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It’s December again. It arrives every year about this time and I’m never quite prepared for it, although I’ve had some seventy years to get used to the idea.

December.

It’s too late to complain that the stores are starting the holiday sales too early. It’s almost too late to get that early start on lighting up the outside of the house just to keep up with the neighbors (most homes have been glowing since the day after Thanksgiving) and it’s just cold enough to feel that maybe fall is really here after all. Everything is pretty much as usual.

This year the month brings one extra anniversary: In a few days it will be one year since I started writing tidbits in this blog. I wasn’t at all sure I would keep it up. After all, my life is pretty dull. There’s not a whole lot of drama in I don’t have to get up early for work or The people I love tend to love me back. Not nearly enough conflict to make a good novel. But I shall persevere.

One of the things I’ve discovered about blogging is that one doesn’t really need a particular topic to come up with a readable piece. Some writers can make a charming tale out of nothing more than a newspaper arriving on the driveway. Others, of course, couldn’t write a readable piece with a major disaster, a monetary incentive, and a ghostwriter. A perspicacious reader will check in every so often just to enjoy the search, and will feel a thrill if he spots a nugget among the dross. In case you were wondering, this post is of the nugget variety. No? Oh, well. Try me next time.

Among the annual observances that come upon us this month, I’d like to expound on one particular topic, which is Eating Out. I know, I know! Eating Out is weekly, not annual, but for a variety of reasons the urge to partake of viands prepared somewhere other than in my own kitchen ramps up noticeably during December. I blame it on too much to do in too little time, but that’s hogwash. (Hubby, if you’re reading this, I didn’t say that part.) We all know that we could fix two full dinners in the time it takes to convince the spouse that we BOTH would really enjoy bathing, dressing, driving, waiting, eating, and paying–and then doing all of that. I don’t know why, but somehow it’s worth it.

NOTE: I just took a quick break to decide what Categories to post this under, and if I work at it just a little, I can use up almost all the Categories I have on my list.  If I throw in a reference to an Obamaburger and mention that some rude fool telephoned asking me to patronize the restaurant that serves it, I manage to include Politics, Telephone, and Do Not Call.  Is that some kind of indicator that I’m rambling tonight? Probably.

December.

We’ll live through it again, unless the Mayans really did mean what the doomsayers claim. If there is truth in the rumor, I won’t have to think about taking down the tree or wonder how late in February I’ll finally vacuum up the last crispy brown needle. Until the fateful date arrives, or doesn’t, I’m not going to worry about it, because there’s just so much to do in December, and so little time to do it.

Honey, how about Eating Out tonight?

I’ll see you again, after the commercial.

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