My mom always took down our Christmas decorations, you know those crepe paper accordion thingys we made, on the twelfth day of Christmas, which would be on January 5th or 6th.  A Tradition.  See, we had traditions.

The Twelve Days of Christmas, also called Christmastide and Twelvetide are the festive days beginning Christmas Day and ending on The Twelfth Night.  Shakespeare’s play of the same name, along with all kinds of religious and pagan customs associated, but I won’t get into that.  Point is, here it is, January 6th, time to take down my Birdie on The Gate and divest The Head of her lovely Christmas lights.  Kinda sad.

This Christmas felt like a whole different kind of celebration to me, not sure why.  It was like I turned a corner or something.  I find I’m trusting myself more, letting go of more things, expectations, my imperfections, my inability to fix the world and to save every last abused animal and child.  Maybe what this means is that I’m embarking upon my Last Stroll Down Life’s Highway, Heading For the Last Round-up, Aiming Foot at the Bucket.  Or maybe in a roundabout way it has to do with my adventure into blogging.  Digging deep into my life and then letting my words fly unedited into cyberspace has been very freeing.  And exciting.