I don’t do much decorating for Christmas. I have a small apartment with very little storage space to begin with, and I work extra hours during the holidays. When I get home for the night, I don’t want to spend my time putting up a host of sparkly decorations that my cat is going to knock down anyway. So my Christmas decorations are minimal.
As in, I have two. A figurine of a penguin in a Santa hat, and the little owl (pictured here). Everything else in my life is all done up for Christmas- work, stores, and friends’ houses, so I don’t feel the need to put up a bunch of stuff that I’ll have to store for eleven months. I find the holiday spirit for home in things like peppermint hot chocolate, mulled wine, and brightly frosted cookies.
I’ve finished reading a couple of short books of poetry- E.E. Cummings’s 100 Selected Poems, and Pablo Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.
Cummings is a constant surprise. His writing seems so childlike, and yet the actual poems can be about war, a near loathing of humanity, or sex. Neruda is just sexy.
I’m in the middle of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Like most of my books, I bought my copy at the local used bookstore. I don’t know who gave up this gorgeously illustrated, near perfect condition book, but they’re missing out- on poetry and small works of art bound together into one slim volume.