When I walked through the office lobby last night I had to do a double take. Where earlier that day there stood the beautiful Christmas trees that they put up every season there was now . . . nothing. They had dismantled them and packed them away in their boxes where they will remain for the next eleven months.
And it bothered me.
Now, since I am not one to go in for huge, splashy, tacky holiday decorations - or even smallish, tasteful displays of the yuletide for all that matter - I was surprised that it bothered me. But I didn't give it more thought until this morning when I walked into the lobby of the condo and had the same thing happen - where's the tree?
Not that I want to prolong the forced Joy! Of! The! Season! that the Commercialized Christmas Factory begins heaping on us in mid-October, but still. It's only January 3rd for Pete's Sake, and now that the pressure is off, both in terms of shopping and work, I am ready to enjoy a little Bing Crosby crooning, some holly and garland stringing, a candy cane or two.
Guess not. Ya snooze, ya lose. I bet they've already cleared out the egg nog in the supermarkets.
Which brings me to my next contemplation. Until what date may I keep the balcony lights up without becoming a Desperate Holiday Hanger-On? First week in January? End of January? First day that I can go outside to remove the offending bulbs without wearing gloves? Here's a disturbing thought: I bet if I leave them up until spring, I will find myself compelled to buy lawn ornaments - you know, Plastic Flamingos, Ceramic Bambis and a Garden Gnome or two. I'm sure that's how it all starts.
Tell you what. I'll take the lights down once I see the Christmas Tree carcasses (carcassi?) start piling up curbside. That should be safe.
I was walking down the hallway on my way home last night and what did I see? Yep, an errant utility cart hiding in shame in an alcove. But rather than pounding on all of the nearby doors, demanding to know which blankety-blank lazy sloth neighbor left it there, I just . . . returned it. So there. My Good Deed for the day. And when the elevator doors opened, my sign was still up.
I'm thinking that I shall need to do some investigative work on my bathroom fan this evening. It has been making A NOISE when I turn it on. Kind of a demonic noise for your standard bathroom fan. A deep-throated, whirring, just-letting-you-know-this-is-hard-work sort of noise. It's been doing it for about two weeks, and I had hoped that it was just temporary and would fix itself a la the kitchen sink that dripped for two days and then stopped dripping of its own accord. But I'm thinking I need to check it out before it starts encouraging other members of my electric contraption household to rebel as well. I sense a Home Depot run soon.
Got a call at work today from a Mummer. Well, no I don't think he was really a Mummer, but he could have been based on the accent. Or maybe he was just one of the Philadelphians that sat out there with their butts frozen to Market Street on New Year's Day. Here was our conversation:
ME: "This is Kay."
VOICE: "We gotta delivery."
ME: "Oh? For me? Delivery of what?"
VOICE: "Dunno. We gotta delivery."
ME: "OK, what address?"
The VOICE confirms my home address, then
VOICE: "Youse gonna be home ta sign?"
Love it. "Youse." I told him that I would be home ta sign - I'd be the white haired guy named Gregory sitting at the front desk. Didn't seem to phase him. I have a nice mental image of a big burly guy in a blue satin dress with yellow pigtails schlepping my box around. I think I know what it is. Goldilocks better not drop it.
Ellen sent me an e-mail last night about the website. She felt that the Mummer Rant was fair since I gave credit to the string bands. She wondered about the "Next" button at the bottom of this page. So, for Ellen, I shall make a change. Knock yourselves out.
~ ~ ~
Quote du jour:
"Next to a circus there ain't nothing
that packs up and tears out faster
than the Christmas spirit."
-- Kin Hubbard
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