The Christmas Hammer

"The best part about hitting yourself in the head with a hammer is how peaceful you feel when the pain goes away." 
--Susan Lindsay, Sage

Greetings from the Garden of Necessary Evils, where challenging family members, jobs that suck up all your creative time, the house that never gets clean, and [insert ominous music here] ... kale ... grow like noxious weeds, threatening to choke out the dew-kissed rose that breathes its sugared fragrance upon your gently beating heart.

What. EVER. Gimme the weeds any day. A weed is nothing but an unwanted plant—but a plant, nonetheless. Did you know that poinsiettas are weeds in Australia?

Speaking of which, let's talk about Christmas. Shall we?

This weekend is dedicated to putting all the Christmas crap away, as well as the mountain of laundry that mounted up over the last month of Christmas, when we were so busy performing Christmas gigs, entertaining visiting family from overseas, and organizing gifts and Christmas activities that we had no time to prevent the house from falling to rack and ruin. And oh, it did.

Do you remember the time I posted a New Year's blog entry that was all about cleaning the house and pronouncing how that year was hereby dedicated "The Year of the House"? Did you notice that the next time I came back to the blog was 20 MONTHS LATER? Housekeeping is a lousy muse.

The epiphany following Epiphany is that Christmas is really just like that hammer: It can be a royal pain in the ass but I wouldn't trade it for the world, and once it's all put away and stored in five giant Rubbermaid bins in the basement, boy does it help usher in a beautiful, peaceful January.