Things I ❤ About Christmas

WRAPPING PAPER

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Not wrapping, just the paper. It’s a tragic flaw that I’m so inept at creating pretty packages. I just don’t have the patience for it. No matter how hard I try to get that paper super tight, as soon as I try to scotch tape it, it becomes loose and sloppy. I’ve learned to just accept it. That doesn’t stop me from delighting in the fun patterns and colors that pop up during the holiday season. And I’ve learned to get crafty in other ways—last year, I bought adorable baskets at Michael’s and filled them with Christmas grass and knick-knacks (and shoddily wrapped gifts) and presented them to my parents and sister instead of a stack of boxes. They were a hit.

EGGNOG

2I forget when I finally first tried eggnog, but I remember always wanting to because it was such a quintessential Christmas drink. It’s become somewhat of a thing now where, even though I don’t love it, I have to have at least one glass per season.

It just tastes like Christmas. You know how things sometimes just taste like Christmas?

…no? …just me? Continue reading

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Five Favorite Authors

whos-your-fave-author

US

This is insane. Why did I do this to myself? Asking a book lover to pick a favorite book is like Sophie’s Choice, but with way more children. Although I must admit, Queen Jo made that choice a bit easier over the course of the years. Same scenario exists with authors. While picking five (or 15) just a few years ago would’ve been a piece of cake, today it feels difficult. A cursory glance at my bookcase at home reveals how varied my tastes have become over the years: The magic of Harry Potter is nestled beside the garbage of Fifty Shades of Grey (which I bought based purely on buzz and couldn’t bring myself to read beyond the line “…and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba.”) Dan Brown’s mind-bending literary labyrinths join the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Frodo and Bella Swan share a shelf, for crying out loud. I suppose that’s how I was as a kid too. I could read Sweet Valley fluff one day and turn to the creep-tastic Goosebumps books the next. I’ll admit my tastes aren’t high culture, nor do they have very deep roots in classic fiction. I read Pride & Prejudice in college because, well, I felt like I should at least once and I wanted to cry every time I started a new chapter. I would throw my mass market paperback across the room and complain loudly to my roommates, “You can’t tell me people ever really talked like this! I need a dictionary just to get through a paragraph!” I felt like an uncultured swine—but I did finish it. I would watch Rory Gilmore tear through novel after novel and think, hmm, I’ve never read that. Or that. Nope. No again. Damn. I had to drop out of a Faulkner class because The Sound and the Fury made me want to rip my eyes straight from their sockets so I wouldn’t have to finish it. Anyway … Continue reading