I can't believe I'm going to admit this. And that I'm going to go all post-epiphany Grinch on you, but here it is.
I haven't always loved Christmas. Usually I'm so burned out, working in an industry where the FAMILY HOLIDAY SHOW/PRODUCTION/ETC is a really big project (read: opportunity to earn enough cash to pay for the rest of the more ambitious 'high art' projects of the year) and the pressure is high.
Last year come December 24, I swear to god, I was going to kill anyone who danced anywhere near my head with sugarplum.
This year we're dark at Christmas. That means no show. Which means not a lull, necessarily, but definitely a pause to gather our professional thoughts and get things ready to go for our January 6th gallery opening. My urge to drink a lot is pretty much minimal. It's nice. My liver rejoices.
What I have always loved about Christmas, despite angsty years of exams/work insecurity/overwork/low incomes is the presents. I'm a material person. I show love through receiving gifts.
I have always looked forward to what was in the packages. For me. Yes, I love giving gifts and shopping for gifts and generosity etc, but I really love getting presents.
This year, I put tea towels and a cutting board on my Christmas list. (AND A KITCHENAID MIXER HINT HINT HINT) I was stumped, frankly. I appear to have, in fact, everything I want. And need. Except a KitchenAid mixer, but really, I know that's out of the budget so I'll not be disappointed when I don't get one. I promise.
This year I'm really looking forward to Christmas, but the packages, ribbons, bows, festival of gifts bit is totally in the background.
I am looking forward to kicking back with my family. Enjoying a glass of wine or rum. Many many belly laughs. Some kisses in the snow. Good food. And relaxing.
1 day ago