I’m not trying to rain on anyone’s Christmas parade, but it does seem like ‘the season’ starts increasingly earlier each year. There was a time, not so long ago, that the Thanksgiving feast – Black Friday, most likely – marked the start of the holiday season. But now it seems tidings of comfort and joy arrive the day after Halloween. Out with the black and orange, in with the red and green. And the lights. And the music.
I was in the dentist’s office on Monday afternoon. It was November 8. And Feliz Navidad was playing on the radio. It was an unfortunate moment, to say the least. Not just because it meant we’ll be listening to canned festive music for at least 47 consecutive days this year. But also because it’s necessary for my mental well-being to only hear that unfortunate song once a year. And, with 47 days to go, there’s a very good possibility I’ll hear it again.
Most likely in my own home. Because the professor loves nothing more than watching my face ‘light up’ as he ‘randomly’ selects Feliz Navidad from his Christmas playlist.
But despite my misgivings about putting up a tree much before Thanksgiving, or decorating my house, or playing cheesy music, I am getting in the Christmas ‘spirit’ a lot earlier than I normally would. Because I have decided that 2010 will be the year the Johnsons send out Christmas cards. Which means I have to (1) find friends, (2) get their addresses, and (3) have everything ready to go by December 1st. Because these puppies need to reach their recipients before the clock strikes 2011.
And, in true Nicola fashion, I’ve decided not only just to send cards out. Because that would not be complicated or painful enough. No, in order to make this an experience to remember, I am making each card. By hand. (Sort of.)
I bought plain white cards and envelopes from Michael’s. And I am personally decorating each (expletive) card. So that I might send them with much grumbling and complaining (aka, love) to people who will look at them for five seconds before recycling them. [Seriously, how do the bonafide crafty types maintain their composure when they have sticky fingers?]
The professor took a look at my first prototype. ‘Do you want me to try and sell those at the University?’ he offered, supportively. I did some pseudo math in my head, doing my fuzzy-brained best to account for my time and the cost of supplies. I concluded I’d probably have to charge about $15.