In the USA, the end-of-year festivities begin with Halloween in October, progress to Thanksgiving in November and crescendo with Christmas in December.
In the far-old days, say 30 or 40 years ago, holiday lights were reserved for Christmas and went up, at the earliest, the day after Thanksgiving. In the far-far-older days, say 50 or 60 years ago, the lights of Halloween were bonfires of dried leaves.
Fire is one of the oldest of man’s inventions, and light is the oldest of his entertainments.
Today, in this thoroughly modern incandescent and LEDed era, the colored lights appear earlier and earlier, and they appear where light has never been seen before.
The Halloween of my childhood was a night of costumed children and tasty treats, with a tiny trick added for fun. There was little preparation or exterior decoration. Now, across the street, for over two weeks, perch a vast array of smiling, frowning and frightening pumpkin faces – all lit from within. Through the window glass of that house, orange-bulbed wreathes flicker and sparkling ghost-like eyes twinkle. Down the street, the fronts of other houses are pumpkined with assorted fall presentations, each adorned with glowing, glittering and captivating lightings of its own.
To me, Halloween has become the first and earliest lit of our fall festivals. People want to start the party and lighten the darkening days. We, in this country, have no grand tradition of Octoberfests. So, the night of ghosts and goblins is a natural fit to brighten the streets and lift the spirits in the waning of days. I find the effect not scarifying, rather an inviting and comforting neighborhood parade into the holidays.
In the nearing future, my senses heighten and I begin to detect the spiced smell of pies baking for the Thanksgiving feast. Thanksgiving is a timeless holiday. It has acquired few additional trappings in the span of my years. It is, as it has always been, a meal with family and friends — if perhaps the largest such repasts of our year, with great cooked beasties and uncountable accompaniments and sweets that would make any Who proud and a welcome guest. Just the other day, I was at a laughing Grandmother’s house where she, the matriarch of culinary creations, was eyeing the very large pumpkin by the fireplace and commenting how soon she would convert the massive vegetable into delice-defying fillings for an army of pies. Mouths watering, we listened in rapt and attentioned anticipation. The great feast approaches. Thanksgiving is the day of the most eating, followed by the most quiet snoozeful resting, of the year. We give thanks for each.
Around the corner is Christmas, and that corner seems to be taken more quickly each year.
Turning the corner in my car only yesterdays ago, I saw the men at work. Lights there were, reds and greens, being applied, installed and positioned down the driveway and along the eaves. A gasp escaped my mouth. Could it be? Yes, they had done it. In the midst of the orange, brown and blacks of scarecrows, jack-o-lanterns, broom-sticked ladies and spider-laden gauzes, before even the pies had found their fillings, an early bird had gotten the worm. They had captured the prize. They were the first on the street to decorate for Christmas.
But . . . not to light — not as yet. Even in the elation of first installation, the residence has refrained from overstepping the seasons. At evening dark, the bulbs have not been electrified. In small victory, tact has, for a time, triumphed over tendency. The victor’s laurel is theirs. We begrudge them not that. Yet, we appreciate the small grace to allow a step-wise approach toward year-end and an appreciation of each holiday for its own.
In their ways, the days of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas offer much for little expended. A light there, a pie here and a gift under a tree are sufficient. For the more exuberant, decorate with glee. We do appreciate the efforts. We love to walk and drive the colorful lanes and visit the bright-lit shops. The days are better for the efforts, big and small. The seasons are best for the memories, made and remembered, that last long after the lights have been taken down and the pie pans stored in their cupboards for next round.
Grandpa Jim