Christmas? Bookend it, please, because I’m not much a fan of the day so much as the days around it.
Ever since I was a kid (in the 1920s), I most enjoyed the “anticipation” aspect of Christmas. The actual event? Not so much. And so it is that we have come to “do it up” on the Eve in this house. Gatherings. Family. Friends. Sit-down dinner with all the good cheer we can muster.
The morning itself is a prosaic exercise in going through the motions. Tear open, see material good (or bad), say thank you, wonder what on earth you’ll do with this latest dust-collector.
Ah, but the morning after! Like clouds giving way to a freshly-peeled blue sky! Like sunshine finding the hidden chill in the marrow of your bones. Guests depart. Cookies, candies, and other unwanteds are openly dispatched into the forgiving garbage. You lie about, read, doze, and lie about some more.
Yes, it’s a toss-up. December 24th or December 26th? They both hold their charms. They both look remarkably good in the rear-view mirror, too.