What could possibly be worse then the rush, the crush, the worry and scurry of getting ready for Christmas? Well, I’ll tell you what can be worse. Getting un-ready after Christmas. That, I think, is even worse.
Of course there is the ritual part of it. Taking the tree and decorations down, all the while glumly thinking that if you had known it was going to be this much work, you wouldn’t have put so much up. Realizing that if you miss one porcelain angel or one miniature caroler, that oversight will scream to the whole world how careless and lazy you are. “For cryin’ out loud, Christmas was month’s ago, and did you notice that lazy old bag still has mistletoe over the kitchen sink and a caroler on the mantle?”
The judgement for this sort of thing is harsh. Every bit as harsh as leaving laundry on the clothes line for a fortnight.
But the hardest part of moving from ready to un-ready, the recovery so to speak, is bringing back to the forefront those knitting, sewing, and other projects that were so neatly packed and stored for the holiday season. And getting back into one’s soul the same intent and purpose that made them so much fun before they were packed away. Getting back to normalcy. Getting back to writing and reading and the solace that one was so cozily wrapped in before Christmas hit like a thunderbolt out of the blue.
Oh this year was so scary for me. With so many social engagements back to back I came so close to slipping from preferred reclusiveness into that other mindset that demands regular and frequent socializing, interaction, excitement, and outside stimulation. Gad, what was I thinking?
I don’t want to go there. How could I have come so close to that slippery precipice? Good thing I regained my footing or tonight I’d be off playing Bingo or at a church supper instead of sitting here happily rattling these keys. I don’t want to ever get that close again. It was too scary.
Next Christmas I better be a lot more cautious about how many events I attend. Though the experts say it takes 21 repetitions for habits to form, there are bound to be exceptions to the rule. So even though my festive events were far less than that, I could still feel the draw. Yet I remain uncertain if it was interaction with others or the exotic food at these events that caused the unsettling of my mind for a day or two.