Christmas in November

I hate to admit it, but we put the Christmas Tree up this weekend. Oh yeah, 85-degrees and brilliantly sunny, and I’m in the attic, passing down Rubber-Maid containers of ceramic figurines, lights, and rolls of decorative ribbon.

And more Rubber-Maid boxes of miniature Christmas village buildings, cars and people (what, I don’t have to deal with enough of the big city in real life?)

And more Rubber-Maid cartons of glass-blown decorations, frilly stockings (to hang by the chimney with care, etc., etc.) and more seasonal figurines than the Army of the 5^th Ming Dynasty.
Now, those were some serious figurines!

So, it's not even Thanksgiving, and my evergreen spousal unit had to have a tree and all the trimmings up this weekend. Because next weekend, it’s over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go, and the weekend after that, she and the aunts and nieces and near-nieces and favored spouses are heading over the border and into the hills of Arkansas for the annual shopping frenzy.

It’s a woman thang.

This is a double shock to my system, since I’ve barely recovered from the later-than-usual onset of Standard Time, as the Lord in Heaven counts it. But I must confess a certain level of contentment this evening, as the family mascot and I cuddle on the couch, listening to a Jim Brickman Christmas CD, and the timeless Mannheim Steamroller Christmas collections.

The room is filled with the warm glow of the tree at one end of the room, and nothing more than the glow of this laptop to illuminate my keyboard. And it's 75-degrees outside.

Guess this means all those planned-ahead Christmas gifts I’d found over the past few months will need to start “appearing” under the tree, and plumping the limply hanging stockings. Now, if I could only remember where I put them…