It's About Time

 This title does not actually apply to those of you who may've wondered if I abandoned my blog altogether. 

I am referring to the most wonderful time of the year. I know, I know-- I generally try to wait until the day after Thanksgiving too. On a normal year, while everyone else is out getting trampled for doorbuster sales, I have always been at home, listening to the iconic string music ushering in Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song" and hanging ornaments that tell the story of my life, year by year, on a tree we just cut down. We have what my family has affectionately referred to as "Part Two" with turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie, and the cranberry sauce that maintains the shape of the can (this is absolutely essential). 

This is not a normal year, though, as anyone who exists on this planet would tell you. As such, I am ready for a bit of cheer. Not only have I had sort of a weird month personally (go to the dermatologist, seriously, even if you think you don't need to), but also this year has been bizarre. 

The traditions we like to observe year by year have been skewed, thrown off course by something that is invisible to us, apart from very real, very visible effects. 

 I wait all year for fall, and in a way I feel like this pandemic forced me to fully appreciate the autumnal beauty in a way I haven't before, because I spent so much more time outside at state parks. 

On any other year, I would see Christmas decor in stores in September as something of a sacrelige-- allow each holiday its due. This year, however, I left an eye appointment, and in my eye-diluted-blown-out pupils-state, Shelley and I went to At Home, and I ended up leaving with an angel ornament, a Victorian wagon ornament, tiny tree bulbs, two small trees, a sequined deer, and a glittery gold deer. It is worth mentioning each of these were layered with glitter, which is something I typically veer from. Perhaps it was the only thing that caught my blurred vision. Perhaps it's because in the midst of all this crap, I wanted a little sparkle. Either way, I found myself paying and walking out into brilliant September sunshine with two bags of Christmas decor-- most unusual. 

I managed to make it to this week, but nonetheless, we carted the decorations up from the basement and there is garland on my mantle, stockings on the hearth, and mistletoe hanging in the doorway. As soon as a Christmas tree farm opens in a 30 mile radius, I will be there, Goldilocks-ing my way through each tree until I find one that borders between Griswold and "needing a little love", and I will enjoy the season of light and love at the end of this bizarre, sometimes horrible, always hopeful 2020.