We've snow on the ground, our tree is strung with lights, but the Christmas spirit is noticeably lacking.
I placed my favorite ceramic Santa on the bookshelf the other day, and an hour later I heard a crash. The books had fallen over, forcing him over the edge. Obviously a conspiracy to stamp Santa out of Christmas. I took that as a sign that I shouldn't bother with the rest of the decorations.
I suspect I'm going to be one of those people for whom the holidays are painful. Bah humbug, and all that. Charles Dickens would have a field day with me.
There are a few bright notes. Daughter Number One came home today; her sister arrives on Christmas Eve. Presents are bought and wrapped. I've made a grocery list; I'm checking it twice. (Can't be too careful.)
On the other hand, I yelled at some naughty kids today. I've not been very nice and I'm inclined to pout at various times during the day. And plus I killed Santa.
