The dynamic of winter holidays feels a little different this year, which I’ll get to in a moment. The front third of winter is always great because we have holidays. After New Year’s, though, we usually go into the much worse time of winter; the part of winter with nothing to look forward to. At least in December we have Christmas coming.
Thanksgiving through New Year’s is one long glorious period of festivity. Jan. 1 through May 1 has nothing to distract you from the fact that you don’t technically have to live here. I can’t speak for you, but I don’t decorate my house for Presidents Day, and I’ve explained before that St. Patrick’s Day is stupid. This is why I’ve long proposed that Christmas would be better-placed on something like Feb. 25.
Think about it! We would have Christmas lights and decorations and trees and parties and sweaters for two extra months! Two glorious, festive, tinsel-bedecked extra months. That’s three full months of the Christmas season, with benchmark parties for the new year and the Super Bowl, plus it stays light out later than 3:45 p.m. when it currently gets dark, which’ll ameliorate holiday-related depression.
After the big day (again, we’re thinking of it as Feb. 25), we’re within two weeks of pitchers and catchers reporting and within a month of the first nice day. There’s really no drawback to this idea.
I can’t even imagine Jesus would be mad about my moving His birthday back a couple of months; surely in the event of a second coming, He’d presumably have greater concerns than where the big day fell on a calendar that didn’t exist the last time He kept an appointment book. Besides, once I explained the idea, I’m pretty sure a guy from the desert who never experienced waiting for a train on a 6-degree day would cut me some slack, even if said guy didn’t also have to maintain a reputation as the forgiving sort.
It’d be the end of the Real Dead Tree Era for sure. This is not a drawback; our Christmas trees pretty reliably saw Valentine’s Day when I was a kid, and they start to look a little thin by then. I love Christmas, but not enough to fetishize the past, so real Christmas trees are a tradition that needs to go. I don’t get the affection for something that drips sap that sticks to skin and drops needles that stick in your feet. Folks get all moony over “a real Christmas tree” yet no one romanticizes “a real icebox.” Screw that. I want the fakest of fake trees. Mine is hot pink and was delivered unto me by Amazon.
If we move Christmas to Feb. 25 in time for this year, you can even sit in front of your hot pink tree in your Christmas sweater talking about why candy canes are red and white and whether the stripe spirals up from the bottom or down from the top, because this year the sack Santa is dropping down our chimneys is filled with smaller sacks, each containing a present measured in grams (if you’ve been naughty) or quarter-ounces (if you’ve been nice.) Santa’s old-school, hence the pipe he holds tight in his teeth with smoke encircling his head like a wreath. This year, said smoke may smell vaguely like SC’s burning a wreath. That acknowledged, the cookies you leave out, made correctly, can leave Biggie C’s belly shaking like a bowlful of jelly for a couple of hours.
This means that even without moving Christmas to Feb. 25, for the first time in many, many years, I think we are all looking forward to January. So if a couple days into 2020 you’re still lacking in the ol’ Christmas spirit … maybe have a cookie.
Parts of this proposal first appeared in 2017, and are still a good idea.