Life of Wry

Oh yes.

The C holiday.  Behind us.  I woke up this morning eager to return to normal, to pack up all things red and green. To put away the soldiers, angels, tassels and bells, and consolidate and stash the nuts, toffee, candy, cookies, cocoas and teas.  To clear the counters, sweep the floor, and throw open the windows to let a cool, clean breeze blow through the house… and maybe take with it all the calories and bloat.

I allowed as how that might seem a hostile act, so asked Jim if he was okay with my wiping away all signs of Christmas on this, the 26th of December.  He thought it might be nice to enjoy Christmas a while longer, at least until Peter’s back in school.

Not the answer I was looking for. But I felt so guilty about my hastiness & enthusiasm (I take way too much joy in this phase of the holiday) that I decided to be agreeable, as long as we could be clear of Christmas by the weekend.

I did manage to find a little bit of a work around, though: I packed everything up but the tree and lights, figuring the tree was the centerpiece of holiday ornamentation, and the lights added sufficient glowy warmth. This way, I could preserve significant holiday spirit and still get a jump on the packing.   I didn’t just automatically repack, however.  I decided to cull the kitschiest of our Christmas inventory–the items that come out each year but which make me feel like I’ve taken leave of all my design senses–and reorganized the remaining boxes. And that was awesome. I did a thorough clean of the house (Jim may correct me here and say it was the cleaning crew, but, whatever) and let in some of that 30-degree outside air to freshen things up.

Ahhhh…

Maybe now I can clear my head and write and read, reflect on some new year’s resolutions, that kind of thing.

Or play games with Peter.  Speaking of, any guesses where he sat?