I believe in Santa Claus

I happened across an airing of Miracle on 34th Street a few days ago and it brought up the subject of Santa Claus. I’ve participated in many a lively debate on the subject over the years, and the classic movie put a lovely point on the topic for me.

The debate with my friends was about at what age children should be told the truth about Santa. And if Santa is even relevant in this day and age. 

I believed in Santa Claus as a child. 

It is one of the strongest, most vivid memories I have from childhood. In fact, if I think back, I could probably recall at least one present from each year I believed. Santa Claus is quite simply the definition of the “magic” of childhood. I think I knew the truth long before it was confirmed, but I didn’t want to stop believing, so I held on for as long as I could. I was almost twelve when I finally had the indisputable proof. But because my younger sister still believed, I was able to hold on to the magic for a few more years through her. 

And that is what it is all about for me. The magic. It is something every child should feel and every adult wishes they could recapture. 

Finding out there is no Santa Claus is the first official step away from childhood. And it’s a steep step that most of us spend the rest of our lives trying to back track. At least a little. Even if it’s just once a year. 

While my children were little, because of their belief in Santa Claus, my house was again filled with the magic of Christmas. It wasn’t quite the same as when I was a child, but it is the closest I have ever come to that wonderment from my childhood. 

It certainly doesn’t stop me from trying to recapture it each year. I still watch the classic Christmas specials like Rudolph, Frosty, and Charlie Brown. I immerse myself in the twinkling lights, Christmas carols, and frosted cookies until my memories swirl around me like a tornado of snowflakes on Christmas Eve and Santa Claus becomes real again. 

When my children asked me, so many years ago, if Santa was real, I told them that Santa was as real as we believed he was. I still consider this to be the truth. 

Christmas is the one time of year when believing in magic is not just for children… because Santa real if you believe.

And I believe in Santa Claus.

Until the next time…I’ll be hanging my stocking by the chimney with care.

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

Cue the music...

I have a tree!

My tree

And not just a tree. I have a decorated tree. (And no it’s not the same one I left up until Thanksgiving.) It’s a new tree. A fresh cut tree. With lights and ornaments. I even have a wreath on the door. And a few assorted decorations scattered around the house. Even a few jingle bells hanging from the antlers on the wall. Why not? It’s Christmas!

I mailed Christmas cards! Did you catch that? I. Mailed. Cards. Me! Crazy, I know. I’ve made history, and it’s not even the middle of the month yet.

But let’s face it, my December will be crazy busy. Thanks in part to my new book (Suddenly Sorceress) coming out later this month… and all the excitement that brings. And of course, all the kids will be home for the holidays, so I have to decorate as if it’s the North Pole. And let’s not forget the birthdays (mine, and the hubby,) plus our anniversary, and we can’t forget the Christmas parties.

Whew! I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

But thanks to Amazon and the UPS guy, I’m almost done with my shopping. Though, I fear my neighbors suspect I’m having a thing with the not-so-hunky delivery guy. He’s been here almost every day…dodging barking turkeys and bird poop.

Now, I have a sudden urge to decorate and bake. I might even paint something. Well…maybe not paint. But I’m definitely going to hang wreaths on all the windows, and some lights on the porch.

And yes…a little more shopping. I have so many to shop for this Christmas. I’m making a list and checking it twice. Gotta figure out who’s naughty…who’s nice.

And for my readers? Well…I have a few surprises in my stockings for you too! But you’ll have to wait for the day after Christmas.

Until the next time…I’ll be covered in flour!

close call

Today's post is a book promo for a dear friend of mine. Her new book was just released! It's a cross between Bridget Jones and the Vagina Monologues.  

Check it out!

Blurb:

Twenty-two year-old Jemma can’t seem to get her life in order. Her track record with men stinks, she constantly worries about getting fat and ending up a spinster at thirty. And to top it off, she has to be a bridesmaid at her most-hated cousin’s wedding. She feels like her life is over, until Doris decides to help out. Who’s Doris? Doris is Jemma’s vagina, and she thinks more of Jemma than her own brain does. Doris is on a mission to save Jemma from herself, but is the task too much for one vagina to handle?

About the author:

Eloise March is a woman who laughs at her own jokes, swears way too much and breaks any new diet by lunchtime on the day she starts. She believes in women’s equality, and all equality for that matter, and hopes the things she writes touch people in a positive way, and make them think about how they can create a better society for themselves and others.

In her spare time, she enjoys living as her alter ego, Dionne Lister — a suspense and YA fantasy author who is way too embarrassed to talk about vaginas. She likes spending time as Dionne because Dionne has an awesome family, wonderful friends and a cat called Lily, oh, and she has great hair.

If you’re looking for Eloise, or any information about future books in the Doris & Jemma Vadgeventure series, you can visit Dionne’s website, where Eloise has been lucky enough to get her own page http://www.dionnelisterwriter.com. If you’re looking for a chat, you can find Ms March on Twitter.

Links to the book: Amazon and Smashwords

talking turkey

Wow...has it been a week since I last posted a blog? I seriously need to get out of my funk and get back to blogging. But it's been a crazy year. I have a book coming out on the day after Christmas, so I have lots to do before then. My first task has been tackling the dreaded Christmas cards. And in a crazy twist of fate, for the first time in over a decade, I may actually mail them. I'll have to send out a mass message letting people know I didn't die. (I once stated if people started getting Christmas cards from me, it was surely my estate, after having found my stash of never-mailed cards and my final will stating they should send those suckers out.) I'll just say it now...rumors of my death are probably gross exaggerations.

As far as my Thanksgiving, it was a darn good one. I started my morning with a bit of television nostalgia.  A friend posted a clip from WKRP in Cincinnati, one of my favorite shows from back in the day. It was the Thanksgiving episode where the fictitious radio station did a “turkey drop” releasing dozens of turkeys from an airplane.  Of course, the punch line was, turkeys can’t fly. 

But I happen to know turkeys can fly, though perhaps not when dropped from a plane, but they certainly can fly from one side of my fence to the other. Even if they can't figure out how to get back once they do. And they can most definitely fly from one side of the highway to the other.  My sister once totaled her car hitting a turkey. She didn’t even try to avoid it. My mother had always told her not to swerve for birds; they will get out of the way at the last minute. 

For the record, that rule does NOT apply to turkeys. Turkeys will NOT get out of the way at the last minute.  They will dent the hood, then the roof of your car, shattering your windshield on the way. For a bird, they do a great imitation of a deer when you hit them.  I guess it’s a little like driving fifty-five miles per hour down the highway and having someone toss a bowling ball into your path.  At least that’s what my husband said when he finished laughing at the story of my sister and the turkey.

When it comes to turkey facts, my husband is full of them.  Out of the blue yesterday, he mentioned the statistics of how many people blow themselves up while attempting to deep fry a turkey for Thanksgiving.  Apparently, you can’t deep fry a frozen turkey.  Who knew? Hubby did.  Obviously, as a native of New York State, I have never even considered deep frying my turkey. I'm pretty sure it's not a "Yankee" tradition. And for the record, I've also never cooked it with the bag of innards still inside the bird.  But with my track record in the kitchen, it’s a wonder I haven’t done worse.  Then again, I suppose there isn't much worse than sending a turkey into space on the tail of a deep fryer.

As for us, we had a fairly uneventful Thanksgiving. Well, after the actual execution of poor Carter A. Turkey--this year's dinner. For his part, he was delicious. And cooked the old fashioned way…in the oven. Operation: "Raising turkeys" has been a complete success. Now onto "Making Christmas." Wish me luck!

Until the next time…I’ll be recovering from the food coma!