I remember when six years ago, you held back until days before Thanksgiving before giving us that glorious show, that magnificent, much-awaited, anticipated cup that beamed like a red lantern in the hands of people who walked by. Seeing that bright, bold color against the dreary grays and dirtied snow raised my spirits, and made my heart soar with feelings of Christmas/holiday splendor.
This year, I spied your cup within days after Halloween. Again, humph, and frankly, I throw at you some bah-humbug, too. When you waited until after November 15th, what was supposed to be your official release date this year, those red cups lasted past Christmas day, and even--generally--got us through the New Year. And if someone ordered a tall, or a venti, these cups could be glimpsed throughout the month of January. I sometimes ordered the size I did not want, simply to hold that red cup in my hand. And why?
To catch a glimpse of a vibrant red, of a color so rich and bold, means so much more for me as we sink further into Winter. The winter: its skeletal, brittle trees that snap branches or shards of ice when the wind shifts, cold that hooks you like a leach, and the lights, just about everywhere, going out.
After the holidays, people take down their trees and lay them on the sidewalks to be thrown into a dump truck; people remove the candlestick lights from their windows; they toss out or pack away their ribboned wreathes, and strip the garlands from gates and fences.
And in the streets, the festivities dim, the smiles thin, the niceties slim.
It would be nice to see a red cup, when the holidays end, that's all I mean.
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