it ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
A delightful tableau found in my parking lot this morning. So tempted to make this my Christmas card.
Oh, holidays. Now begins my tiresome yearly struggle with November/December. I’m working hard, this time, to get on board with a certain amount of good will as we hurtle towards the ho-ho-HOOOO.
Violet said something about this recently (though I can’t find it on her blog, maybe it was in person or in a beautiful dream); something like “you decide what to make of the holidays.” Of course, she said it with a lot more panache, and it did make me think about controlling my December Destiny a little more.
My friend The Professor is credited with getting me to reconsider the idea of Holiday Spirit in 2007. He is a goofy and infectious ball of Christmas glee, and that was the year I actually had a tree, and a gathering, and everything. I tentatively lifted my Christmas embargo, which had been in place since 2004.
I don’t see the Professor much anymore but I have at least two people in my life that are quite fond of the jingle-jingle of the holidays: the aforementioned Violet and my boyfriend, Lamar. These are good people to have around me these days (for a variety of reasons); they can be my guides (my Stars in the East, as it were) to lead me to pipecleaner snowmen, paper snowflakes, and nog. That’s what it’s all about, right?
OK, Becky, you have to stop farting around and avoiding communicating with me, or at the very least mentioning me in your blog. And why haven’t you commented on my brilliant critical essay on Georgia O’Keeffe, which my friend Mary, the Harvard PhD in art history said is quote better than Didion, better than Sontag?
Hmmm?
For my part, I am only slightly less guilty, inasmuch as this is my first visit to your blog since you were in NYC. But enough about me.
Your Halloween riffs were really great, from the Day of the Dead toast to the scaredy cat photos that had me peeing my pants.
I’m struggling to figure out what my blog project will next be, because I now know that it must continue, must take me out into the world, must have a shape of its own, which I only describe.
xxoo