proving that the best things happen while you dance…

I know Christmas is coming because…I haven’t had time to blog. :) Every year I get all ambitious on December 1, and every year I settle for about 5 posts in December and the hope of “maybe next year I’ll write every day!” Humbug.

But at least I’ve been spending my time well. Good times with good friends & family. Enjoying the first Christmas in my new house, including building Santa’s little workshop in my living room for all my many wrapping accoutrements. And, perhaps most important of all, the movies.
FOLKS, the movies.

So far this year I’ve managed:

Elf, Scrooged, Home Alone, Love Actually, Bridget Jones Diary, White Christmas, and even bits of the California Raisins 80s claymation special.
In the queue, of course, A Christmas Story, It’s A Wonderful Life and Christmas Vacation…all of which will most likely happen at home over the weekend. (Along with much overeating and looking at photos of myself in Awkward Phases of Christmas Past.)

Last Sunday I went to see Elf with Amanda at the Gillioz. Magical to relive it on the big screen. So much is lost in TV viewing that you don’t really notice until you see it big again. (Is that what she said?) Amanda and I saw it together the first time, too. (and experienced an amusing anecdote involving choco-tacos. But I digress.)
Then home by myself on Sunday, while wrapping gifts like a jolly old elf, I took in The Christmas Movie to which all other Christmas movies aspire: White Christmas.

I'm dreaming of a this.

You guys. Just.
The sprawling old-hollywood sets.
The bits and gags.
The glorious technicolor reds and yellows and blues and greens.
The cheese whiz romance.

It’s got it all. It’s just wonderful. And for me it’s not only about the movie.
It’s everything that’s tied up in it. Ritual. Tradition. Memories.

But it’s also about the movie.
I just want Danny Kaye to resurrect and tell me jokes and dance with me. And when the general walks into the theatre on Christmas Eve…and the army guys are all there to sing to him…and Rosemary Clooney has come back because she loves Bing after all…Tears! Tingles! Tiny kids doing ballet!

If (baby Jesus in heaven forbid) you haven’t (you have-unt?) seen it, please just go buy it from the nearest purveyor of DVDs and put it in your nearest player of DVDs and get ready to enjoy life just a little bit more.
Even better, find someone to watch it with you. No one really wants to be alone at Christmastime. John Mayer figured that much out years ago.

December 8

I know Christmas is coming because…we got our first office gift basket at work! And I literally squealed with delight. (“Squeal” is the correct verb for the situation. I startled myself a little. But seriously. Gift basket season is upon us! *squeal!*)

This one came from a printing company that we use for many of our major projects. In truth, we owe them about 50 baskets for the hard work and often-rushed jobs they miraculously pull out of their presses in the nick of time.

But ’tis the season for giving gifts that are maybe undeserved, that are not about what is given in return, that are just about the niceness of it all.

It’s nice. Especially when that niceness includes a squeal-worthy variety of crackers, cookies and sundry snacks. I wish I would’ve taken a picture before we dug in—with exclamations of “OOOO! Cookies!” or “EWWW! Olives!”

I’ve felt really lucky to have my job a few times over the last few weeks (when my uncle prayed on Thanksgiving [i know, right! Shockingly Hallmark-commercial moment. I don’t believe it, either.] for instance), and I know I am lucky to be doing well right now when many people aren’t, but it’s funny how a little thing like a big gift basket can elicit such delight.

Sidebar: There’s a packaged salmon in the basket again this year. None of us wants to eat it, so for now we’ve placed it under our office mini-xmas tree. We’re baffled and bemused re: who (besides, of course, a cat) wants to eat dried fish out of a pasteboard box. It’s a Festivus mystery.