We have a massive and pretty darn good looking artificial tree out in the shed. Rather than disturb the colony of mice that I’m sure is happily nestled in its branches, we went out and bought yet another fake tree. However, this purchase wasn’t due to any altruistic thoughts of local wildlife, but because the old one is so unwieldy that it’s an Olympic event to get it up the hill, into the house, and then stagger the three separate parts of it through the house to the living room, sweeping knickknacks and armchairs to the floor as we go.
This year I bought battery operated window candles at the local dollar store. The good news in that I didn’t have to run football-field lengths of extension cords all over the house for my usual electric lights. The bad is that the new candles give off a feeble jaundiced yellow light, barely visible from the street.
As for the gifts, we are the perfect venue for a low-energy, under-achieving thief. Every single present (except the ones for my husband, which are cleverly squirreled away in my closet) we’ve bought so far is heaped in a designated pile in the dining room. I’m afraid to wrap anything yet since I’m a visual learner and this is the only way I can tell who’s getting what.
Today I made cut out Christmas cookies, the annual event in which I remind myself why I really hate making cut out Christmas cookies.
Still, I haven’t hit the panic wall yet. I figure three days from now ought to be about right – when for instance, I remember the perfect gift for so-and-so, and I’m one day past the mail order time frame. But that’s nothing. Real, Armageddon-like panic is Christmas Eve when we realize that one grandson has only 5 items for his stocking, while the other two have 8.
You know that any kid worth his salt counts and compares.