An Excuse for Excess, or, Joy In A Box
I keep my home pretty spare – I’m just not a knick–knacky kinda gal. I don’t collect anything except art.
But, in the fall… Something clicks in my brain right around Halloween and I take on an alternate personality. I become crafty (or I attempt to be). I go ga–ga over silly snowman and saucy santas.
In November and December, baby, I’m all kitsch. If it is stuffed in flannel and covered in glitter, I’m all over it. My house looks like it was overtaken by malicious, crafty elves. I have a snowman collection, and santa collection, a gingerbread house collection, I’m just beginning an angel collection and I’m thinking of starting one of Nativity scenes. I’m a veritable photo shoot for Michael’s.
Every flat surface is at risk.
So beware, if you’re coming over to my house this holiday season, you may be in for sensory overload.
Seriously, though, pulling out these boxes and bales brings me so much joy. Every lid uncovers a family tradition, a memory, or a funny story. My children’s growth can be measured by the little palm-print reindeer; the Santas marching across the entry table hale from Quebec to Ketchikan and Caribou to Victoria, and Rothenburg to Moultonborough. Little harbingers of happy places, happy times.
Every gifted ornament and trinket brings to mind a beloved face and friend.
I think the Friday after Thanksgiving is one of my all-time favorite days of the year.