I was in a department store the other day, killing time. As I browsed through the wallets (as if maybe I’d find money in one of them) my ears perked up a little. I was taken by a vague notion to pay attention.
“Is that Bing?!” I asked two women I’d never before seen in my life.
They both took a few seconds to listen in and confirmed that I wasn’t losing my mind.
“It’s Election Day,” I snapped. From political ads to yuletide carols being sung by a choir. Overnight.
The next day—yesterday, in fact—I was in the craft store to see what I might find for fall flourishes for my home. Because it's fall. We haven't even changed the clocks yet. My terra cotta Jack-o-lantern is put away, and the remaining fall-themed pumpkins could use some company.
Suddenly, as if possessed by the subliminal messaging of Bing Crosby, I walked past the fall garlands to the Christmas ornament display. On one hook, all alone, hung the most beautiful ornament. It seemed misplaced, but I couldn’t find the others. I walked all around the display to put it back in its home, picking up a few others to admire their sparkle, but couldn’t find any other jingle bell-adorned stars like it. Huh. “Is this the last one left?” I wondered.
And I bought it.
On November 3.