'Tis the Season

 What follows  is a holly, jolly babble about Christmas folly, by golly.

I think all the snail mail Christmas cards are done. If I have missed someone, they will probably think I have up and died, or ‘passed’ as most obituaries say these days. I can’t figure that and I have no intention of passing, thank you. Ave, amicus, morituri te salutant. Or something like that. My Latin is a long way behind me and I was never very good at it. Now to get the cards in the mail. They will probably arrive in 2026, but, hey, I did them.

I have just printed off calendar planning sheets for 2026, speaking of the next year that is almost upon us. We do have Christmas in between. I am Going to Get Organized. (Hey there, ML). Actually, I am probably not going to be organized at all, and my memory banks are going to be as full of holes as my favourite colander, but we will have pages on a clipboard onto which is supposed to be entered all of our appointments with times and locations. This may even happen, but will the sheets get read? Come back next month for a new and enthralling installment. Yeah.

If I sound cranky, it is because I am cranky. Getting Organized is Not Fun. I have lost the last bill from the propane fill, I have not sent off JG’s magazine renewal and it needs enough postage to take it to the States, unless I phone it in, but I have two sets of errands to run tomorrow, AM and PM, so I can’t call until Monday.  Grumble. Must check the wrapping paper supply since I will be next to the source of all things Christmas tomorrow afternoon. Our local dollar store is a festive sink of Christmas Stuff. I am adding a note here that one of my errands got cancelled. The event was a visit to my doctor to have a non-working finger examined. Doctor called in sick and so the finger will now be examined late in January. Must remember to enter that on the calendar sheet.

Anyway, the tree is up and peacefully drinking its water and not shedding. Much. I have not managed to kill my beautiful poinsettia by either over or underwatering it. Yet. My creche is up. Pluses. On the minus side, the downstairs bedroom is covered in storage boxes and I have yet to set up the wrapping station or wrap a single gift. In fact, I have more of this item to buy. Gifts, not wrap. And inspiration is in as short supply as feelings of holly jolliness. Scrooge and me, best buds for the season. Adding a note here that the wrapping station is now ready and three presents (wow) are wrapped and under the tree.

On the other hand, the bank account is in good shape and I can write l holiday cheques for dearest if not nearest. I always loved to get money at Christmas so that I could hit the sales and pick up stuff that I had been craving but would not let myself purchase at full price. You know, I sort of laugh at my daughters’ economical natures, but I have to admit that they are chips off the old blockhead. When they were teenagers they used to grab me and haul me bodily past sale tables. Now we all stop and run an eye over bargains.

The cards I wrote this year were purchased late last December. I have been known to buy gifts through the year when the price was right, hide them and forget either that I bought them or where I hid them.  As a relatively young woman, I did that. Never have had a good memory for necessary stuff. I once lost my car keys for months; they came to light in my summer raincoat pocket when I got it out of storage the next spring. However, I can remember yards of the poetry I learned as a girl, lots of the words of songs, and other bits and pieces. I recite at odd times and get odd glances. Note added here that I just found one and wrapped it. A gift, not a car key. Or a poem.

If foggy, proceed with care. At least the colander is useful.