Where Was I?

I'm the sort of gal who lives by the seasons. Certainly things happen in a certain order, at certain times. Like clafouti...the French version of fruit cobbler. I never make it in the winter because it is the sort of thing that asks to be made with fresh fruit. Eggnog cake, on the other hand, only appears at Christmas time. Never mind that I could make clafouti with frozen berries in the winter or whip up my own eggnog in the summer. That's just not how it is done so I don't.

This ordered sensibility extends beyond the kitchen. We don't decorate for Christmas until Christmas Eve and everything comes down on Epiphany, January 6. There is rhyme and reason, liturgy and purpose...a dedicated time to celebrate the season and then, when it has been fully celebrated, it ceremoniously ends (12th Night party) and we move toward the next season.

This has been our practise for 17, nay, 18 years and will continue to be. Except this year. Our tree is still up, the mantel is still heaped with angels and boughs, lights continue to drape from the garlands outside. The one concession to Christmas being over? Nothing has been lit up since the 6th.

It's not that I'm loathe to box up Christmas. Nor is there any danger that we will be one of those houses with Christmas lights still up in May. The project just has to wait until the weekend.


Any combination of reasons from the follow list will suffice as explanation:

Orthodontist appointments.
Various crises at work (where, you'll remember, I am sans MAB for the next while).
Rainstorms.
Working full-time.
Mandatory study hall twice a week, requiring transportation home from parental unit.
Australians needing a place to sleep.
Australians needing a place to sleep in a bedroom that sometimes seems too small for one person let alone the addition of an ambassador from another country.
Not sleeping. (I'm not stressed out particularly but am having a hard time shutting off the old brain lately).

So the tree is still up but at least we figured out how to fit Sandy the Australian exchange student into The Child's room. (We totally have to call her Sandy, don't we?)

And in other good news, I bought myself a really superfantastic new handbag yesterday.

Have I mentioned how terrific it is that I actually have my own money? That when I went Christmas shopping for The Spouse this year I was spending my own ducats and not his? Or that I make enough (thank you, gentle taxpayers) to meet the obligations I have to the family (tuition and orthodontia) AND still have money to buy pressies? Including pressies once in a while for myself like aforementioned superfantastic handbag I found at BCBGMaxazria?

Also, what the hell kind of name is that for a retailer? Seriously?

"Wow, Rainey! Superfantastic handbag! Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, isn't it swell? I got it at BeeCeeBuh, uh, MaxAss...uh, sounds like Hank Azaria only without the Hank and there are all these Bees and Cees and uh...Costco. That's it...I bought it at Costco".

We begin with liturgy and tradition and end up with handbags. Odd. But seriously...isn't that bag just hot?