Does a collection a collector make?

I don't fancy myself a collector. I used to collect bells, but haven't gotten a new one in years and consider that collection closed. And I sort of collect books. Well, not so much collect as accumulate. I'd never consider myself a true book collector, by any means.

Despite not seeing myself as a collector, those who view my holiday decor may very well think otherwise, may possibly consider me a collector. Of Santas.

Somehow I've ended up with quite a few Santas. A collection of Santas. Something I never intended to happen. After recently watching a news story of one grandma -- an old grandma, as in 97 years old -- and her collection of hundreds of Santas, my collection has me worried I've entered territory typically reserved for collectors of Avon fragrance bottles and salt-and-pepper shakers.* And that makes me feel old.

I must admit though that, age be cussed, I do enjoy putting out for the holiday season all the festive fellas I've collected accumulated.

There's these ...

And these ...

And these ...

Plus these merry men on the tree ...

(Okay, I admit those tree guys don't look so merry.)

I even have a Santa cutting board ...

I bought a few of the Santas above myself ... I'd say three, maybe. The rest have been given to me -- by friends, family, former employers. As you can see, their gifts have created quite a display, quite a collection.

So does my collection of Santas make me a Santa collector? You be the judge. But in your assessment of me and my Santas, you better be nice ... because Santa's watching!

*Nothing against collecting such things, they're just not for me. At all.

Holiday question of the day:

What theme figures most prominently in your holiday decor collection? Angels? Snowmen? Santas? Something unique and unexpected?

The stockings are hung ...

Last week I knocked out a few holiday chores. So, yes, the stockings are now hung. And I have the wreaths up, the garland on the banisters and railings and porch, the tree done, the village up and running, the nativity scene arranged, and the box for Megan, Preston and Brayden dropped off at UPS for Tuesday delivery.

With all that I've accomplished, I'd like to think I'm pretty close to being ready for Christmas. But I'm not. I still have much to do this coming week, including:

1. Bake 14 dozen cookies for Saturday's annual family cookie swap.

2. Buy one more gift for Jim.

3. Buy one more gift for Andrea.

4. Buy two more gifts for Brianna.

5. Make the food gifts I'm giving friends and family.

6. Buy the gifts for Abby, Isabel, Mickey and Lyla ... aka "the animals."

7. Wrap all the gifts. (We still have zero gifts under the tree.)

8. Do the Christmas cards.

9. Watch Love, Actually, Joyeux Noel, While You Were Sleeping, and White Christmas in its entirety (I've only caught snippets on AMC). Without these, it surely doesn't feel like Christmas.

And how many of those things do you really think I'll be able to check off my list this week? Considering the procrastinator I am, I'm pretty sure I'll only get through No. 1 (thanks to the drop-dead deadline of Saturday), accomplish bits and pieces of Nos. 5 and 7, and possibly knock out one of the four flicks in No. 9.

Nos. 2, 3, 4, 6 and 8? Well, let's be honest here: Why do today this week what can be put off til tomorrow next week?

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Holiday question of the day?

How much of your holiday to-do list do you have left to do?

Uncharted waters

We did it. Jim and I made it through our first time decorating the Christmas tree as empty-nesters. Meaning, we did it alone. Just the two of us.

After 28 years of tree-trimming being a loud, festive, family event, this year there were no little ones hanging eight ornaments in a space meant for three. No kiddos closing their eyes and holding out their hands awaiting presentation of the annual new ornament from Mom. No more jokes about the carrot, the pickle, the Russian Santa. No more surly teens swearing under their breath at one another as I ask if they could please just get along so we can get the tree done without someone crying. And no more girls home from college for the holiday and savoring the family time they'd missed while away.

This year, the ornaments are evenly spaced, there was no surliness, and there was no swearing. There were, though, a few tears. From me.

This is a huge milestone and not one I hoped to reach so soon. In fact, I hoped to never reach it at all. I hoped that even once my girls were grown and gone, there would be tree-trimming parties. That I'd have my daughters, their partners, my grandchildren running all about as Christmas music played and they clamored for this ornament or that. All the while we'd be sharing memories of holidays and tree-trimmings past.

But it wasn't to be. Not even close.

Maybe next year things will be different.

Or maybe next year will be the same. But at least having been through it this year, it won't feel so darn empty and strange.

Holiday question of the day:

What is your favorite ornament on your Christmas tree?

For the birds

We have a small waterfall in our back yard. All summer long it gurgles and burbles and lends a small portion of peace to our place smack dab in the flight path of the airport and mere blocks from one of the busiest traffic corridors in the city.

I love the waterfall. At summer's end, I lament the loss of the trickles of tranquility as the water is shut off, the pump put away for the winter. And winter has indeed come to my part of the mountains, despite the calendar saying it's still fall.

