piece—total devastation.
Granted, my mom had no clue as to that of which I spoke—I had to play the song twice before she even heard it on the CD.
But I guess that’s the beauty of tradition. The memories you make last a lifetime; but there’s always an opportunity for making something new . . .
With that, I wish you a happy weekend. May the days ahead be so delightful, you’ll want to cherish them for decades to come.