And just like that it’s over.
Christmas is now 364 days away.
Even the day itself is a bit of a letdown. The excitement comes from the lead time. It peaks on its own eve. Once Santa has left the building, everybody starts thinking about getting to their cars in the parking lot and beating the traffic. Work beckons, or perhaps a handful of store returns. New Year’s Eve is still sort of a thing, but not really. More people brag about staying home than they do about end of year debauchery. I don’t think my eye-lids have made it to the ball-drop since the pandemic. A three day weekend will be nice, but that’s about all it is. On the horizon is plunging temperatures and over-hyped nor’easters and two of the most depressing months on the calendar. And all of it in semi-darkness, as the holiday lights come down. Or, in the case of Scranton, remain in place but un-lit, as the various city agencies fight over who is supposed to take the official decorations down. I recall one year the town’s mayor threatening to rent a truck and take them down himself, as the fast approaching St Patrick’s Day parade passing under a plethora of Santa figures would not be a good look. The perils of living in a distressed city.