And so it begins, Christmas is on its way.
The local grocery store already has a small display of peppermint candy to drool over as soon as I enter the front door. A week later, the garden center moved its autumn mums aside to make room for wreaths and miniature evergreens. Somewhere in the back of a department store, an employee is untangling strands of lights. The ornaments are coming out of their boxes, one tissue-wrapped handful at a time.
By early November, the small local towns are beginning to join in. Garlands appear on the lampposts along Main Street. Someone has brought out the wooden reindeer that has stood on the courthouse lawn for as long as anyone can remember. A truck pulls up beside the town square, and the big Christmas tree arrives with its branches tied close to the trunk. For a day or two it looks rather lonely, waiting for its lights.
Then, a notice goes out to all the towns people that the lighting will take place this Saturday night. Hot coffee and coco will be served.
I have always liked these first signs of Christmas, its pleasing to the soul watching an ordinary place gradually prepare for a holiday. The hardware store puts a red bow on its front door. A bakery advertises gingerbread and apple cider. The little shop down the street changes its window display, setting a toy train among cotton batting and tiny snow-covered houses.
The mornings grow colder, the afternoons end sooner, and the smell of woodsmoke drifts from houses where the fireplaces have once again been lit. At home, we begin thinking about the things we put away last January: the old glass ornaments, the Christmas tablecloth, the box of cards, and that troublesome string of lights we meant to replace.
When I was younger, Christmas seemed to take forever to arrive. At least, that is how I remember it. We had Thanksgiving first, and then came the great turning of the season. Store windows filled with Christmas scenes, and families drove through neighborhoods to see which houses had put up their lights. I remember the excitement of spotting the first decorated tree through someone’s front window, glowing in a room that had already gone dark for the evening.
There were crowded stores, tangled ribbon, and all the usual last-minute worries then, too. But I remember the small pleasures clearly. Christmas catalogs on the coffee table. Paper chains made at the kitchen table, and in school. The sound of carols coming from a radio while someone worked in the kitchen. A few treasured decorations that returned year after year, each one with its own little history.
Perhaps that is why the first signs still mean so much. They remind us of Christmases we have known, of people who once gathered around our tables, of homes and streets that may look different now. A simple wreath in a shop window can bring back a whole afternoon from long ago.
There is still plenty of autumn left when the first Christmas decorations appear. The trees may be holding onto their last few leaves, and the pumpkins may still be sitting on porches. I like that overlap. Nobody has to hurry the season along. We can enjoy the late autumn days and notice, at the same time, the little preparations taking place around us.
Before the shopping lists and the holiday schedules, before the wrapped packages gather beneath the tree, there is this gentler beginning. A red ribbon on a door. A string of lights across the square. The first familiar carol heard while buying groceries.
Christmas is coming, and for a little while, simply knowing that is enough.
Written and submitted by Deborah Kunzie
