If you thought I was crabby about Thanksgiving, put on your seatbelt because here comes Christmas. First there's the overload of parties and obligatory celebrations with too much food, too many people and lots of family drama. Then there's the month-long extravaganza of excess and panic topped off by the capitalist orgy of senseless last-minute spending. Mixed somewhere in there is oh, the birth of Jesus, where the symbolic gifts of frankincense and myrrh have somehow morphed into X-Boxes, drones and UGG boots. Trust me when I tell you that I KNOW it's all well intentioned, but the hollow-eyed frightful march of the downtrodden that I see plodding through the mall is sad and tired and just wants to be put out of it's own misery. And for what? You got it, MORE CRAP.

When dealing with the loss of a parent, we can't help but flash back to our childhood as we are forced to confront family objects that seem to hold a myriad of memories and complex emotions. There are books and photos and furniture and art and a seemingly endless supply of crap that means nothing to anyone but us. And the one word that always seems to fit perfectly is overwhelm. Not only is the loss overwhelming, but the process of sorting through another person's lifetime can make you want to run screaming into the night. And while I've seen this many times, I've also experienced it firsthand so I know that the best advice I can give you is to avoid being in this situation in the first place by subscribing to my favorite rule of downsizing - it ain't going with you!

I just heard that Macy's and Sears will be open this year starting at 6pm on Thanksgiving Day. Which only means that Walmart, Target and Best Buy are just playing chicken waiting to see who can lower the bar even further by opening earlier. I can already see the news clips showing the desperate throngs of people who have skipped Thanksgiving all together because they have to wait on line starting at noon in order to get those ass-kicking door buster deals. Because having the biggest flat screen TV on the block is WAY more important than some ridiculous tradition of putting your head down to reflect upon our country's humble beginnings. I mean, if Pocahontas had had a Best Buy near her, trust me she'd have said, "Hold the maize" and been camping out too.

Who would have guessed that I, the Grand High Poobah of lapsed Catholics, would one day find herself sending away for tickets to see Pope Francis in Central Park on his first visit to the United States. It's true, I did. And I actually won them except for the fact that my husband was in California, my son had his homecoming and I got sick on the day of the procession. This didn't stop me from being glued to the television to watch as it took 45 minutes for him to travel five city blocks due to the incredible outpouring of love from the crowd. There I was with tears in my eyes hanging on his every word, in absolute awe of his seemingly endless smile, and even worrying when he looked a bit tired. This is a man who, for reasons I can't explain, has bewitched me. He fills me with enormous hope and enormous guilt all at the same time and his truth never disappoints because it seems to know no fear. He is marvelous.

I have this thing about coffee tables. I can't tell you how many houses I am in where the coffee table is so far away from the sofa that you actually have to get up to put your drink down. Why is this? Has everyone forgotten what the COFFEE table is for? While I'm much more forgiving of the lack of side tables (also a place where you are supposed to be able to put a drink down), I just can't forgive that the coffee table has gone from extremely functional to the place to put highfalutin' books and objects of curiosity intended to make you look cool. People, it needs to be both!

This might just be my favorite post to write. Because I'm finally going to stop apologizing and give myself permission to be outed for my guilty pleasure - I have a lot of shoes. I'm quite sure that I'm not winning any awards for "the most," but I have to admit that I love my shoes. I think many women see shoes and bags as the easiest way to stay in fashion without having to buy a completely new wardrobe, and, frankly, I think we should be applauded for having such good sense. And when shoes feel good, and smell good, and look good, well, I don't have to tell you that it can make you feel like you just won the lottery.

There are so many reasons why I love Craigslist that it's hard to know where to begin. First, there's the online experience itself. It's like the world's largest flea market and I could spend days buying and selling furniture on Craigslist. You know how it is- the vast rabbit hole of stuff. I often find hidden gems that get me so excited I start emailing furiously to try to find someone to buy them even if they don't need what I've found. The thrill of the hunt is definitely addicting and you never know what you'll find. Things I've gotten from Craigslist include pea gravel, windows, french doors, my desk, an easel, sky lights and pachysandra, to name a few.

This is Chili. Also called Hootie, Chili Pepper, The Pep, Chilly Crack Corn, The Love Rhino. He was so named because, while I tried a few names on him, this one seemed to stick due to his mercurial personality - hot chili, cold chilly. I came across him at a pet store adoption day, completely terrified with his head down and crammed into the corner of a cage with a bubble over his head that clearly said - please kill me. Needless to say, I walked right past all of the adorable, bouncing kittens and went straight for him.

When I was a kid my mother used to dress my sisters and I in matching outfits on every holiday. I'm sure that she thought this was adorable. I can assure you, it was not. Wearing a "uniform" was totally humiliating and all it did was ruin the excitement of the day and completely piss us off. You couldn't possibly put three more different people on the planet Earth than me and my sisters, and in fact, someone once asked my mother if we were from the same father because we don't even look alike. While we weren't the only ones to suffer this seemingly innocent, but scarily popular indignity, I am kinda surprised to find that a form of it still exists today.