COLONIE — I strolled into BJ’s Wholesale Club in a good mood. Not that shopping is one of my favorite activities, but I always like a store that offers me a 50-pack of tube socks or a bag of oranges large enough to crush a small child. In America, big is good, and BJ’s, Sam’s Club and their ilk satisfy that patriotic need.
Trying mightily not to look at the humongo-view, high-def, take-me-to-paradise, flat screen TVs beckoning me and my checkbook, I let my eyes wander to the left. Hmmm. A pair of lifesize pirate mannequins. Cute. I guess it is that time of year, when I try to avoid being home on Halloween until the ghosts and goblins have all been carted back to suburbia by their car-pooling parents.
Then, a mere two aisles away, the horror hit me. Artificial Christmas trees, lights a-twinkle. And, as God is my witness, the sound of Christmas carols wafting through the air.
Today. September 24. A mere three days from the end of summer. Thirty-six days before Halloween. Fifty-eight days before Thanksgiving. Ninety-one days before Christmas.
I don’t have a thing against making an honest buck. But for heaven’s sake, ease up once in a while. I hated it when my kids were rushed into a prolonged runup to Christmas, and their kids have it even worse.
There is none of that true seasonal wonder and excitement, the anticipation and the mystery of it all. Now, it’s three solid months of “Buy this!,” “I want that!,” “You must have these!”
There is little enough left of childhood these days. Taking back the simplest aspects of it could be so easy if only the quest for dollars didn’t rule everything.
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