Well, the Thanksgiving holiday is over, and I'm back. Back to my alarm clock, back to my desk, back to my computer, back to my lime green travel mug of coffee.
And back to the Christmas season. Yes, we have eaten the turkey, which launches us firmly and legitimately into winter and the Christmas season. And I, for one, am very happy about that. I like the beginning of winter, as I like the beginning of every season. There's that sense of anticipation in the air, the knowledge that the weather is about to do something very interesting. This time of year, we watch the skies for that fluffy white stuff. When it does fall, there's soft, quiet magic. (For a couple weeks, anyway. After that, people get grumpy about it.)
And I love Christmas. I would love Christmas if I didn't get a darn thing, too. As long as I still was able to give, I'd be happy. Christmas is the time where you scatter joy around in as many ways possible. We sing it, shout it, bake it...roll it into snowmen, and coax other adults to snowball-fight it. We play outside until our ears tingle, then come in to curl up by fires with hot, steaming cups of cocoa or coffee or any number of magical winter elixirs; we feel warm, and safe, and very, very alive.
Mmmm. Just thinking about it makes me feel all cozy. But I suppose I'm still talking about winter, here, and not so much Christmas. I have much to say about Christmas. But we've got time. Four weeks and a day, to be precise. Man, I've got a lot of sewing to do before then....cookies and cheesecakes to bake...carols to sing...parties to attend...
And I love every minute of it.
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