Onward into 2004

Christmas is over at our house. The tree is going out today for curbside compost collection, the village is packed back in its boxes, the Christmas CDs stashed in a drawer, the champagne flutes from the new year's party washed and put away -- January 4, it's a record for us!

I'm not one of the people who feels grumpy and oppressed by Christmas -- not at all, I love it! However, I have an unreasonable hatred of putting things away. With every ornament, wall hanging, or other Christmas kitsch that I put out this year, I was oppressed by the knowledge that I would need to put it away again in a few short weeks. I love the effect of having things put away (a place for everything and everything in its place is a fond and probably unrealizable goal of my life), but I hate, hate, hate the act of putting things away.

Unless the things in question have a definite and well-defined place to be. Putting away the village is a reward I hold out to myself for doing all the rest. The village, you see, comes in three large boxes, with styrofoam packing that has cut-outs for each and every building, plus little plastic cases with slots and a picture behind for each and every figurine. Ah, bliss. (Yeah, okay, it's pretty anal. Take your pleasure where you find it.)

Christmas is packed away, hooray.