Hideaway
My mind is wired for Christmas. Each time I go to the mall, I make a beeline to the Holiday section. Then I stare stupidly at all the wonderful trimmings of Christmas: the towering Christmas trees, handsome and sparkling with lights; the wreaths that when hung by the door suggest what waits within the house - warm hugs and kisses from family and friends, the dinner table laden with a festive banquet perhaps? And who could resist that life-size Santa who dances and croons?
The elderly clerk stationed at the holiday section already recognizes me and gave me
half a smile when he saw me coming. He knows I’ve been there several times since the Christmas items were displayed. I don’t buy anything but he doesn’t seem to mind. He probably thinks I’m a looney. I don’t blame him, specially if he’s heard me hum to the Christmas music and smiling to myself. That part of the store is my little hideaway. There aren’t many shoppers in that area this time of year and if there were, they keep to themselves. Maybe when they’re there, they also travel to a place and time in their life when Christmas was indeed merry.
To me, the holiday sections at the malls are the only places right now that tell me Christmas is coming. Everywhere else, people still have to hurdle Thanksgiving and stress over where to get their turkeys and pies. I still am not into Thanksgiving and so, instead of turkey, we’ll have roast chicken. Plus, I plan to bake my very first rum cake with the kids.
So as not to alarm my gentleman friend by the corner, I reluctantly said goodbye to dancing Santa. I’ll moon over the holiday displays another day.
