"If we close our eyes as we walk up and then open them, real quick, at the same time, it'll be just like they just lit it."

We laughed and sipped our beers. We'd put in the effort - we met up at a corner along the pedestrian downtown and wove our way through throngs of people, strollers and puffy winter jackets.

The tree waited at the top of the street, positioned in a manner that would allow the church steeple to peek out over the top from any angle from which you viewed it. It was dark, but the small stage constructed before it was drenched in spotlights - stage lighting, television news lighting and the flickering flashes of cameras.

The annual Christmas musical segue into tree lighting, and we were standing against the brick building walls, underneath canopies and behind a post. In the cold. And, in my case, without a hat or gloves. With twenty minutes until lighting time.

The tree would be lit for a solid month, and we'd have plenty of time to ooh and aah in a less crushing environment.

Drinks? Dinner? Brewery? Lovely. My kind of way to celebrate the start to the holiday season.

As we pushed back - against the natural flow of bodies - the Christmas songs coursed through speakers up and down the street. Floppy woolen hats bounced atop heads in time to the beat.

I hadn't attended a large-scale tree lighting in years, and this extravaganza was my first Burlington demonstration of holiday spirit. But with the new snow and the fact that I'd barely started adding a scarf to my relatively lightweight jacket, the sight of sleighbells, holly, ribbons and lights was more than a little jarring.

When did the holidays sneak up on us?

E looked equally surprised. As we excused and pardoned and ooh-sorry-ed our way through the crowd, listening to "Winter Wonderland," I tapped her shoulder.

"Would it be bad of me to rush the stage yelling, 'NOT YET'?"

She laughed. "That would be awesome."