So, you’re in the kitchen, happily mixing up a cake for the big double birthday. You realize that you’ve nearly forgotten the vanilla, so you balance the electric mixer on the side of the bowl, (as you do), just for a second, while you reach into the drawer for the bottle. Without warning, the mixer leaps from the bowl and runs like a juggernaut across the counter. Too late, you realize that it is the GREEN bowl which allows you to do that little balancing trick, and today you are using the BLACK bowl. Carnage ensues.
There is batter all over the walls, the stove, the coffeemaker. By the time you have the wit to stop staring in helpless horror and pull the plug, the blades of the beaters have become inextricably entwined with a bag of green beans, and bright green shards of crunchy goodness are also everywhere. You pick a few out of the bowl, but before the baking can resume you have to perform some surgery over at the sink.
It takes several minutes to unwind the plastic bag which once housed the beans from the beater shafts, but you notice, on the upside, that many of the beans appear to have topped and tailed themselves without any effort on your part. A good thing, since once the cake is in the oven, you will be spending some time with a rag and a ladder, mopping up the mess you’ve made. Isn’t cooking fun?
Christmas at my house tends to hang around well after the festive season. Partly through benign neglect, and partly because I hate to see it go, I tend to "forget" that certain elements of decoration are still with us. Part of me thinks that there should be a little corner of one's life where it is Christmas Every Day!
Yesterday, I was startled to discover a spray of balsam still stuck into the frame of the living room mirror, so I took a look around to see what else might be lurking well past its due date. I threw out the mummified pomegranates and quinces that had been the mainstay of a tabletop display. I felt guilty about not eating them.
From the corner of my eye, I noted, but did nothing about, the shiny red cachepot and glass baubles decorating Alex's thriving potted palm. Here it is, February 1st, and there is still a wreath hanging on the wall above the television set, mainly because the golden poinsettias and pine cones go so well with the colour of the wall. I have no excuse for the giant pink mercury glass eggs dangling from the curtain rod, but you know...Easter IS coming.
Of course, ideally, it would be Christmas Every Day, Everywhere. And maybe it can be.
Funnily enough, I think it was best put by that quintessential Hollywood Cowgirl, Dale Evans;
“Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it's Christmas."