Christmas comes at the end of December—but when I was a kid, it might as well have been at the end ofnextyear. I couldn’t wait. The moment the Thanksgiving dishes were washed and stacked, the countdown began. Anticipation was sky-high. The Sears toy catalog was essential literature: dog-eared pages, handwritten wish lists, and a permanent smile plastered on my face.
When the decorations started to go up, life somehow got even better. We had an aluminum tree—very modern for the time—complete with a color-changing light wheel that made the whole room glow like a holiday disco. At school or home, we’d make our own version of an advent calendar: strips of red and green construction paper, looped together into a long chain. Hang it on a doorknob, snip one loop each day, and watch Christmas get closer. Simple, joyful, perfect. I couldn’t wait for Christmas.
Roll the calendar ahead a few decades. (No need to specify how many.) I still look forward to Christmas—truly—but the anticipation has… evolved. What once felt like magic now arrives with a faint hum of anxiety. And the season begins much earlier. Forget the old Thanksgiving-to-Christmas timeline—now it’s Halloween candy on clearance in aisle three and Christmas décor in aisle four.
The pumpkin spice lattes appear. Costco fills itself to the rafters with ornaments, trees, gift cards, and tins of cookies large enough to feed a mid-size nation. Pop-up tree lots take over every vacant patch of land.
And then there are the parking lots. Oh, the parking lots. Somewhere along the way, holiday shopping turned into a full-contact Olympic event.It begins innocently enough. You tell yourself you’ll make a quick stop—just one item, in and out. But then you turn into the lot and immediately question every life choice that brought you to this moment. The circling begins. Then the cautious creeping. Then the signaling—part optimism, part superstition. And in your head:Why am I doing this now?Why didn’t I come yesterday when it was quiet?Do we even need what I came here to buy? Could we live without it until January?
But just as you’re ready to abandon the mission, you spot someone walking down your aisle carrying bags. Hope! A possible opening! Except… they’re parked in the next aisle. You try to zip around in time, only to meet another car arriving with its blinker already on, boldly claiming the territory. No problem, you think—because suddenly brake lights glow on a parked car just ahead. A spot! Relief floods your veins. Until… nothing happens. No reverse lights. No movement. Just a perfectly still car in a perfectly good spot. Is it a fake-out? Are they scrolling their phone? Did they fall asleep? How long do you wait before giving up?Then you spot another open space, far off but real. The only catch: it’s right next to the shopping cart corral. And you have to ask yourself the eternal December question:Are those carts secure… or is one of them about to make a break for it straight toward my passenger door?
By the time I actually get inside the store, I feel like I’ve completed a qualifying round. And when I finally walk back out with the things I came for—plus the mandatory impulse buys—and place the bags gently into the car, I realize something: as much as the holiday season has changed, I still love it. But I’ve also learned this truth, one childhood me would never have understood: Christmas as a kid was all anticipation. Christmas as an adult is… anticipation mixed with a touch of survival. And when the day finally arrives—when everything is wrapped, the lights are on, the house smells like something warm and familiar, and the pace finally slows—it feels every bit as magical as it did when I was seven. Just different. Maybe even better.
Because now, the joy isn’t only in the countdown. It’s in theexhaleat the end. The relief that everything came together. The gratitude that everyone is home or on their way. The contentment that comes after the hustle, the parking lots, and the endless to-dos. Christmas still carries anticipation—just a new kind. The kind that reminds us we’ve made it through another full year of life, family, change, chaos, and community.
And if you happen to be reading this column while sitting in your car—with your brake lights on, waiting for a spot to open—here’s the quick market update I always end with, before you lose your turn in the parking-lot rotation. Comparing January through November 2025 with the same period in 2024, the average sold home price in El Dorado Hills rose about 4%, now topping $1,110,000.
Folsom saw the opposite trend, with prices dipping roughly 5% to around $780,000. Yet both areas sawmorehomes change hands: EDH closed 569 sales, up over 7%, while Folsom climbed more than 4% with 725 sales. New listings were also up notably in both communities—proof that even in a year full of anticipation (and the occasional parking-lot combat), people are still on the move.
I love where I live. I’m excited to continue to help more families with their real estate needs. With proper planning and a good Realtor (Luckily, I know a really good one….), you can smoothly get to your next stage in life. For more tips on how to successfully navigate the real estate purchase or sale, or suggestions on Folsom topics, please contact me at Coldwell Banker Realty, 916.812.4341,pquan@cbnorcal.com,www.PatQuan.com. CA DRE #01918240
