The Christmas Letter

I’ve been composing my annual Christmas letter. I present, the rough draft of my first paragraph:

“I don’t know about you, but I’m in some kind of time warp. Wasn’t it just Christmas ten minutes ago? Didn’t we just pack away the lights, shove the ornaments into a box and celebrate the New Year? I’m mixed up, a hybrid of Rumplestiltskin and Rapunzel (growing my hair rope-long again so I can dangle it out the castle window as a means of escape). My scheme is not working, though. I just wake up every morning, twenty years old with an unruly tangle of hair on my head and kids underfoot, no Fairy Godmother in sight.”

It’s not beginning to look a lot like Christmas here. Today, while I shopped, the parking lots were jammed with cars, but the skies were blue, the sun shone in my eyes and no one wore a jacket. Mt. Rainier was “out,” looking postcard perfect. When I returned home, I noticed bulbs beginning to grow in a pot on my front porch.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, though, the time when the school schedule relaxes and I don’t have to harass anyone about homework or pack any lunches.

I do, however, have to finish that Christmas letter tonight or the line about “wasn’t Christmas just ten minutes ago” won’t make any sense . . . when the letters arrive after Christmas! I’m blaming the time warp.