It's Coming on Christmas
Singing songs of joy and peace.
The Christmas cards are beginning to trickle in. The other day I listened to Christmas hits for most of the day on Spotify. I’d have them on now if they wouldn’t interrupt my thoughts.
But that has been the extent of it.
I once had a Norfolk pine in a small ceramic pot that served as my Christmas tree. It was small. With very few branches. Which were not all that sturdy. I have no idea what became of it, which makes me a little sad knowing now what I didn’t know then, which was house plants can have amazingly long lifespans. At some point in my life long peregrinations I orphaned or discarded that plant. I sincerely hope it was taken in by someone.
I am not much of a fan of Christmas.
But I am a fan of Christmas sentiment.
I like receiving Christmas cards, but I don’t send out my own. I completely understand when I am unceremoniously booted off someone’s Christmas list. Even so, if you are one of those I do not have a reciprocation Christmas card treaty with (and that would be absolutely no one), I very much appreciate your Christmas sentiment shared with me.
I do read them! And post them somewhere prominently in the house!
I like the photos of families, adventures, dogs, weddings, newborns, ugly sweater selfies and the like. I very much like the synopses or snapshots or dissertations of the sender and the sender’s family regarding the previous twelve months. These are Christmas highlights for me.
If you are wondering, I don’t decorate (other than the cards I receive from you), I don’t string lights and I don’t go out and purchase eggnog. Movies and music indicate to me the Christmas season has arrived. Though, honestly, I could watch Love, Actually and It’s A Wonderful Life any time of the year. And I queue up Christmas music year round as well. It’s partially because I know I will know the words to just about every tune.
I might even be able to carry the tune.
I am not sure when Christmas lost its lustre, but I do remember it being the apex family gathering until my older siblings began to have families of their own and elected to celebrate Christmas as their own nuclear family units. Which is completely understandable. No one wants a jaded uncle loitering about the Christmas tree to let slip to their child Santa is as likely a real entity as the Easter Bunny.
It was about that same time I was entering my know-it-all teenager phase and I was probably already forming my Marxist viewpoints on conspicuous consumption. (I’m kidding. I’ve never read Karl Marx. I am not even sure I could give you a definition of Marxism.) But I was a budding environmentalist and I am sure the extravagance of the Christmas holidays grated on my sensibilities.
For my extended family, Christmas got replaced by Thanksgiving as the apex family gathering and I never looked back. Thanksgiving was far more relaxing. Black Friday didn’t exist. You couldn’t have Cyber Monday because the internet didn’t exist. In those days, Thanksgiving was a holiday unto itself, not the kickoff for the rush to buy presents for the Christmas holidays.
So, consider this my Christmas card to you.
Were it not for the coronavirus, I would gladly come to your door and sing Good King Wenceslas as Hugh Grant’s character did in Love, Actually while in search of the love of his life in a maddening neighborhood of lookalike apartment dwellings. You would join me and we would make the rounds. I’ve never gone caroling, so this would be a first.
Were it not for the coronavirus, I would gladly take you to your local pub for a seasonal delight and cozy good cheer.
Were it not for the coronavirus, I’d have you all over for a mid-winter gathering of catching up, reciting fantastical tales, basking in the aura of life and staying up late playing the latest edition of Exploding Kittens while laughing uproariously.
Were it not for the coronavirus, I’d make my way down to the Lone Star state - because any amount of family time is worth the effort.
I’m not sure of the date but - it’s coming on Christmas. . .
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Persistent and prolific AAR Nancy Enz Lill sent me a Patagonia film called Solving for Z which I was NOT going to watch because it looked to be about backcountry skiing and the daring feats backcountry skiers do, and because the last place on earth I could ever imagine being is on the knife edge of some mountains looking thousands of feet down some slope that I had the crazy idea to ski. I watched it anyway. It’s about twenty seven minutes long and worth every minute.
Also, apropos to nothing. Or everything. Just because.
We’re here, dear sweet baby James. Whenever!
We do miss you tremendously little brother. We’ve got a big, empty home here for you anytime.