The Christmas Rush

Every year I take a look at my past Christmas posts to see what sentimental side of the fence I should land on. If I was in a negative mood, last year, I’ll try to balance it out with something positive, this year.

However, sometimes, I write positive even though I feel negative. The thought being, maybe I can write myself out of the negativity.

So, figuring it all out is a crap shoot.

Which, I suppose, is hardly in keeping with the Christmas spirit.

But sometimes it’s just cool to write “crap”, whenever the opportunity presents itself...holiday season or not.

Although, some people might say….

In any case, I’ve decided to go positive, this year.

And no…not in a “I’m positive Christmas is going to su—make me crazy…again…this year!” kind of way.  

It’s all full speed ahead, holiday cheer, ho ho ho, jingle jingle all the way.


Boughs of Holly, Sugar Plums dancing, Mistletoe hanging, Toddies imbibing and logs on the fire...George Baily's got nothing on me!

I’m all in.

Except for….

No…not gonna go there.  Not this year!

Perry Como, Andy Williams, Charlie Brown, Nat King Cole…

Even with all the hub bub, dashing through the snow…oh what fun is to sing a sleighing song tonight!

But a lot of people are in a bit of a hurry.

I guess they don’t have my positive, no pressure Christmas attitude.

There’s such a rush towards Christmas.

Especially in a year when Thanksgiving comes sooooo late in November.

Short holiday turn-arounds tend to put folks into a panic getting all their holiday decorating and traditions underway. They’re untangling lights and unpacking ornaments even before Uncle Henry has finished carving the turkey.

Next door neighbors are out blowing up their inflatable snowmen and whathaveyous long before Santa turns the corner onto 34^th street.

Houses require decorating, inside and out. Parties need to be planned, menus must be decided. Christmas carol play lists must be created. Holiday outings scheduled and fulfilled.

Old Aunt Lucy’s not gonna strap those elf ears on by herself, anymore.

There’s less than a week now, people…let’s go go go go go….!

Small Town Thanksgiving - From 2011

Thought I’d share my original Thanksgiving story from 2011. 

I’m sure most of you have never read it and if you have, I’m sure you’ve forgotten it. It’s one of my personal favs, mostly because it was written at a time when I actually knew how to use a semi-colon.  

But does anyone really know how to use a semi-colon?

Social Insecurity

The government is doing everything in its power to make me feel old.

And I’m not talking about the endless mind numbing, word bending, brain freezing, back bending, gobbledygook that comes out of Congress and the White House every minute of the day.

Or the watching paint dry, snail’s pace at which things do or do not progress and are or are not resolved.

I mean, one of these days they’ll make that Nixon fella pay for what he did…or didn’t do.

No, I’m talking about something on a more personal level…something that really matters…at least to me.

If you recall—and why would you, even though you should—I turned 65 earlier in the year.

65…that magic number which evokes images of broken-down cattle, lumbering out to pasture, spending their remaining days munching on bean curds, or whatever it is old cows munch on.

65…the age your grandpa hung those risqué posters of Betty White, down in his rumpus room.

65…the age when people politely say you haven’t changed a bit, since High School, which makes you wonder how bad you must have looked in High School.

65…the age the government says you must begin to reap your Medicare benefits; in whatever part of the alphabet you should choose…be it A…B…C…or D.

Pick a letter, any letter…just pick one…or two…or three…or all the letters you want.

They’ve got a letter for everything.

Once you’ve deciphered all of that and you’ve gathered—you think—all the letters you’re gonna need to cover that unexpected goiter removal at age 75, you’re now ready to take on Social Security, which, in my case, I can begin receiving at age 66, my full retirement age,

which is just a mere third of a year away.

Of course, if I were a year younger, I’d have to wait another 2 months, past age 66 to rake in the moola.

And if I were two years younger, I’d have to yet endure an additional 2 months…etc. etc. etc.

So, it appears there are times when younger isn’t necessarily better.

Back Then - Right Now

With Halloween’s ghosts and ghouls well in the rear view, we now commence gobbling up bushels of November days, trotting ever onward toward Thanksgiving.

See what I did there?

