Twenty-Eighteen

Twenty-Eighteen

Here we are, on the last day of November, and I find myself in need of a 2018 calendar because BOY HOWDY things are filling up. ┬áThe calendar on our fridge is the central point of a vast Venn diagram that includes the circles “Filming Schedules”, “Writing Engagements”, “Kids Appointments”, “Birthdays for all Branches of the Family”, and “Holiday Madness”, so that tiny central overlap gets jam packed at this time of year.

The thing is, I don’t want to swap over to another calendar because there’s a staggering amount of birthdays in December in our family, and it’s such a hassle to list them on a new calendar. This is partially my own fault: I take great joy in decorating the date square, and if I simply wrote the person’s name down instead of created a tiny tableau, the act of listing birthdays would be much quicker.

But it’s also the fault of my ancestors who all decided, for some reason or another, to get sexy at the same time of year. Apparently there’s something beguiling and bewitching about April, because no other month of the year has as many birthdays in it as our December — and add in the holidays? Around here, December becomes a month-long marathon of cake, gifts, singing, celebrating, and feeling tired and old.

Maybe it was the same for previous generations… maybe they were navigating stress and busy-ness through the winter months, too, and once the holidays were finished, they didn’t get their pep back until April. And then, BAM! Babies! The cycle of December births continues.

Anyway, enough about the reproductive habits of the past. As I said above, there’s book engagements coming up in early 2018. Very exciting! But I’ll share them with you as soon as I can. Until then, happy writing!


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