Chris Rose: After Christmas

The day after Christmas is always disconcerting to me.

I never understand why everyone else seems in such a hurry to dispense with the warm and sentimental trappings of the holiday.

Turning on the radio today, walking into stores, visiting other peoples' homes – listen: Not a single note of Christmas music anywhere.

At the tick of midnight, it was all swept clean from playlists across the land without a trace.

Can't we do a slow, gentle fade out?

OK, maybe not the "birth in the manger" stuff; that time, admittedly, is passed.

But maybe a few bars of Silver Bells? Something about snowmen and sleigh rides?

Something, anything, that's not so cold turkey?

And is there anything as depressing as the sight of a denuded and abandoned Christmas tree laying out on the curbside before New Year's Eve?

Sometimes I feel the urge to pick up such trees and march them right back up to the front door of the offending home and demand they remove this unsightly reminder that my holiday is over.

Then again, of the many good ways to get shot in this town, that would be one of the more efficient means.

Fortunately, I am not entirely alone in this mindset.

Anyone who has spent any time in south Louisiana knows that we are famously lax about taking down our exterior light displays.

After all, by next year, your fabulous teardrop light strands will be mysteriously inoperable, and – rather than go through the tedious process of testing each tiny bulb until you find the offending unit to be replaced – you blithely march out to restock your inventory every year.

This is, of course, a conspiracy among manufacturers and retailers – but one that I am willing to overlook because, well – because they're so pretty.

I am a Christmas malingerer and comfortable in my own skin about it.

As far as everyone else in their mad rush back to the day-to-day grind and the cold-hearted efficiency with which many practice to erase any sign of the holiday as fast as possible, well......

That right there is the real war on Christmas.

And I, for one, refuse to surrender.