Why do Dec. 25 what you can put off until Jan. 21?

Well, homesickness, you're about to meet your end. At least for a bit.

That's right. I'm going home for a hot minute. A really hot minute. Friday, immediately after work, I'll be on the road to Ohio (don't have to take the long way through Indiana, either, as we're going to northern Ohio, not southern Ohio this time), until Sunday afternoon.

Why? (Trumpets blare) Because it's the annual Christmas-in-January party. Late January. Yes. For a few magical hours, my aunt will pull a three-foot fiber-optic tree from the closet, put on some Bing Crosby and we'll all eat a whole Sam's Club-sized jar of green olives. It's tradition. When we're done, she'll unplug the tree, put it back in the closet, turn off the CD player and call it a ... year.

Why January? Because my dad's family is notoriously late for everything. I'd tell you a true story about my grandma (rest her soul) being late for her own funeral, but I don't think it's as funny typed out loud as it is in my head. You get the idea.

"Why do on Dec. 25 what you can do Jan. 21," that's our motto.

But, for a brief minute, I'll be home. I'll see people I don't see but once or twice a year, and I'll eat more olives and more Jell-o than you'd have thought humanly possible. Provided I don't get sick (Grandpa has ... uh, unique food-storage ideas), it'll probably be good for me. I'm not even dreading the car ride this time. ("Whoa.") Yeah, I know. How can I? It's Christmas. Sort of.

Hey, maybe I can get them to celebrate my birthday again, too. Whoa. Now I'm thinking.