Happy Christmas Decoration Eve

I walked in my friends' home last night and saw they had already decorated for the holidays, and I felt the butterflies in my tummy because it's not December 3rd yet.

In a family of four kids, my parents tried their best to preserve the identity of each child and make sure they felt special and cared for individually. My brother Russ was born on December 2, so Mom and Dad would adamantly disallow any Christmas decorations to be up in the house or out in the yard until December 3rd. Until that day we were welcome to submit our wish lists to Santa and talk about what we wanted, even underscore our points with pictures we cut out from magazines, but under no circumstances were we allowed to put anything that was red, green, silver, gold, gold-plated, or in any way jingled and/or jangled in a manner fit for a holiday spectacle where the general public could see until the day after we celebrated Russ' birthday. Not the night of the 2nd. The morning of the 3rd.

Once our family started decorating, we also had mandated placements and decorations that were not up for deviation. Mom would arrange the cardboard cutouts of the Christmas ice skaters on the double closet doors in the main hallway, Matt and Russ would decorate the main pine tree in the front yard. I would put up the plastic stained glass cutouts on the big front window, and then we would all bring up the Christmas books and puzzles Mom kept on the ping pong table that served as the year-round groaning beast of burden for her holiday hoard.

Overnight, with a little help from the kids, Mom turned our ordinary house into a magical wonderland that was sure to make Santa blush. I lived for that time of year. I think Mom did too. She was so busy taking care of everyone else all year, whether they were her kids or her parents or siblings or husband, that I think this was a time she could call her own. She takes care with everything she does and Christmas calls for meticulous methods. She taught me how to hang tinsel one strand at a time to make the tree look like we harnessed a moment of winter and brought it inside to enjoy for ourselves. She could tell you every ornament she hangs on her miniature tree and where to find it. She not only believes in Santa, she makes sure others know he is real, too.

I still keep this tradition every year, though I've lived on my own for quite some time now. Even in the dorms when I was in undergrad, I explained it to my roommate who was completely understanding of this hold the 3rd still had on me and we waited until that day to set up our little tree and Christmas lights around the room we called home.

I haven't mentioned the family tree yet. I'll save that for another time. In the meantime, I'm going to make my wish list and wait with quiet anticipation until after we've wished Russ a very happy birthday to hang our stockings by the chimney with care.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ears. Seriously. I'll give them back next week. Swear.

For the last week I've not been able to hear out of my left ear. At all. My doctor is working on it and it's more than likely not a permanent state, but in the meantime this unholy suckage is unpleasantness' ugly step-cousin. Fortunately, it's not my phone ear (yes, I have one), so I can still work with our clients without interruption or distraction. So there's that.

Since I was a little kid I've had a particular fondness for my sense of hearing. Maybe it's because my eyesight makes Mr. Magoo look like he has the optical precision of a Navy S.E.A.L. Or it could be that I have a weird affinity for the nuance of different voices. For instance, some people's words get sticky when their mouths are dry (just listen to NPR host Michele Norris on "The World" to hear what it sounds like when a person hasn't had a drink of water in six months), or that certain accents are most assuredly not the person's accent of origin (a friend of mine moved to place known for its distinct accent about a year ago and somehow adopted the region's dialect in the span of a week. NOT POSSIBLE)? Have you ever been talking to a person who's telling you something important and completely lost the meaning of their words due to your preoccupation with how their thin, tiny lips are forming the sounds you're hearing? Because I have.

So, this week has been an exercise in adjustment to say the least. I'm grateful that it's just the one ear and there's no pain or balance issue, though it's proved to be troublesome in that I tend to sleep on what has become my good ear, so this morning Jason had to come in the room to wake me up because I couldn't hear the alarm. That was...strange. All of my usual "things" are fixations that I can indulge at will, except with this one, I may have to accept that I'll move forward with only half the tools to fixate on voices and music and weird outbursts this town makes from time to time. I can usually tell you what key someone's laughter is in. Joyful laughter tends to be a major while wry or ironic chortles hang in the minors. I can still hear that, but I couldn't tell you when I'm a D-sharp or a B-flat right now.

Oh well. I guess the important thing here is that I'm still laughing.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 and Thing 3, Etc.

I'm afraid of circus peanuts. Yes, the spongy orange/pink numbers that are made out of sugary insulation and held together by toddler tears. I don't know what it is about them, but I've never been a fan. It's important that you understand that it's not unusual for me to be put off by things that are completely harmless, and that bring joy to many untainted souls. I own the fact that I more than likely have a touch of the ol' OCD, though I've not been diagnosed. Bet you can't guess why I've never been diagnosed? That's right--nonplussed with tongue depressors. Couple that with a serious case of irrational superstitions and you've got yourself a neverending soiree of angst and neuroses.

What follows is a list of the, shall we say, unconventional fears/quirks that I've had or have. If you can make head or tail of them, I'm always up for amateur psychoanalysis. Hell, it's a party game at my house. Anyway, enjoy:

• Carraway seeds. When I was little, I would wither inside when my mom made my sandwiches with rye bread. And Mary help us all when she would bring home carraway bagels. I felt like I was eating petrified ticks.
• Representations of elephants. Real ones are just fine, thanks, but elephant statues and paintings, especially trunk down, keep me unsettled 'til the morning light.
• Unwrapped straws in the dispenser at the movie theater or in a cafe. I'm not a germophobe in any other aspect of my life, but when faced with this dilemma, I have to open the top of the dispenser and get a fresh straw, rather than take the one already in the tray. I am well aware that some sweaty teenager who just harvested her acne probably put the straws in the top of the dispenser, but for some reason I've made peace with that.
• Any sort of bug on one of our pets. We declared war with fleas about six months ago. Through vet recommendations and frantic home and pet treatments, we triumphed, but every time I see one of the kitties innocently scratching, I can feel my chest start to turn in on itself and the voices start to whisper sweet nothings about bleach and vet appointments. (Product Placement: Advantage is a miracle treatment for the feline crowd--highly recommend).
• Singing in bed. BAD. LUCK. I can't do it. Not that there's really any cause to do it, but even when I'm babysitting and singing the little one to sleep, it has to be in a chair, not by the places where they sleep.
• "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" monkey statues. I will turn my back on you always, you creepy little poo flinging imps.
• Waning moons. Rarely will I start new projects during a waning moon. Example: If I'm in the middle of a book and the moon starts to turn, that's fine, but I'd rather wait the two weeks until the new moon to start one. I've been bothered by the fact that I started this blog on the day after a full moon since I did it, but for some reason that day felt like the right day (another "thing" I have is internal timing--if I feel something is right, that feeling trumps all other things on deck).
  
• The Cheshire Cat. Terrible burden of a beast, that.

And there you have it. This is by no means the full list, but it will do for a starter. I'm lucky enough not to be hobbled by these oddities, but they do affect my choices more than I'd like them to. They're part of me, so rather than fighting them, I've acknowledged that unrelenting sanity is an alternative route to success not paved for my kind.