“Are you ready for Christmas?” they always ask. It’s a strange question, don’t you think? What would it take to be so ready that a person would answer with an unqualified “Yes!”?
I, though I’ve never found the language to admit it openly, am always ready for Christmas, so long as you don’t measure readiness by the completedness of shopping, or the evidence of baking, or the perfection of carols practised beyond the genuine probability of error. What I do notice though is how, every year, despite the calendar, and the counting down, and the planning, and the scheduling, never cease to be surprise when Christmas arrives. “It’s here already,” I remark—though not too loudly. Would I want anyone to think I hadn’t been expecting it?
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