Yesterday I drove through mist into town on an early-morning errand, past crews with bucket trucks
setting up for work downtown. I assumed they were connected with utilities: electrical or gas or
whatever. However, as I headed for home a little while later they were stripping the trees of their
Christmas lights.
We love our little Prattville downtown, lined with small shops and restaurants. Year- round flower beds,
an artesian fountain, and Autauga Creek flowing over the dam, past the abandoned brick gin mil, create
photo-worthy scenes year round, a favorite location for senior pictures, prom shots, and most any
special occasion. Even this year, decorators transformed the area into a Christmas wonderland of lights
and ornaments.
Un-decorating is a poignant time, especially with today’s uncertainty and chaos. Traditionally our family
has left up Christmas through January 6, the traditional day to celebrate the arrival of the Magi. The
other night, though, I went ahead and stripped the Christmas tree of its bulbs and lights.
A little while later when our three-year-old granddaughter came over, she found the box of bulbs set
aside.
“Why, Grandma?” she asked, beginning to put the bulbs back on.
Yes, why? Why doesn’t Christmas stay year ‘round? Why do occasions lose their specialness if we live
them daily? Why couldn’t we keep the magical glow of lights and cheer and It’s a Wonderful Life?
“We’ll put them away for next year,” I say. Thinking, If there is Christmas next year. If there even is a next
year.
Today when she came, Sara found the tree not only stripped, but partially covered with a plastic bag
ready to protect it from attic dust. “Not Christmas now,” she said, nodding her head wisely. “New year.”
A pretty accurate summary.