Holiday Hibernation

(Look at all that empty space. Where the tree once stood there is nothing now but one plastic grandchild which lays there drunkenly until I stuff her back in the closet until next Christmas. Look past her to the SPACE. A gal could do a lot with space like that. I feel giddy.)

I knew it was time when I heard that very distinct sound. The subtle, hypnotic sound akin to trickling water from the eaves of a house on a rainy day in Spring. The sort of sound that is soft and gentle and makes one's own eyes start feeling heavy, falling under the mesmerizing spell of something else falling asleep.
But I am not in the mood for sleeping.
I am in the mood for throwing open my craft closet doors and peering into the very depths of chaos and grabbing hold of messes by the throat and throttling them back into submission. Until at such time when I am done, and the beast of clutter has been, if not tamed, subdued, and I shut the closet doors on new order. On neat and tidy little rows of jars labeled prettily with little stickers that say things like "Bottle Caps" and "Dead cd's".
This may be an unattainable goal, I may end up with teetering piles of things that should not even share the same closet let alone the same shelf like clay and broken drinking glasses I can not bare to part with, but it IS my mood.
So this slowly creeping, softly crawling fog of dozy contentment settling over the house just will not do. If it were a child it's head would be dipping further and further until it's chin bumped it's own chest and I would grab the video camera and record it so we could all sit about later and laugh. If it were a bear it would grumble softly and snort and snuffle and lay it's mighty paw across it's eyes and burrow underneath it's own weight as best it could. If it were my cat the snores would already be alarmingly loud and shaking the walls of a house better than any earthquake.
But it's not any of that. It's Christmas.
Christmas is tired and as much as it and I would love to keep it up all year there comes a moment when you realize it's time to go to bed.
Even the most exciting time of year slows down. It can not keep such a frenetic pace forever. But it tries, if you let it, Christmas will try and keep up, like a faithful puppy following along wagging it's garlands and glittering lights. But eventually it's energy lags, it's light dims and you see the drooping of it's ornaments, the Nutcrackers are no longer standing to attention as much as they are asleep on their feet. And every so often like a gust of wind a soft sigh sweeps through the house as Christmas yawns and struggles to stay awake.
It's contagious too.
I would love to see all my Christmas surround me the whole year but as the sun shines longer every evening and the weather warms and my urge to organize has my fingers itching, Christmas weaves it's spell. It hunkers down and yawns again and I find my eyes tearing as I struggle against my own urge to yawn. To perhaps just curl up on the soft white blanket beneath the tree and have a little nap.
But beware.
Christmas is used to napping for 11 months and if you do not wish to do the same then you mustn't fall under it's spell.
So I concede.
It's time.
Christmas is all but asleep on it's feet so I begin to haul out the bags and containers that it will hibernate in for the year. And just like that, as if sensing relief from the constant effort of being merry, like a smile held too long and hard Christmas droops and folds in on it's self and I hear the faintest rustle of ribbons snuggling tight together and then nothing.
It's eerily quiet as Christmas is tucked away into the garage.
Almost too quiet and I worry for a moment that it could smother in it's bag. I wonder if I know tree cpr and I wonder if perhaps I left Christmas up just a little too long if I am frozen with indecision and guilt and glancing back longingly at the huddle of shadowy shapes that is Christmas asleep in the corner.
But I shake it off. And I do not walk away but run. Renewed energy.
The absence of Christmas makes the living room look naked and vulnerable. But I kind of like it. I run over and stand where the tree was and spin a circle glorying in this instant space. I marvel at how much rooooooooom there is and it makes me itch with an un-natural urge to vacuum. To fluff pillows and dust shelves and rearrange the books. Christmas is asleep and the energy of a new Year has me half drunk with desires to move the sofa and alphabetize the spices and arrange my clothes in the closet by color.
I want to wear tank tops and walk bare feet and have ice cream cones. I want to make jams and salads and raise every blind in the house so that sun pours in and reveals the sparkling dust motes in the air and covering every surface. I want to go wild with my duster and sweep and brush in crazy places I haven't ever dared look before like on top of door frame, tippy toe style under the watchful eye of my cats. I want to think about gardens and plant herbs and sit down to some serious figuring about whether I can grow a giant king sized pumpkin in a container on my second floor patio. I want to hear bees and smell flowers and stalk the lizards who warm themselves on the patio and crawl with my butt in the air after them with my camera jammed against my face and hope that google earth takes a good picture of my ass.
And then, to top it all off. I want to do things I never even thought of doing before.
I want to raise the garage door and reveal the pandemonium inside to the January sun. I will stand there, back lit with my weapons of choice. My broom and my spider stick and will resist the urge to giggle maniacally lest the neighbors hear.
I want to FIND the garage floor, I want to stack and move and shift and arrange until it is unrecognizable in it's new trim tidiness. Then I want to sweep that floor and spin circles on it too and maybe have races with old backless office chairs across the concrete whilst Christmas sleeps mere feet away, unknowing, un-caring.
Dreaming about snow and candy canes and mulled wine and little oranges that make stockings bulge roundly, boxes of chocolates, full tummies and carols blasting from the speakers and maybe...of me.