I incorporated as many cliched, Thanksgiving references I could stuff into a single, festive serving.

There…I just did it again!

Not easy….

No indolent MeleagrisGallopavo, am I.  You won’t catch me sitting idly by, bogged down in cranberry jelly dodging Turkey shot.

Uh uh…not me…

Besides the fact, I prefer lying, idly by, I’m always on the lookout for new and exciting gobbledygook to confuse the issue and keep you, the reader, scratching your head.

How’m I doing?

So, we snuck in another Halloween, last week; complete with several Billion little holiday revelers pounding on our front door. It was a bit touch and go for a while, whether or not we would. The weather was an issue, most of the day, with a threat of heavy rain in the evening. Luckily, except for a few isolated showers, it held off and we shoveled out a couple of truckloads of “Fun Size” candy bars.

Although, as I queried,last year, what’s “Fun” exactly about teeny weenie candy bars.

So I’ve started a campaign aimed at all the major Willie Wonkas among us, to rebrand these “Fun Size” confections more appropriately as “Terribly Life Crushing, Disappointment Size”.

Which—besides the fact, I used the same line last year and it still sounds a bit harsh—I believe is more appropriate.

Why sugar coat it…so to speak?

When Last Convened….

When last convened, I was opining on how quickly we’d progressed from January to July, in the blink of an eye.

And now, with yet another blink, we’ve landed in the waning days of October,

I really need to get some eyedrops.

I wonder what would happen if I sneezed?

Hello, 2055!

If all goes according to plan, I’ll be 101, in 2055.

101, thinking…Ahhh, I miss 91…them were the days!

All that wild partying and galivanting with the hot chicks from the Geriatric Cognitive Dissonance wing.

I’ll probably be signing up for Medicare Part Y by then; still without Dental or Vision coverage.

But that’s okay, because, by then, I’m sure they’ll have found a way to regenerate bicuspids and corneas.

Have snap on Knee and Hip replacements.

Velcro shoulder replacements.

Total Brain recalibration and rehydration that will allow us to recall where we left our keys…back in 2014.

So that should be pretty cool.

In the meantime, how was your summer?

January to July in the Blink of an Eye

These days, we fly from January to July in the blink of an eye.

Even while producing factitiously formed frolics of rhyme, which, in and of itself, might be considered a caustic crime.  

Sorry…once you get mixed up in a cycle of random rhymes and sophomoric sophistry…not to mention atypical alliteration…it becomes a bit of a treacherous trick to essentially exit.

But I will persevere, if only so I can be done with this before lunchtime…both mine and yours.

Not to mention August.

So, let’s not…mention August…at least not yet…not until it’s time.

Which is where I was heading with this…again…until, you know, the desultory detour.

Time, time and more time.

It all comes back to time.

Time and time again.

And I’ve been wasting a lot of it…time, that is…trying to figure out where it all goes, and why it goes so fast.

Not that I need tell you.

 I just did a “time” keyword search of past stories and discovered…well…I waste a lot of time, discussing time in some form or another. 

I guess I missed my calling as a watch maker. 

But I’ve made some progress in my temporal temporality fight, over time.

I’ve figured out you can’t really worry about it, too much.

Racking Up Another Summer

Summer is now officially here!

As of 11:54 A.M. EST, this past Friday, the sun arrived at its highest point in the northern hemisphere, which means we experienced the greatest amount of daylight and least amount of darkness of any day of the year, not counting the ever present dark, gloomy, rainy skies we’d been living under for the last 6 months…or thereabouts

My lawn looks spectacular, however, including the bountiful new crop of mushrooms within, so there’s that.

Yep, we can all start officially enjoying the summer, whole hog, instead of the half hog unofficial enjoyment we’d only been permitted between Memorial Day and now.

So go for it!

In any manner of hog you prefer.

And don’t dawdle because we only have a measly 3 months of official summer left, and you know how that goes.

The LL Bean Fall catalogue is flooding your local post office as we speak, and I’ve already started unpacking my Christmas lights.

It goes fast.

Which is why I don’t get as hung up on the comings and goings of the seasons as much as I did when I was younger...ish.