Bah Humbug, or Ho, Ho, Ho?
I couldn’t decide what to do about Christmas this year. The day job is demanding at this time of year, and there’s a lot going on in my writing world. I’m getting Blackthorne ready for release. Formatting the paperback of ChanceShaper. Writing Crooked Magic, the sequel to Familiar Magic. Call me crazy, but given the choice between writing or taking part in the usual holiday frenzy, I’d rather sit on the couch with a warm computer on my lap and a warm pit bull (or two) snuggling my by side.
Around Thanksgiving, I told my husband I didn’t want a tree. I wasn’t going to make cookies, or send out cards. Bah, humbug!
As the days count down, my Scrooginess falters. On Sunday, I asked my husband, “Do you want to go to town and get a tree?” I have to say, we found an awesome tree. One of the best in years. By Tuesday, it had at last made its way from the back of the truck and into the house. We managed to get it decorated on Friday.
One down. Now what about them cookies? The ingredients have been purchased and await bakerly alchemy. The iced sugar cookies I’ve made every year since high school. Turtle bars. Shortbread. Cranberry nut bread. My best intentions say that will happen this weekend. Care to place any bets?
But you know the scariest thing of all? I haven’t done a bit of Christmas shopping. It’s pretty hard to shop when requests for Christmas hints are met with, “I don’t know.” I finally told my husband he’d be getting boxes of rocks and air and IOU’s. By now, receiving items ordered online by The Big Day is iffy, and I’ll be stoned to death with stale fruitcakes before braving the stores the week before Christmas. Ah, Amazon gift certificates. Boon to tardy shoppers.
I shouldn’t gripe. Even I don’t know what I want for Christmas. Wait, that isn’t quite true. I do know what I want. The problem is, everything I want is too expensive.