Saratoga News

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Bringing Christmas in the house can be a real chore

By Dick Sparrer

The turkey carcass was still chilling in the refrigerator, just waiting to be boiled away into an after-Thanksgiving soup, and the ceramic Pilgrims were still poised in the middle of the dining room table, where just two nights earlier they had presided over Thanksgiving dinner.

And then it came. My wife made the announcement that weekend that I've grown to dread in recent holiday seasons--"It's time to bring Christmas into the house," she exclaimed.

It was time to let one holiday go and welcome another one into our home.

I just groaned.

You see, now that the kids are grown and gone, I fully understand the implications of that declaration.

When there were small children around the house, Christmas was all candy canes, reindeer games and magic. The annual announcement of another Christmas would be followed by the enchanting appearance of treasures we would see only once a year ... dancing Santas, ice skating bears and glass bulbs that could produce a winter snow flurry with just the twist of a wrist.

But now that I'm a grumpy old man, I have a better understanding of the true meaning of my wife's announcement--I'm going to have to climb into the rafters of the garage to retrieve 46 dusty boxes of Christmas junk.

So I grumble and groan and come up with any reason I can think of as to why I can't help.

"Sorry, I'm right in the middle of a story. I can't possibly do it right now," I said.

"Oh, are you writing a story about the 49ers-Rams game?" she asked.

"No, I'm writing about ... uh, the Saratoga game," I quickly said.

"Then what are you doing in the family room with the television on?" she snapped, swooping down to grab the remote and in one motion clicking off the TV and turning on a Christmas CD.

So with Bing Crosby crooning "White Christmas" in full stereo in the background, she announced again in such melodic glory it would have made ol' Bing proud, "It's time to bring Christmas into the house."

I knew immediately she meant business.

So despite my grumbling and mumbling, I trudged off to the dank darkness of the garage.

Now, I don't want to seem Scrooge-like or Grinch-ish, because I love Christmas and all the presents ... I mean, all the spirit that comes with it just as much as the next guy. But there's nothing merry or warm and fuzzy about dealing with the 11 months of dirt and dust that have accumulated on the tops of all the Christmas boxes; or reaching into a dark crevice of the garage without knowing what furry little creature is now calling the tinsel garland box home; or juggling 75-pound boxes that you begged her not to pack so full last year (there was one that I could swear must have had my youngest son's old dumbbells packed inside).

I did it, though, and after I hauled them all in, it was the same story as every year:

"Christmas isn't in the house quite yet," she said. "There must be one more box out there somewhere. I can't find my Disney ornaments."

Disney ornaments? I didn't even know we had any Disney ornaments.

"Don't you think we have enough ornaments?" I asked. "Couldn't we get along one Christmas without the Disney ornaments?"

"No, we couldn't," she exclaimed. "It just wouldn't seem like Christmas to me without them!"

I got the message. So back I went to the land where spiders and rodents live in search of the box with the Disney ornaments.

After an exhaustive hour-long search, there it was, under the box of old baby clothes and on top of the box of 1988 tax papers, with "Christmas" scrawled in black marker pen on the side.

Finally, I took that last box into the house, and there they were packed in a little box inside the big box--Mickey and Minnie and Donald and Daisy, in all their Disney glory.

Then, as we all started digging through the treasures of Christmases past, something magical seemed to happen. The spirit of the season overtook me. My job complete, I started rummaging through the boxes of ornaments and decorations and was quickly wrapped up in the moment as I searched for my personal favorites.

And you know what? It turns out my wife was right. Christmas was indeed in the house.