I get restless with holiday decorating. I think twice about getting started, even– literally crawling up the ladder, flashlight in my teeth, figuring out which set of old liquor store boxes labelled “Xmas decs” might contain actual Xmas decs, then wrestling the boxes back down the ladder without breaking anything.
Then there’s the hanging and the draping and the stretching-to-the-plugs. I want the kind of physics the Grinch encounters while stealing Christmas– just shoop the boxes down the ladder and have them pile neatly into stacks. Tug the lights and they magically uncoil, springing back to just the right length. Pull one end of the pine garland and the other end snaps along smoothly.
Instead I curse and mutter and prick my arms with pine boughs. I hunt for last year’s perfect mantle decorations and vow to ACTUALLY LABEL BOXES this year. I test old lights and decide half a working string is good enough. I celebrate and condemn Command hooks in a single breath. I stand on furniture, a lot of furniture. I realize I should launder the curtains more. I find dead bugs.
And eventually I get the house looking, well, cozy and welcoming. The living room is somehow warmer. The pine and cedar commute throughout the house and take the edge off the hard days of winter. The many little lights help with the short daylight. I could nest here for a long, long time, holiday or not.
The reward of the transformation is worth the hassles: the pricks, the ladder, the real-world physics.
The world I create is very much I world I enjoy being in.