Take Me Somewhere Else
Here we are; another holiday is upon us. A holiday I’m not really (nor have I ever been) excited about. Christmas is not my favorite time of the year. Sure, I get it, family and friends get together to show their love for one another and somewhere there’s spiked eggnog. Sounds like good times.
The truth is – I have those days every day. I don’t need to reserve a special day to sit down with those that bring me joy and celebrate them for a good two hours before they all leave and head to their homes. All the while I talk about how George has gained weight and silently hope he didn’t bust a spring in my couch. Or that Natalie would not shut up. Even when she was sipping her drink she managed to make noises like they were some sort of place holder so she could complete her weird discussion on how she raises show rabbits. Yeah, no one is interested. Not even the rabbits. I don’t care if you’re getting an unusual amount of snow in your neighborhood. I’m not mesmerized by the sex of your unborn child. Nope. And no matter the traditional protocol on how we are supposed to handle get-togethers, I refuse to abide by the rules.
I’m not into the art of giving gifts, either. Mainly because I feel guilty when I get a gift of any kind. No matter if its Christmas, or my birthday, or whatever occasion provides free junk wrapped in paper and scotch tape. I don’t mind giving gifts, but I usually can’t afford them in bulk. I can buy a gift for ONE person at a time during the course of the year, but I still have bills to pay. Even in December. Then I have to be sure to save for January because that’s Tim’s birthday. And much love to any and all of you, but Tim is the love of my life. He gets the good stuff. But buying gifts in bulk just because it’s the birthday of a deity that I don’t even believe in is a bit silly to me. I know it’s expected from everyone on the planet to celebrate the supposed birth of someone named Jesus of Nazareth, I’m thinking it’s the year 2017 and it’s time for everyone to rethink this tall tale dating as far back as 1536 with Martin Luther (of Germany) walking through a forest. He looked up through the trees to the starry night and liked how the stars lit up between the bare branches of the tree. Everything we do today has a story. There are great instances where we can change the story to better fit modern times.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t get depressed during the Christmas season. Although I do curse the cold. Okay, this is Florida, but dropping below 40 degrees at night time is murderous! I’m not fond of Christmas music because, to be frank, I hear the shit the moment the kids stop trick or treating on Halloween. I know all the words to the (I’m guessing here) twenty same songs. Why doesn’t anyone ever come out with a new Christmas song? Is it hard to write a Christmas tune? I could write one for you if you call me. I just can’t sing. Trust me. You do not want me to sing.
No, I’m not fond of Christmas. Not even the food. I cook turkeys all through the year. Tim eats meat, so it’s a habit around here to feed him his required fowl once or twice a week. And ham is usually reserved for Sunday breakfasts. Come to our place once in a while on the weekend and you’ll be able to indulge in ham and eggs, and the best cup of coffee you’ve ever tasted. I don’t need a special time of the year to do all of this. I do it all year long.
I’m not waging a war on Christmas. If it’s your thing, then you should celebrate it. If it’s Hannukah or Kwanzaa or Muharram or whatever it is you’re looking forward to the entire year, you should be able to pass gifts and give praise. I’m just not one of those people. I just can’t wait until January 2nd when all of this madness, traffic, rudeness in stores, and hypocrisy is completely over. Things can go back to normal and I can tuck the obligated Christmas tree back under the stairs to collect cobwebs until next year.