Intermission

That goofy, floaty week between Christmas and New Year's is here now.  I'm never sure I know how to feel about it.  When I was a kid, it brought letdown with it: all the anticipation of the month before Christmas, wondering what Santa would bring me, and building up to the unbridled avarice and greed of that morning.  Then it was all gone, and I can remember at least one instance of being a very dejected child when Christmas was all over and wondering why we couldn't just keep the tree up in the house all year.  (I'm glad I never said that out loud.) 

Over the years, that ebbed.  I think once my parents started wrapping the gifts instead of laying them out overnight, something changed, and the days after Christmas didn't bum me out as much as they had.  Now, if anything, the week after Christmas means there's a ton of leftovers and cookies and what not to dispose of.  (It also means there's fewer and fewer days to get the cans of corn, stewed tomatoes, black-eyed peas, collard greens and pinto beans for New Year's Day lunch.) 

At any rate, here we are, so make the most of it.  It'll be back to the old grind soon enough.