And with the last Ecclefechen consumed (more on these delightful creatures later), can I finally bid adieu to Christmas? No. Because the tree is still up and the gift of truffles is still in its decorative candy dish and the glitter jam is still in the fridge and I am still wearing Christmas slipper-socks. Creature comforts in a dry January. (Can't even use the cold weather as an excuse as it was 7C on Monday.) Panic sets in because I haven't:
finished my travelogue from 2013
painted the bedroom doors
read my TBR pile from 2005
organized the kitchen cupboards from 2017--so much for Apartment Therapy
booked that trip to the East coast
baked that chocolate-balsamic truffle loaf
made that 28-ingredient meat loaf for Dad
organized my photo collection
made it to a Chekhov Collective show
took the time to brew a proper espresso
used my fabulous new Staub crock pot
opened that bottle of Shiraz
made those cognac & nib bitters
had the discipline to blog weekly--not even the ubiquitous 'wordless Wednesday'
booked my pedicure
rid the closets of old clothes
selfishly transformed the spare room into a space for reading, yoga, and other me stuff
re-designed the back garden
washed the car
And is taking down the Christmas tree the only thing standing between me and an artfully written, grammatically correct post? The last barrier to a Cordon Bleu-worthy dish? No.
But consider the feeling of a 'clean' space--i.e. a clutter-free space: emboldening, inspiring, empowering.
I admire the discipline of those who take down a tree on December 27th and who choose not to borrow from the Slavic or Chinese traditions; those who call it quits January 1.
The clock is ticking on shlepping about in Christmas socks, the tree-lights ablaze (remember we have gone down this road before--see Stuart McLean and his Winter tree lights), and binge-watching Outlander and Homeland--and Le Weekend on repeat. The espresso maker and Staub are two tiny steps on the road to adulthood (this as a BD draws near); getting organized and staying organized are two others.
Until next time. Where we justify the whopping $10 it takes to maintain this collection of letters.