December 2

I know Christmas is coming because…I had my first Little Debbie Tree Cakes.

basically snack porn

I had said Little Debbie Tree Cakes at book club tonight (where I described them as “maybe my favorite cheap-o Christmas snack”).

So book club.

I like to imagine book club is an actual clubhouse. with a rope ladder and secret passwords and a hand-painted sign saying “no boys allowed!” but while it is not those things, it is everything wonderful about books and friends and life.

(I think we could, at least, make tshirts.)

Tonight we discussed A Handmaid’s Tale, a book which I’ve already extolled on my trip down Lonely Lane, and to whom I owe more careful posting. That’s for another night. (Momma’s got a race to get ready for.)

Thanks for all your support, dear readers. And if you’re up between about 8 and about 10:30 tomorrow, please send some vibes to your higher power for me.

 

December 1

So December is here, and that can mean one thing: It’s time for snow in blogland. Fa la la la it’s the little things. Christmas is sneaking its way into my everyday. For one thing, Swingin’ Christmas station on Pandora. For another, I swapped my Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin bathroom soap for Vanilla Bean Noel. (Sudsy holiday scent choice is a v. big deal.)

But before I get too far into Christmastime blogging, (I have 25 days to get there, after all) let’s spend a little time with the penultimate holiday, and some thoughts I’ve been sitting on for about a week.

THANKSGIVING.

I found this article, Thanksgiving in Hindsight, on @TheAtlantic, Atlantic Monthly’s twitter. The teaser on the Atlantic post began, Thanksgiving is literally a week of nostalgia (which means “returning home” in Greek) for many Americans. Ah, talk to me, I responded. I work in nostalgia the way some artists work in oils, or little Ralphie’s father worked in obscenity (please excuse the rogue xmas reference).

It’s an interesting little read, (For one, did you know that Thanksgiving became an official holiday during the Civil War?) warning that if we idealize the past, we miss out on the present. And we kid ourselves, because nothing we might long for from the past was perfect. (not Pilgrims. not Grandma. not ’08 Obama.)

That same pre-Turkey Day week I found this lovely nugget on @TheSchoolOfLife (TSOL is this church / therapy center / bookstore / awesome life collective in London. When I go back, I want to go to there.):

The Japanese word “wabi-sabi” is the beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, incomplete, modest and humble.

Not to be confused with that tasty sinus expunger of the sushi plate wasabi, wabi-sabi is officially my state du jour. du most of the time. Trying to see the beauty in what’s impermanent or incomplete–it’s the kind of zen any writer needs.

So happy First Day of December, everyone. Here’s to a month full of beautiful imperfection.