48 hours ago there were gifts and anticipation. Now there's memories and the realization that all this has to be taken down and put away.
Bummer.
The Elixir causes a flashback. I'm 10 again. Summer vacation ends this week. School starts on Monday. That means new scratchy blue jeans, daily baths, and those befuddling social intricacies of public education.
Bummer.
But wait. The New Year is five days down the road.
It's not here yet.
Still the old year.
"The Meal" - so to speak - is not quite done, so I'm not leaving the table.
Not yet.
I pad out to the kitchen for more Elixir. Refill complete, I pause by the table.
The cup steams in my hand as I inspect the little Dickens village setup in the window sill. I take my time, strollin' with Tiny Tim, Jim, and Old Man Scrooge. Imagining the sounds, feeling the cold.
Huh.
Soon the whole village will be packed in styrofoam, waiting for the day after Thanksgiving, 2013.
Like Brigadoon in a box.
I wander over by the Tree. Reaching for the floor, I push a button to fire up the stereo/cassette/phonograph/high-fidelity unit.
It cost $20 at the thrift store. Spent 50 cents per album. $24.10 invested in bringing back those old Christmas memories.
(The 10 cents is my dime that rides the needle cartridge to keep the needle from skipping.)
Thumbing through the festive library of eight LPs, I pull out a smiling picture of Andy Williams.
These old magical ingredients of platter, turntable, and needle conjur up that brief and wonderful scratching sound.
Then Andy oozes out the small, black-clothed speakers.
You go, Iowa boy. Croon on.
The window frames the neighborhood being gently dotted by a light snow. I plug in the Tree Lights.
The Meal isn't over yet.
Yeah, I'm still sittin' at that Holiday table, reaching for that last small slice of pie.
Mmm-mm.
Good stuff.