The Silly Season

My daughter, Amanda, had her baby shower on Saturday. The atmosphere was laced with estrogen, the games played du jour, the food - well the left overs tasted pretty good. Once the place was set up, I bobbed, weaved, avoided and left the house innocuously to await the departure of guests who hadn't arrived yet.

That event passed and we are ramping up for the Christmas event sans lights and outside displays, rotating Santas and creche scenes. Most of the other neighbors put up lights. I valiantly resist. The wind blows them down every year and the neighbors do damage control as best they can. I don't worry because there's nothing to control. The gardeners don't mow over power cables and the trees are barren of bulbs, wozzles and fizbins. 

Inside the house it's a different matter and the traditional stuff is carted from the garage where the boxes have become dusty from their positions on the highest shelves. The plastic Costco tree is faithfully assembled and draped with garlands, ornaments are hooked, and a variety of elves, gnomes and angels from years past are set on the branches to preside over Christmas.

Occasionally I envy Rip VanWinkle, who legend holds, slept through this (and other) season(s). Note that I don't envy Santa Clause one little bit.  The bright ray of hope is that next Christmas there will be two grandchildren to spoil. I'm sure that will put a different spin on the silly season.