Over the weekend, I was alone. The empty house refreshed me with silence, for a few hours. I grew bored.
Only sixty-eight days remain until Christmas. Annually I go through a resistance which breaks around the first week of November. I need holiday carols., and I caved early this year. The weather was crispy, freezing temperatures occurred each night and my tomato plants perished. Many hours this weekend were spent crocheting, baking, and shouting along with X-entertainment’s Christmas Jukebox.
No shame or guilt was felt in my premature celebrations. However, as I am now hosting my first ever Thanksgiving dinner, I believe I’m going to give great efforts to subdue any further Christmas celebrations until Thanksgiving. I mean that.
Thanksgiving in the past proved to be a day long celebration. The decor, food and festivities are difficult to drag much further than the leftovers last in the fridge.
For the next fourteen days, let’s think about Halloween. And, for the full twenty-five days after All Hallows Eve, we’re going to give mad props to the Turkey.
This year, my Christmas decor and magical tree will not appear in the second week of November. And unless it is forced upon me without choice, I will refrain from Christmas music until Jolly ol’ St. Nick takes his turn in the Macy*s Parade.
I’m hosting Thanksgiving. This is huge. I mustn’t screw it up.