“I love you with all my butt. I would say heart, but my butt’s bigger. <3”
The Christmas card I sent this year was evidence of my descent to full on cat lady crazy.
In the beginning, when faced with the task of completing The Christmas Cards, I forget how much I like them. The stack seems overwhelming and the list of names daunting. And on top of the shopping and the eating and the near-constant state of some degree of drunk, they do stress me out.
And yet, I refuse to just sign my name to anonymous card and stick a stamp on something impersonal.
As much work as it is, I love the ritual of sending these messages. And I get such a nice feeling of accomplishment from sealing up the pristine envelopes and dropping off the finished stacks in a mailbox.
I love you.
I miss you.
I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in so long.
I’m so glad we got to see you this year.
Looking forward to seeing you soon.
This year will be better.
I’m excited for all that’s in store for you this year.
I’m glad there’s a you here.
I want you to be happy.
You matter to me.
My valentine is going to be in Argentina this year. Without me. That is not a location I anticipate being in on February 14.
After too many years of sad, sad singleton-ness in my days of yore, I like a little Valentine’s hoopty. Not a lot. But a nod of gratitude to having, when I am well familiar with the wallowing of have not.
I fear that I might succumb to a small amount of irrational wallowing next Tuesday, despite actually *having* a Valentine, so I’ve cultivated a plan to celebrate solo.
1. I’m going to light candles around a framed portrait of The David, drink a bottle of wine, and sing Muffin Top.
1. Hour long massage and foot reflexology treatment.
2. St Agur cheese.
3. Pyjama pants and television programming intended for females aged 18 to 24.
I’m pretty sure that is going to feel like some really good hoopty to me.
Getting a massage pretty much trumps anything, but going to see The Vow by myself with a popcorn companion was a close alternative.
Anything tempting on your agenda?
11 days off from work. ELEVEN. I haven’t had this kind of break since college.
blah blah blah long story; I had the whole time off with no travel plans, no family and no social obligations whatsoever.
I had visions of Biggest-Loser-esque epic workouts to fill my days. I thought I would clean out and organize the closet-o-despair. I was going to bake sugar cookies and whole wheat cranberry bread. And the blog posts! Oh, the daily posts I was conjuring up!
But it’s turned into a total mollusk slug-out. Not like sexy escargot slugs. Like gross, pouring salt all over them on the back steps slugs.
I would gladly accept slugdom if its in exchange for feeling ultra rested and relaxed. Loafing around in pyjamas for days on end is my utopia. Except I’ve been staying up absurdly late reading YA novels and playing Tiny Tower on my iPhone and then waking up ass early because I’m ridiculous.
So instead of feeling serene and accomplished, I’m grody. Like a back porch slug who was beckoned by the golden siren song of or a dish of beer, got drunk, then got salted and had an oozplosian.
it’s winter solstice today. the shortest day and the longest night of the year.
which feels like it should create a sensation somewhere in the range of gloomy to soul crushing.
i just finished my last day of work before eleven days off.
i put the last of my holiday cards in yesterday’s mail.
there are tiny white lights on a tree in my living room. made all the more magical by the big, long darkness happening outside.
that christmas happens at the same time as the year’s longest, darkest night is part of the reason i think people love it so… it happens when we feel a need to gather around the hearth and huddle in the dark. we feel safe and protected and cocooned up with the people who mean the most to us. and even though, sometimes, the people we need are not really close enough to wrap up in our cocoons, the efforts we make to send that intention through cards and gifts and phone calls can feel almost as good.
this day. this day that i woke and went to sleep to in the dark. this day has as much darkness as there will ever be. and the beauty of recognizing this low point – that this is as long as the night will get – is knowing that it’s only getting better from here on out.
I don’t count New Year’s Eve for much of a holiday and thus feel I can safely say that the holidays are over. It’s kind of a Yay! to have all the chaos finished, but also rather ho-hum to be faced with 31 days in the month of January, festivity-free.
There’s lots that I love about Christmas, and none of it’s to do with the baby Jesus. Like any good five year old, what I love is the presents. And not because I’m some kind of saint or anything, but I love the buying and picking out of presents more than I like getting them. It’s because I consider myself to be a present buying master. Although maybe ask the guy who doesn’t shave his head and for whom I bought this about that…
While it’s still fresh on my mind, I’d like to jot down some notes about my favorite gifts of the year, just in case I need to remember for later.
I got David a samurai sword handled umbrella from ThinkGeek.com. It has a strap to wear across your chest so that the handle is sticking up over your shoulder and it pains-slash-amuses me to admit it, it its pretty bad ass ninja.
The Zander gave me measuring cups made from Russian nesting dolls. They’re so charming, and I totally had some successful measuring with them last night!
I got this letterpress poster from 4505 Meats for the pork lover in my life:
I took the cue from my workplace and made a gift with my own photographs, and sent my parents a calendar of Flowers, Leaves and Berries. This present is really only super if you happen to think I’m super.
Dooce posted this gorgeous printed wall art photograph of a hedgehog in one of her fabulous gift guides. I love it. Want it. Ever so much. But the cheapest, smallest one is $250! Tragically more than I can pay for a poster of a hedgehog, even with me being me.
But lo! The artist has also published a book and with that, you can have ALL of the pictures in one handy little package. Rad.
And speaking of hedgehogs, how about a boot brush?
This went to David’s parents who I think were puzzled by incessant search for rogue hedgehogs while in England. (I was unsuccessful.) The dad says that the bristles are quite stiff. I believe that in dad speak that roughly translates to “I like it!”
Despite a handful of flubs, I felt pretty successful, and a bit inspired to try to be a better more thoughtful gift giver consistently throughout the year.