Those few days of November lingering after Thanksgiving are an odd period, aren’t they? Still firmly entrenched in the “The Holidays” but not quite holly and jolly just yet. I’m never quite sure what do to with myself. I don’t go in for the holiday shopping Black Friday bit. I’m not much of a shopper to begin with. I like browsing small shops with few people in them, sure. But I’ve always had an allergy to department stores, and malls make me feel like I need to go home and bathe. Most my Christmas shopping is done in craft and fiber stores months in advance, so I have little inspiration to fight tooth and nail with bloody-thirsty holiday shoppers spreading good cheer and animosity amongst sparkling sale signs. I’ll stay home and knit, thanks.
After Thanksgiving dinner we blinked sleepily against the tryptophan and looked at the clock incredulously seeing that it was only 5:00 p.m. and there was no way we could go to bed anytime soon and still maintain self-respect. I was in my jammies by 6. Christmas jammies, I might add, which I took some crap for, it being Thanksgiving day and the turkey not even fully digested yet. “If you have clothes that you can only wear during one season a year,” I defended, “you should start wearing them as soon as possible.”
I called my folks an hour later to check in on their holiday festivities.
Mom: “So what are you up to?”
Me: “Not much. Hanging out in my Christmas jammies.”
Mom: “Good for you. If you have clothes that you can only wear once a year, you should start wearing them as soon as you can.
Me: “Exactly.”
I love my mother.
I get it though. Even I don’t feel quite ready to commit to Christmas just yet. It feels off. The trees are still full of fall colors on our street. It is getting colder, though. You have to give it that. And queued up like it was watching the clock, the tuley fog slid right into place after the turkey and stuffing slid into theirs. We’re fairly famous for it round about here. It traipses around the roadways in inexplicable here-and-gone-again patches and it puddles in the low places in the park down the street in a manner more suited to graveyards and vampires than swingsets and basketball hoops. All my scarves are out and in use, that’s for sure.
Sunday brought the first day of advent and the last day of November. We broke out the advent wreath, and I decked its branches with jingle bells and fall leaves, not sure which way to go. We put up the Christmas lights, to the good-natured disgust of my neighbor. “It’s not even December yet. You’re not one of those people, are you?”
Going through the boxes of Christmas in the garage, I pulled out the wrappings but set aside the nativity. I added pine trees and white candles to the mantle, pushing the gourds and pumpkins to the periphery. I didn’t hang the stockings, and I left the menorah in the box.
But as evening came around, I did cue up Barenaked for the Holidays (a personal favorite) and I poured myself a glass a eggnog. I’ve had the eggnog since before Thanksgiving and I offer no apologies for myself. I like eggnog (especially with spiced rum, whipped cream, and fresh ground nutmeg on top) and I’ll buy it as soon as I see it, November or no, so neener neener neener.
So here we are. It’s almost beginning to look something kind of like Christmas...maybe.
Cheers.