Yes, it's time to put the waterfall to bed for the season.

But Jim is rebelling this year, refusing to shut 'er down. He loves the waterfall more than I, spends more time fiddling with the rocks, the water flow, the chemicals to keep it clean, the daily clearing out the leaves and needles. And more time admiring 'the heads' he mounted at the top of the waterfall.

(If you read this post, you understand the significance of the 'the heads' in our lives. Despite the significance, I still groan regularly about Jim placing a miniature version of the national memorial -- courtesy of the darn Sky Mall catalog -- in our yard.)

So with temperatures falling well below freezing every night -- and during some days, too -- the little waterfall that could does ... keep flowing. Which I think is really stupid.

"What a waste of electricity," I say to my (usually) utility bill-obsessed husband, thinking that'll do the trick, show him how irresponsible and expensive it is to run the waterfall all winter. He just ignores me.

"You're going to burn out the motor," I keep telling him. It won't fully freeze up because the water's moving, he responds, adding, "And it'll look so cool when it freezes around the edges. Remember the one time it did that?"

Yeah, I remember. But it was a freak freeze, and we shut down the waterfall right after that.

Jim continues ignoring me, the water continues flowing and I continue thinking my husband's a nutjob.

Tuesday morning I let the dogs out and glanced over at the waterfall. It had frozen all around the edges, leaving only a small stream flowing down the rocks and a little tiny pool at the bottom. And in the stream and the pool were several birds, merrily splashing away, thrilled by their luck at finding fresh flowing water when all the birdbaths in the city surely were frozen.

It was a delightful sight. And once the birds flew off -- frightened away by Lyla and Mickey dashing out for their morning potty break -- the nearly frozen fall remained chillingly magical.

 

Much to my chagrin, I had to admit Jim was right. Just like the last time the waterfall froze, the icy sculpture definitely did look so cool.

Consider my tongue bitten. I'll back off cussing about the waterfall. I'll stop trying to convince Jim that not shutting it down for the winter is a really dumb idea. The water can flow, I guess, and I'll keep my mouth shut.

But I'm only agreeing to let it flow for the sake of the birds.

And in hopes that next time I'll be able to snap a few shots of the birds enjoying the unexpected deep-winter delight before the dogs frighten them away.

Holiday question of the day:

If you were to create and market an ice cream available only during the Christmas season, what flavor(s) would your concoction be?

My swollen heart

Sunday afternoon as I sat out on the patio listening to the waterfall gurgle and the birds chirp and warble as they flitted from the waterfall to the birdbath to the flower-covered vines decorating our back fence, an overwhelming sense of gratitude came over me.

Out of nowhere, my heart swelled with gratitude for my crazy house and overgrown yard and that, despite a house payment that doubled when we bought this house -- and the stress accompanying it when we both lost our jobs relatively soon after -- this is the place Jim and I plan to call home for the rest of our days. I love my house. I’m so grateful for my house.

Yes, it’s a material thing. But this material thing makes me happy and content … and grateful.

After a week of thinking about, writing about, cussing about all the things I think suck in my life, all the things I worry endlessly about, it was nice to suddenly, inexplicably realize a plethora of things for which I’m grateful. Things I’m blessed with that truly trump all the fears, doubts, worries and complaints I let get in my way each and every day.

I’m grateful my family – immediate and extended – has never suffered a true tragedy. We often succumb to fear and trembling over imagined tragedies when the reality is that we have been tragedy free and have it pretty darn good.

I’m grateful I was laid off and given the opportunity to consider and pursue a career path that matters to me.

I’m grateful for Jim, who supports that career path even though it means far less money than the one I previously fell into. I'm grateful for Jim for countless other reasons, too.

I’m grateful my girls grew into such lovely, amazing, thoughtful, intelligent, empathetic women … something I never thought would happen while in the throes of the teen years.

I’m grateful for Bubby. And that I get to see him more often than some long-distance grandparents get to see their grandchildren. And that Megan and Preston happily share him with me -- a consideration not all grandparents are afforded.

I’m grateful Megan and Preston are doing the right thing by my grandchild -- another thing not afforded all grandparents.

I’m grateful for a twisted childhood because it twisted me into an unusual shape. It may be a weird shape, but it’s different. And different is good.

I’m grateful that Jim and I continue to have the money we need. Plus some. Plus lots, considering what many others have.

I’m grateful for those who read what I write, who act like the gunk and junk that flows from my head to my fingers and onto the page and screen is worth reading.

I’m grateful for the unexpected gratitude that filled me up, made me consider what matters, what’s important and what’s worth being grateful for.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What are you grateful for today?