What do you mean Christmas is over?!

I'm convinced it's still Christmas: all the kids are in their peejays and it's well past noon, the air is nippy, a new Starbucks planner is open on my desk, a balikbayan box's contents are strewn all over the living room floor, and my skin is as dry as a piece of cheap ham left overnight on the dining table.

(the oval puncher!)

I received three new punchers: a 1/8-inch hole puncher, a 1/16-inch one that punches a hole 2 inches from the edge of the paper (How cool is that! Thanks, P!), and an easy-grip Fiskars oval puncher. I riddled a sheet of 220-gsm paper with holes, admiring the sharpness of the punchers and mentally thanking the genius behind them for making these tools easier to use than their cousins which remind one of medieval instruments of torture.


I also got a book, Artful Cards: 60 Fresh and Fabulous Designs (Are they ever! Thanks, G!), that has my brain churning out even more variations of its sixty. As I nurse a mug of strong coffee and a cold (sniff, sniff), I'm writing down the details of Artful Cards in my new black Moleskine (Gasp! Thanks, J!) journal so that I can keep track of how many books I've read so far this year (ahem... 22). I'm keeping the next few pages blank because I anticipate a list that will grow to a hundred titles, and keeping my fingers crossed that I have as much time as I have books.


2010 was an awesome year. I made new friends and re-connected with old ones. My belief that the world is filled with good people was affirmed many times, through friends, family and total strangers. I learned that it is during the tough times-- and last year proved very difficult-- that people, oddly enough, are most generous.

(the galleys!)

So don't try to convince me that it isn't Christmas anymore. I received so many gifts-- books, clothes, arts and crafts supplies, shoes, make-up (uh-huh), household items-- that I'm having trouble finding room for them in the house. But there are galleys of children's books still on their way to me as I write, Christmas presents from a friend (Thanks, C!) who's lucky enough to live where she can see the planet's coolest library when she stands two steps away from her front door. 


I also received so much more-- friendship, loyalty, time to read and draw, life lessons from my children, kindness, sympathy, love, support, a gazillion hugs both real and virtual, happiness, blessings where I often forget to look-- and they're still being delivered to me in a steady, reassuring stream. They don't occupy physical space, but my heart is full to bursting.

Ho ho ho!

When I was little, my mom attempted to invoke the spirit of Christmas by way of a miserable-looking, one-foot tall tree adorned with a string of lights blinking nervously. After around 3 years, she finally conceded that it didn't help to make the atmosphere any merrier. On the contrary, it seemed to reinforce the pervading mood of disinterest that weighed heavy in the air.

The Christmases that I read about are different from those in real life; they're just a figment of somebody's rose-colored imagination. Like Santa Claus, which is a product of someone's cruel sense of humor. Who but a sick person would delude children into believing that a big old man would travel from the North Pole to the houses of all 1,782,600, 527 children across the globe to deliver presents on a single night? Except those who had been naughty, of course, which is downright unfair because the criteria is highly subjective and must be based on rumor rather than fact.

Although I must agree with the image of Santa Claus as a portly man. If he wolfs down a plateful of cookies and a glass of milk in every household he visits, it should come as no surprise that he's overweight. However, this should make it virtually impossible for him to climb down chimneys burdened with a sack of toys. Thank god for tropical countries where the houses are chimney-less; he can go through the door or the window like a common burglar.

I realize that having Santa Claus in the mall is a ploy to jack up sales, but I find it creepy that little kids are to sit on his lap while they tell him what they want for Christmas. Remember, he's a big old bearded man named Santa Claus. It makes you wonder.

I'm inclined to believe that Santa Claus is a hoax, if only because he can be in so many places at any given time. Either that or he has more impersonators than Elvis. But my gut, filled with fruitcake and eggnog, tells me that he's not real.

Oh, boy. Peter Pan will be so miffed.