I have these friends — friends of my late sister, actually — lovely people with whom I keep in touch through the wonders of Facebook. They’re a close-knit family who love life — the widowed mother (about my age), a son and daughter-in-law, a daughter and son-in-law, and teenage grandchildren — and who never miss an opportunity to celebrate together and with their large circle of friends.

There’s always a reason to party: a birthday, anniversary, graduation, or some sort of holiday. There is a consistency to their festivities: they invariably involve good food, and plenty of it, in the time-honored tradition of breaking bread and sharing it.

And decorations. These folks know how to decorate, and definitely subscribe to the philosophy that says you can’t overdo a good thing. They festoon their respective homes, inside and out, with the joy of every season and every holiday, and — like their food — they share their happiness with the world.

Needless to say, Christmas is the big event. There is so much Christmas to be displayed, they have to start decorating early, way before Thanksgiving. I honestly don’t know where they store everything throughout the year, but they are obviously the most well-organized group of people you’re ever likely to run across.

But today they — or rather, the son — outdid himself by posting on FB a reminder that Christmas is exactly six months from today, and included a picture of an amazing (and amazingly large) new decoration that he had finally found after searching for it for ages.

In June. In 115-degree weather. And he’s out there “doing” Christmas.

And I’m in here, in the air-conditioned comfort of my undecorated home, thinking:

“Enough, already!”

No, I am not the Grinch. I love the spirit of Christmas, and all of the kitsch that goes with it. But I love it in December, when it’s cold (or at least cool) outdoors. Some of my fondest memories are of heading out on the day after Thanksgiving to begin the rounds of the newly-decorated stores, making lists (and checking them twice), baking cookies, decorating, partying, addressing cards, wrapping, hiding the gifts from prying eyes . . . all of it crammed into one spirited, fun-filled, exhausting month.

And I remember being sad when it was over for another year, but having something to look forward to for the next eleven months.

But then some fool came up with the idea of “Christmas in July,” and ruined the whole thing.

I want cookouts in July and August . . . not Christmas. I love a fall festival and trick-or-treat in September and October . . . not Christmas. And November should be about Thanksgiving . . . not some afterthought in the midst of Christmas preparations. I don’t want to be sick of Christmas before it even arrives.

But the merchandisers say otherwise. They’re not stupid . . . just greedy. They know that we’ll see the wisdom of getting a jump on our shopping and spreading the cash outflow over a period of several months. They also know that, by holding back the very best of their goods until November, we’ll buy even more. It’s diabolical!

But Santa and his elves need a break, for heaven’s sake! They need time to make all the toys and other goodies. And we recipients of their gifts need time throughout the year to celebrate other things, and to regain the wonder of that feeling of anticipation as summer eases into autumn, the nights grow chilly, and the holiday season begins in earnest.

So I say, screw Christmas in July. Grab some hot dogs and burgers, an ice cold lemonade (or a brewski, if you prefer), and head outdoors to enjoy a band concert or the fireworks on a sultry 4th of July evening. Stop wishing your life away, and celebrate the moment, the now.

Christmas will be here soon enough.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
6/25/25