Guess what? It's fall!
Okay, here at my old Kentucky home, it's still summer. The fans twirl merrily to keep my house cool, I run around in flip-flops and capris and air conditioning flows from every store and restaurant around. Still the calendar says the season has changed, which makes me happy.
As I see it, I'm only a few football games and a hayride away from the Christmas season. Once upon a time, twinkling lights didn't go up until the last of the Thanksgiving turkey was devoured. These days, tiny goblins and princesses trick-or-treat by the light of the neon nativity scene.
I must confess, I have already begun my Christmas shopping. I'm one of those people who see the perfect item for someone I know and snap it up. Giving is much more fun for me than receiving, as long as no one expects their gifts to be perfectly wrapped.
The reason I'm a writer is because I do not have the makings of an artist. My creativity lends itself more to passionate prose than perfectly shaped ribbons. That's why I love those colorful gift boxes. All I have to do is slap a label on and voila! I'm done.
One thing I'm trying to do is give books by people I know to people I know. Call me old-fashioned, but there's nothing I like better on a cool evening that curling up under a fuzzy blanket with a cup of cocoa and a good book. In fact, it's such a wonderful escape that for hours on end, I won't even think about how few shopping days there are to Christmas or ponder why I left the snowmen on the end table ever since last year.
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