‘Tis the season to be jolly

“‘Tis the season to be jolly!”

I have heard those words said many times – even without the seemingly obligatory ‘tra-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la’. Also, ‘Peace and Goodwill to all men’ - not sure where ‘women’ fit in to that; maybe the PC-Police will take that cause to task soon. Anyway, on both counts, I’m becoming a skeptic.

I believe it is customary now to ‘be in the Christmas Season’ as soon as the near-cleaned plate of Thanksgiving turkey and stuffing has been pushed away from one’s place at the dinner table. Well, maybe it takes a little while longer – when the Black Friday shopping begins. Apparently, that began about 6:00 p.m. (on Thursday) at many big-box stores this year!  Actually, Christmas ‘stuff’ started to appear in the stores the day they tossed out the unsold pumpkins, witches’ costumes and anything orange-colored or bearing (and baring) bloodied fangs - skipping right past that bit of Americana that involved Pilgrims having a ‘kumbaya-moment’ with the indigenous folk. The indigenous; the same folk many of the descendants of those peaceable, previously persecuted, protein-pleasured Pilgrims (sorry, I hate corn, but love alliterations) would one day treat no better than the turkey carcasses we disdainfully toss aside and try to push out of sight.     

Meanwhile, bring your drifted minds back, centuries later, and into a ‘marginally increased civilization’ (debate that statement if you wish) to today. I believe the ‘Peace and Goodwill’ banner self-destructed (like a Mission Impossible tape) as soon as the 6^th bargain-hunter reached the ‘Entertainment’ department  of the store only to find that the “55-inch Flat-Screen TV – with sound-surround - for only $299.95” offer was available only to the first 5 customers!  Well, that may be a fictitious incident, but these Black Friday incidents were real:   Black Friday violence.  

OMG!  Sacagawea!  WWJD? 

My wife and I approach the ‘gift-giving season’ in a most harmonious way. We have, for years, got each other perfectly matching gifts. I get her nothing and she gets me nothing! We need nothing – we have each other; 'tra-la-la-la . . . . .'

Enough of that now – you need mistletoe for such 'carryings-on'! Go buy some from this enterprising 11-year old kid in Oregon: Mistletoe  

Bah, Humbug. 

Now this is where this starts to get personal, and I get ticked off.

‘Santa’ (we called him ‘Father Christmas’ in the old country – you know, over there; in Wales and Ireland, where the nice people come from) is supposed to be adored by children – except those who only anticipate receiving ‘a lump of coal’ in their stocking. [On a personal side-note, I must STRONGLY object to the castigation of coal as being something unwanted!  My entire career was founded on those ‘carbon-rich fronds’ that laid their lives down for me (oh, and for all those who prospered during, and because of, the Industrial Revolution) - beginning 250,000,000 years ago! And, as a child, I would have frozen to death had it not been for all the lumps of coal my parents tossed into the fireplace every day to heat the house, to have hot water, to cook the food . . . No! Those lumps of coal were not acquired by my ‘bad behavior’, but were bought from Mr. Plum, the local coal-man who carried two 110-pound sacks of it through our kitchen and to the coal-shed out back.]  Sorry! I digressed again – a common occurrence for which there is no known cure – not to me, that is! 

Anyway, back to ‘Santa’.  I have no idea who anyone who has to move around so much, and so fast – to tend to all the well-behaved children – can be so blydi FAT!  [Sorry; ‘girth-challenged’!]  He must be blessed. Yesterday, I heard of some people who said they ‘resolved the Santa predicament’ for their child by saying ‘He works for Jesus’. Nice thought! The problem I have with 'Santa' is that he always seems, year in and year out, to bring out this kind of reaction in my grandchildren!

Damn! It’s not as if they haven’t seen 'a fat old bugger with a beard' before!  It’s just that MY favorite color is black, not red – and, I hate wearing a hat.

. . .  and to all, 'A Good Night’!