Santa's little workshop.

Turns out this year, Santa is working with limited storage space for presents (i.e. hiding places), as well as limited time to covertly wrap said presents with festive paper and ribbon.  Recipients of aforementioned presents are constantly underfoot (or hovering about a foot taller than me).  No wonder the North Pole seemed like a prime piece of real estate. That jolly old-man was sly I tell you.  

Normally Christmas would be beckoned in by the completion of finals and research papers.  The slow sigh of a 'hallelujah' with the realization that the all-nighters are over and weights have been lifted off your shoulders.  However, this year the season has slumped in day by day, one hour at a time.  I feel as though I am still waiting for the final buzzer to sound and the Christmas season to officially begin.  Where's the alarm, where are the jingle bells? 


This sounds silly given that I have been indulging in Bing Crosby since before my wedding at the beginning of November.  And I'm surrounded by an adequate assortment of decorations. There are lights hugging the molding that surrounds our front window.  A small fir named Francis adorned with ornaments (dutifully watered morning and night) complete with a porcelain angel perched on top.  I've done my shopping, both safely online and bravely amidst fellow hardy/grumpy shoppers.  But the spark is absent.  I'm afraid the holiday will come and go this year leaving me a cloud of wilted mistletoe and pine needles. I don't mean to say that I'm not excited for the day that approaches. I just wish I could lasso it and make the coming days drift by like a dusting of snow. Slow, to be savored bit by bit, until it has gently settled around us. I'm sure I'm not the only one.  


However, though that seems unlikely and a bit naive, I'm going to toast to Christmas and the craziness, with an eggnog latte in hand, and enjoy the ride, whether or not I 'hear those sleigh-bells jingling'.