I Don't Dig Christmas

I don’t. I don’t know why, I just don’t. I like anticipating Christmas, I like remembering Christmas, but I don’t like living Christmas so much. It’s partly the pressure, the countdown, the empty chocolate boxes in the two dollar Advent calendar. And it doesn’t help that everywhere is an image of Christmas perfection when perfect and I are almost never even in the same room. Sounds like some seasonal depression, right? Really, it’s not - I like the tree, my kids’ off-key carol-mangles make me happy - I’ll just be happier when it’s over.

This little guy makes me happy, that’s for sure.

I call him my cheeky Santa. I got him years ago at a yard sale. I think he’s some kind of decoupaged paper, but he’s gotten a nice patina over the years (maybe he lived with a smoker before he moved in here!) and his expression is great.

This is my other Santa-dude.

I do remember where I got him - a thrift store in Montpelier, VT, nine years ago. He’s a tin of some kind; he’s hollow, and looking at the picture he’s lined up wrong right now, but he’s great for tucking little candies in for Christmas Eve.
So.... Enough about my kinda-sorta-S.A.D. for now. I'll just go look at Cheeky Santa and imagine it's January already.