I’m away and thought I would post this piece again, for the non-elves among us.
“The Season” makes me crabby. Grumpy. Irritable. I’ve come to hate it. Everything about it. I hate the music, the crowded stores, the decorations. I especially hate the decorations.
Last year a friend stopped by our house in the middle of December. “God, it’s December 15th,” I said to her, “and the only decoration I have up is the wreath on the door!”
“I don’t think that counts, Lease,” responded my husband John. “You didn’t take that down from last year.”
Tonight, I’m looking around at my undecorated house thinking, “uggggh,” not “Ho ho ho!”
It wasn’t always true, though. I used to beone of them. I was a veritable Christmas Elf. I baked, I decorated. I embroidered Christmas stockings for the whole family. My son Jacob and I built gingerbread houses that did not come from a mix or a box and…
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