DECEMBER 31, 2020 – Left to my own devices, I’d be one of those people who leaves the plastic, illuminated Santa on the roof year-round . . . or at least until all the snow melted, which in these parts would be around April Fools’ Day. Fortunately for the neighbors, I’m rarely left to my own devices; luckier still—though I’d be a person who’d leave Santa stranded until spring, I’m not a person who’d put Santa there in the first place; not a plastic version, anyway. The point is, I so enjoy the anticipation of Christmas, I despair over its abrupt ending. I want it to last well into the rest of the ski season.
Not my wife. She packs up Santa, or rather, his innumerable likenesses comprised by her collection, the minute Christmas is over, which according to her is before December 31st. This swift action surprises me, given how much effort she devotes to tasteful decorating—no plastic, rooftop Santas in her collection! I think there’s a correlation between the end of my wife’s Norwegian waffle krumkake and the end of Christmas. (Next year I’ll have to experiment, limiting my krumkake intake to 10 per day to see if the rationing extends Christmas to New Year’s Day.)
What hurts most is seeing the Christmas tree tossed out the door, invariably with stray tinsel clinging desperately to the branches, then dragged by the ear—er, branch—to the gallows next to the alley-side garbage bin. I imagine Alt Tannenbaum crying out for rescue before the truck towing a chipper, snatches up “Christmas Past” and turns it into mulch (I’m sure the aristocratic aroma of a balsam is lost on the common banana peels and empty eggnog containers in the nearby refuse containers.)
It’s all just another example of our “throw away” culture centered on shiny, new-then-suddenly-old objects. Pop the Santas out of their boxes, then stuff them back in, along with all the lights and ornaments that adorned the Christmas tree, which, as I’ve described, is transformed into alley trash before you can sing O Tannenbaum twice. (That assumes that you’ve found the lyrics on the internet, because . . . when’s time you last held in your hands a hard copy of any Christmas carol?)
Speaking of music, that’s another staple of the season I enjoy. Again, thanks to my wife’s decorating tastes and skills, her schematics provide for old Christmas sheet music to be placed on the piano rack. The only time I play the piano is during the Christmas season, when I like to sit down and knock off a medley of memorized carols, embellished with my somewhat quirky voicing.
Now that Christmas is over, I find solace in knowing that if the poor balsam is headed for the chipper, the rest of Christmas will be returned safely to the attic above our garage to await next year’s performance. And the music, turned off the moment the tree is turned out, will return as well—right after Thanksgiving next year, according to schedule.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
