have yourself a merry Little Christmas

Wait, what? I hear some readers say.  Christmas was a couple weeks back.

Yes, Christmas in the Gregorian calendar tradition was exactly 12 days ago.

(And today is Christmas for some Eastern Orthodox churches who still use the Julian calendar. Just an FYI.)

Which means… today is the Feast of the Epiphany, Three Kings Day, the Twelfth Day of Christmas (with its own Eve the night before which is the setting for Shakespeare’s play Twelfth Night) a.k.a. “Little Christmas” like the post title says.

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Not to be too nit-picky, but in order for both merry and little to be modifiers for Christmas, there would need to be a comma in between them, and there isn’t.

Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. It is a great song because it is sad-whispy (new word: sispy) and you need something to balance out all that holly jolly jingle bell cacophany.

What have I been doing? I took some time off to really enjoy the season. And when I go back to work, I’ll be transitioning to something that doesn’t have me on my feet non-stop.

I consumed both The Witcher and The Mandalorian in one huge slurpy slurp.

I played on the Nintendo Switch that my ex gave to our daughter for Christmas, with my daughter and my brother and my niblings.

Wait, what? I hear some readers say. What the hell is a “nibling”?

niblings.jpg

But you have to make sure you spell it correctly.  Because it is probably not a good idea to go nibbling on your niblings.

That is such a go-to joke in our family.  Gets laughs every single freaking time.

And I finished up my lastest collection of poems and got it published online.

My goal is glean through my notebooks (all three of them) and find the best rough diamonds, add in a few more gems, and have 100 poems published by Valentine’s Day which I will release in one paperbook.

Maybe, then, just maybe, metered and rhymed poetry will let me go.

Not that I’ve minded, but I’ve been held hostage for nearly a year and a half at this point, and I might want to… I don’t know… write some freestyle poetry.

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Those of you who do not have artistic inclinations may not understand what it feels like to be a slave to a muse.  Those of you who are like me get it.

sylvia plath writing.jpg

And so, without further ado, a link to my newest collection of poetry.

Hours I own all of these ideas, but none of these images.
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