An end to all good things

It’s Sunday. Sunday always means something. For the past few months, it’s meant football, football, football, and then hockey. Occasionally the Puddinette would squeeze something productive into my schedule for the day, but by and large I avoided all of that. I believe I apologized in advance.

Unfortunately, I can no longer justify sitting listlessly in my recliner while my to-do list expands to rival War and Peace. Yes, of course, there’s still technically football to be watched, but now that my team’s done (and is intent, apparently, to stand pat after a sterling 4 win, 12 loss campaign), I’m not going to successfully manage to spend Sunday afternoon reenacting a bear in hibernation. At least, not if I want to sleep through the night without fear of my wife scrawling things like “Shiftless” across my forehead in permanent marker.

So then, what does this particular Sunday bring?   Well, as much as I hate to say it, the time has finally come to rid our home of all its holiday spirit.

Yep, by the time we sit down to eat dinner, our home will be totally devoid of any and all trappings of Yuletime cheer. The tree will be down and boxed, the stockings will be flattened into storage, and every last miniature sparkling light will be without either sparkle or light. It’s a very sad day for me. I hate, loathe, and generally despise when it finally comes time to take down and pack up all the Christmas decorations.

I realize that many of you have the opposite opinion, and generally plan to remove every last piece of shiny foil from sight within days of Christmas, or at least no later than New Year’s Day.  But I love the twinkling lights, the look and smell of  winter pine, and well, the specialness of it all.  It makes me a little sad to see it all come down, because that means it’s definitely, officially over.

My feelings about it might surprise some, as anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m not the first person clamoring to get out the wreath and put up the tree on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  But I never said I liked putting up the decorations, did I?  No, I’m a big fan of how a place looks all decked out in the spirit of the season, but putting all that crap out is a straight-up pain in the butt.  So I’m always very glad when the decorating is done.  At least then you’re rewarded for the effort.

Taking the stuff down, though, is insult and injury.  Not only are you deprived of all the shiny lights and colors, but you have to bust your hump to take it down, pack it up, and figure out how to fit all the boxes back into your storage area, which inevitably seems to have shrunk during the month of December.  I’d keep our decorations up year-round if the Puddinette would let me.  Yep, I’d totally be that guy; not because I really want to look at the Christmas stuff July, but because, frankly, I hate all the work that goes into taking it away.

And that’s the thing; when it comes down to it, the work is what always makes me groan, whether the wreath is going on the door, or coming off of it..

Maybe “Shiftless” wouldn’t look so bad inked into my forehead.

Pud’n

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