Tick-tick-tick. Hear that? It’s the holiday clock.
No use pulling a pillow over your head. No use trying to shut it off. The holiday clock won’t stop.
Tick-tick-tick.
It will only get louder.
There’s still time. That’s the good news today. You and I have 30 days until Christmas.
Last year, I bought ingredients to make my father’s favorite confection — bourbon balls.
It’s not a huge project. You needn’t be Martha Stewart.
It takes part of an evening, a little patience, crumbled vanilla wafers and pecans, powdered sugar, a few spoonfuls of Karo Syrup, a good dose of bourbon, and the fortitude to resist downing what’s left of the Jim Beam and Nilla Wafers.
In my case, it also takes a shipping box and a trip to the post office well before Dec. 25. My dad likes to pop an after-dinner bourbon ball or two with coffee all through the 12 days of Christmas.
You know what happened last year, right? Tick-tick-tick. I didn’t get around to those bourbon balls. No big catastrophe. It just seemed a little less like Christmas, that’s all.
But here we are again — and so soon. Here we are with 30 whole days on our hands, and 30 Christmasy things I’d like to do with them:
Make and ship bourbon balls to a deserving dad.
Go ice skating.
Take a serpentine drive to see Christmas lights.
Drop cash in a bell-ringer’s bucket every time I see one.
Pen personal notes on Christmas cards to the two dozen people I miss most.
Spend a day in downtown Seattle, but have all my shopping done first.
Drive to Leavenworth, stay over for a wintry night, see the lights and make a snow angel.
Throw a real party and hope friends won’t notice my worse-for-wear house.
Talk the kids into neighborhood caroling, collect canned food and donate it to people in need.
Drop in on my parents in Spokane (I’ll be homesick if I don’t), but get home to Everett by Christmas (I’ll be homesick if I don’t).
Put up the outside lights before the temperature drops to 20 degrees. (Hide the garish blue strings from my teen-age son.)
Get up for church every Sunday of Advent.
For the first time, go out and cut our own Christmas tree.
Give Jack the dog a holiday bath and buy him a new red collar.
Bake cookies for the office crowd, because goodness knows they’ve baked plenty for me.
Spend a late night in our living room with just the lit-up tree and an Elvis Christmas CD. (Don’t plan anything for early morning, as the evening entails a good cry.)
Go out to lunch with women friends from work. (Get that day’s work done first.)
See "A Christmas Carol" at A Contemporary Theatre in Seattle.
Make gift wrap with brown paper and ink-pad stamps.
Take in a child’s holiday pageant. If my kids are pageantless this year, tag along with other parents.
Rent the video of "It’s a Wonderful Life."
Take snapshots all through the season, get double prints and send someone a smile in January.
Watch old "Saturday Night Live" holiday skits while staying up too late wrapping presents.
It’s labor-intensive, but kids always thank me for making cookie-cutter cookies and leaving the icing and sprinkles to them.
Find time for heart-to-heart talks with my brother and sister; in-person is best.
Read out loud: C. Clement Moore’s "A Visit From St. Nicholas," Chris Van Allsburg’s "The Polar Express," Dr. Seuss’ "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," and the Nativity story from St. Luke’s Gospel.
Dig out my grandmother’s candy recipes. (Digging them out doesn’t mean I have to make them.)
Go to a "Messiah" sing-along. Have mercy on the audience and just listen.
Spend part of a clear afternoon on a beach away from the retail mobs.
Buy thank-you cards and stamps in advance so there are no excuses come Dec. 26.
If my history bears out, I’ll accomplish about a third of the list. And that’s fine. A third of a list per year satisfies my family and my own holiday yearnings.
We all have crazy, wonderful traditions and our own lists to make. Pick five things — or 10. Despite all that ticking you hear, there’s still lots of time to create a merry little season.
But all 30? Please, don’t do all that. You risk being crossed off Santa’s list. Nobody likes a superhuman.
