Ginger Snap Wrap

A few days before Thanksgiving, I found myself ordering a can of cranberry sauce from Target (I was making a JELL-O mold).  To complete the order, I had to spend thirty-five dollars, so I thought, why not stock up on Christmas wrapping supplies?  So I did, and the paper I was most excited about was this one exploding with gingerbread people.  Two days later, the cranberry sauce arrived with everything else -- except the gingerbread paper.  I tracked it, and the status came up as damaged.  I shrugged and figured it wasn't coming.  

Last week, I started wrapping with the paper I had.  That was another thing.  Unlike last year and the year before that, I was not waiting until the last minute.  Who needs to wrestle with Scotch tape and weirdly shaped packages with Krampus Rudolf's Type A dad breathing down her neck?  Not this girl.  I was going to take my time and carefully wrap and decorate each and every gift while cheesy Christmas movies played in the background.  And that's just what I did.  

A couple of days ago, I was nearing the end when a pole-shaped package arrived on my doorstep.  A few swipes with a scissors revealed my beloved -- and undamaged -- gingerbread people.  As far as Christmas miracles go, I know it's a weak one.  But I'll take it.  

On that note, I hope your wrapping is going gangbusters and that no anthropomorphic baked goods were harmed in the process.

Also, that you outrun Krampus.

Rhyme Time Crime: Merry Christmas

Well, it's Christmas again.  Which means that it's time for revelry and reflection.  Also, murder mysteries.  Because what's cozier than a good, old-fashioned tale of who bludgeoned old St. Nick with a candlestick?  It turns out, not much.  Just yesterday, I finished reading Murder for Christmas by Francis Duncan, and earlier this month, the husband and I saw the play "Murder for Two -- The Holiday Edition" in Cape May (hence these lovely outdoor house pics).  I guess that this tradition of festive foul play started the December I got my first period.  My mom went to the library and got me a book called Mistletoe Mysteries: Tales of Yuletide Murder to read while I was in bed with cramps (insert Krampus joke here?  Nah, skip it).  Since then, Christmas and crime -- and yuletide and the crimson tide -- have been, for me, intertwined. 

As they (sort of) say down at the precinct, if you can't do the time, don't do the rhyme.  Fortunately, I always have the time.  So here's a rhyme in the form of a poem that I call Christmas with Earl.

Christmas is colorful

Christmas is bold

Christmas distracts us 

From winter's dark cold.

That's why we send cards

And buy lots of things

And smile and join in

When tone-deaf Earl sings.

It's why we drink eggnog 

And choke down fruitcake

And re-gift a Snuggie

To Earl "by mistake."

It's why we go big

Or go home with our trees

And carol for strangers

In zero degrees.

The brighter the lights,

The lighter our hearts,

The richer the cheese ball,

The louder Earl's farts.

It's all about family

And friends far and near

And spending some time

With the the ones we hold dear.

So ignite the yule log 

And give Earl a hug

And say Merry Christmas,

You batty old lug. 

Afterword: The next morning, when the family gathered for breakfast, they discovered that Earl had strangled their Elf on the Shelf with his Snuggie.  The moral of this story?  Holidays or not, just say no to unwanted house guests.  

Also, don't ever give Snuggies.  

Have a very merry -- and very Earl free -- Christmas.