Christmas in Our Minds and Our Attics, Plus a Poem

Christmas memories share a connection to tangible Christmas decorations.

Each year at Thanksgiving, or earlier, we hear Christmas music and notice homeowners setting up outdoor displays for the holidays. Several years ago when I thought about those memories, I realized that taking them out of the attic paralleled opening up our mental Christmas vault. The decorations as well as the Christmas memories stayed packed away until it was time to take/ drag them out. Once they’re out, the month of December is filled with music, sights and smells as well as the food and drink of Christmas and other winter celebrations.

This process reverses after Christmas day as we slowly begin to ratchet down from the December hoopla. Christmas trees end up on the curb, music in whatever form is packed away, decorations are boxed and disappear, and at the same time we store away the holiday ideas that we brought out a month before.

By the end of the first week of January, the decorations in most homes are down and the Christmas music isn’t so warm and holiday-like. The holidays are over, and the thoughts along with the physical items get packed away for the next 11 months.


A Christmas Related Poem for the Month of January

The Month After Christmas Diet Poem ~*~
Author Unknown

‘Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I’d taste
At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).

I’d remember the marvelous meals I’d prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The eggnog and pie, the bread and the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”
As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt;
I said to myself as I only can,
“You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!”

So, away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie–not even a lick.
I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore—
But isn’t that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!


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