One hundred little white letters and counting

I figured out what I’m going to do for my Christmas cards this year. Mostly figured out: I know what’s going on the front of the card, and I think I know what I’ll do on the back, too. (My Aunt, who always makes birthday and holiday cards, taught me to “sign” the card on the back with my name or initials and the year.) I’ve got to work out the inside bit, which is tougher because by the time I’ve done everything else, I’m done. I’ve exhausted any supplies of energy or cleverness I have, and I don’t want to write anything. Maybe next year I’ll get smart and make postcards.

Maybe I’ll get really smart and think of an idea that won’t be so much work. When I showed Lisa a prototype of this year’s design she said, “You know you’re asking for it if you make this.” She didn’t say that last year, and I was cutting out dozens of unique snowflakes with exacto knives.

So far, I’m using scissors. Doesn’t sound that tough, does it? Only I spent a decent portion of my evening cutting out letters for a word on the front of the card and wound up with 100 letters, enough for twenty cards, half of what I need. I have other things to cut out for the card, and something a little trickier than block letters. At least block letters are relatively easy to crank out freehand with scissors.

My process — which believe it or not, does involve thinking of the easiest ways to do time-consuming things — is to cut everything out, and then create the cards assembly line style. I’m sort of like an elf, only a bit taller, much crankier, and I refuse to wear pointy shoes or sing while I work.

“ritual sacrifice, with pie”

I was going to write a thoughtful post about gratitude for today.

Then I watched the Thanksgiving episode of Buffy, had some more turkey, and of course had to watch a couple more episodes of Buffy (Who can watch just one? Not me) and now possibly tryptophan-induced sleepiness has set in.

Still, let the blog archive indicate I have much to be thankful for — and I know that, in my bones — even if this doesn’t reflect the contemplative effort I thought it would when I set out to write it.

Happy Thanksgiving.