Wit and wisdom about domestic life from Dispatch columnist Joe Blundo.

We need a new calendar that recognizes the speedier pace of modern life. November is now Christmas season. December is Christmas-exhausts-me season.

Perhaps I'm more sensitive to this speeded-up cycle because I work in the media and begin getting pitches for holiday stories in July. I usually feel as if it's at least three months later in time than it actually is. Some day in the (I hope) distant future, someone will call me and I'll say, "Sorry, but I died two weeks ago."

But it's not just me. Listen to people talk. Mid-October was aren't-the-leaves-beautiful season. It lasted about three hours, only to be supplanted by I'm-sick-of-raking-leaves season.

Being a homeowner, I tend to associate a lot of these fast-moving seasons with chores. February means spring to me because that's when you order mulch from high school lacrosse teams and Boy Scout troops. Maybe the key to living in the moment is to be a renter.

Actually, that wouldn't help because homeowner anxiety is only one of the catalysts for our internal calendars running ahead of Pope Gregory's. The other two are overhyped pop culture events and the weather.

Hence, sometime soon, we will have look-how-pretty-the-snow-is season. It will last eight hours - as long as it takes for the combination of traffic, road salt and plowing to turn the pristine white blanket a dirty gray. The second snowfall will herald the arrival of boy-am-I-sick-of-shoveling season. Winter, at that point, could still be two weeks away from officially starting.

Here are some other key dates in what I call the Hyper-accelerated Household Calendar:



To return to November for a moment, its high point is, of course, Thanksgiving. It lasts until 20 minutes after the noon feast is served, when it's replaced by I'm-sick-of-turkey season.

Don't blink or you'll miss it.