Annual Treats

Completely unrelated: if you didn't see me post this on facebook, read it now. I'm totally kicking myself for not being this eloquent in my rant two years ago . . . but on the other hand, I'm not sure it was possible to be so eloquent until this year. Anyway.

I'm sure I'm starting to sound like I'm about fifty years older than I am, talking about the weather all the time lately. I don't know what it is about August - especially the last ten days or so - but every year I feel like I'm not going to survive it. Tuck Everlasting really got it spot on - August is the top of a ferris wheel that has stopped, and every year I feel like it's never going to start again.

So yesterday when the temperature peaked at around 75* . . . a full, like, fifteen degrees lower than last week . . . I was in heaven. It was amazing. I loved the chill in the sir in the morning. Well, except for the fact that the bathroom was freezing because the window has been open all summer. That was unpleasant and little too wintry for my tastes as of yet.

It was so glorious to not walk out of the school and not melt driving home. And I celebrated by listening to Danse Macabre. (semi-related side note: Spotify is pretty much the most awesomest thing ever.) It's very much a favorite of mine, and it's really fun to play, but I only listen to it this time of year. It just has such a Halloween feel to it that it would feel wrong to listen to it any other time. Kind of like with Christmas music, which I only listen to after Thanksgiving partly because that's how it was growing up and partly because I like to keep it special.

Sometimes I wonder if it's just me. Luke laughs at me sometimes because I guess I'm kind of strict . . . he does risk my wrath by singing Christmas songs at all times of the year. Except, you know, Christmastime. And I know it's kind of silly, but there are all these little tiny things that have little tiny happy memories that come back every year. Conversation hearts are only for the first to weeks of February. Candy corn only during October and November. And as much as I LOVE cadbury creme eggs they are ONLY allowed during the weeks before Easter. (don't even get me started on the travesty that is holiday themed peeps in shapes other than bunnies and chicks!)

I don't know, am I crazy? It's just that when you do or have or eat or listen to or whatever something every day it loses something. It's not as special or exciting compared to when you only see it for a few days or weeks and then put it away for months. And I really hate the idea of these things becoming commonplace. There's just something about hearing those first notes of an old familiar Christmas song or that first small handful of candy corn that's familiar and new at the same time. It's comforting . . . comfortable. It's kept me sane since graduating high school and moving onward and (generally) upward. And while I'm always up for adding new traditions - Luke and I are still figuring things out as far as that goes - I think the old ones will always be closest to my heart.


P. ost S. cript
This was a fabulous routine. But there's nothing like the full orchestral, full-length version of the piece.