There is an eternal debate in my household about when Christmas starts. I understand that the actual date never shifts, but depending where December twenty-fifth falls during the week can make a big impact on my holiday state of mind. Part of the confusion stems from the fact that the outside lights go up on the day after Thanksgiving. This is true no matter how far back in November Turkey Day gets pushed. We are still out there stringing bulbs in a tryptophan haze on the Friday that is traditionally known as "Black."
That's when the countdown begins. I know that my wife would like to have the tree up in the living room that day as well, but I'm not ready for all that foliage. I prefer to have a few days to warm up to the notion of Tannenbaums. The rest of the planet may be rushing about with Douglas Firs strapped to the top of their sedans, but I will hold out as long as I can until I am forced to go down to the basement and haul up our nylon-umbrella-technology "tree." Something about staring at all that glittering festiveness leaves me feeling less than cheery. It feels like an obligation. It is probably because I know that just as soon as I feel comfortable with the whole idea, it will be time to haul the boxes back up the stairs and reverse the process.
Something about having a six foot tall reminder of the season next to the television that will spout Christmas themed programming and commercials for six solid weeks seems redundant. Maybe if we put the tree up in the kitchen it wouldn't seem so redundant. Outside, there is plenty of room for all the merriness to dissipate somewhat.
Eventually I surrender my my Grinchy ways and find myself at a mall, all decked out with boughs of holly. This past weekend as I watched shoppers rush home with their treasures, my family was serenaded by "apprentice toy soldiers from the North Pole." The three uniformed musical theatre fanatics performed a medley of Christmas tunes that won me over, as I stood in the shadow of Emeryville's shopping cart tree. All of this Glee-inspired cheer pushed me over the edge and before noon the next day our own halls were officially decked. It might be a stretch to say that my heart grew three sizes that day, but now I can share the living room with our twinkling artificial pine.
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