I know why, of course. There is a not-so-subtle shift within the You are Here camp – right after the cheesy Halloween decorations disappear off store shelves – to taunt, tease and tempt me to produce Christmas. Not enjoy Christmas or understand Christmas or give Christmas. But produce it. Make a list. Make a budget. Make cookies. Make Christmas happen. And make it bigger and better than last year.
I am more aware of than I have ever been and more of the mind to refuse to comply, but it ain’t easy. It’s like trying to enjoy munching on carrot sticks on Carrot Day when all around you, at every turn, is a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies made with real butter and Ghirardelli chocolate. You really want to enjoy Carrot Day. You love carrots. They are good for you. They don’t contribute to heart disease or your waistline. They are a lovely shade of quiet orange. They are full of vitamins and are sweet and wet and crunchy. And if the people making all those dang cookies would just take their stupid cookie plates away until Cookie Day, for pity’s sake, it would be a lot easier to celebrate the Carrot.
The speed, though, is the problem that keeps us from holding up a hand and saying “Wait just a doggone minute!” Everything is happening so fast, we are numbed into a cookie-eating stupor from which we don’t emerge until January, when the cookies disappear and it becomes Treadmill Day.
Don’t get me wrong. I like cookies. But if it’s carrot day, and not cookie day, then shouldn’t the cookies disappear so that we can celebrate our carrots?
Carrots, by the way, are not a metaphor for Baby Jesus. But our addiction to fast-moving plates of cookies is a metaphor for a lot of things. . .
I am taking a deep breath this morning. I am imagining eating a carrot at slow-motion speed, and savoring its crunchy sweetness.
Cookies are lovely, no doubt about it.
But it’s not cookie day. Not for me. . .