The Santa Clause

Hello World, Get-outta-Dodge greetings from the absolutely very tippy-top last weekend in December, before we kick 2012 to the curb once and for all on Tuesday, and that's not just a lot of auld lang syne, believe me. This last short week of the year brings with it a welter of occasions, celebrations and commemorations, from the ethnic to the extravagant, from the sacred to the stupid, and from the heart-warming to the mind-boggling, plus everything in between and something for everyone. This is no time for half-measures, or standing on the sidelines, so throw caution to the wind, jump in with both feet, and don't spare the horses, come what may. The time is ripe for just about everybody out there, whether you're descended from the ancient order of Druids, an international retail behemoth, a multi-cultural humanist, a year-end blowout party planner, a child of God and/or kin of Kris Kringle, a genteel English land-owner, a futuristic thrill-seeker, or even a closet triskaidekaphobic - we've got you covered. And nowadays, if it's any kind of event, you know that our friends in the snack industry are all over it like a bad suit, so you never lack for the finishing touch to make your decorations complete. Garcon, more Kwanzaa Peeps for everyone, if you please! Earlier in the week, I carved some time out of my hectic schedule to attend the Christmas Eve service at church, which was very lovely and I was glad I went. We have a violin soloist providing wonderful music such as Bach's festive "Sheep May Safely Graze," and also playing along with familiar old hymns like "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and "It Came upon the Midnight Clear." They turned the lights out for a candle-lit "Silent Night," which is possible through the magic of modern technology, since the words were digitally projected onto a screen so people could read them even in the dark. We sang everyone's Christmas favorites, and heard The Nativity Story as told in Scripture, from the prophets of old, to the very Star of Bethlehem, and over 2,000 years later, it has lost none of its appeal. Interspersed with the hymns, people came forward to read excerpts from different books of The Bible, telling the tale of Christmas in chronological order - a sort of "Readers Digest Condensed Version" of the holy birth, presented in such a way that even decommissioned KGB agents, or space aliens from far distant galaxies, would be able to understand it. It's in this way that you can uncover some new wrinkles in the old story yet, which you would think would be pretty well ironed out after all this time. For instance, some of our readers described the blessed infant as being wrapped in "swaddling" clothes, rhyming that word with "paddling," rather than the more common pronunciation, where it rhymes with "toddling" instead. I can tell you that the dinosaurs and I are not straddling the fence on this one, we're strictly in the coddling camp here, and no fiddle-faddling about it. It's true that others may be saddling up and skedaddling, but we'll just keep right on waddling, and that's not just a bunch of twiddle-twaddling, by all the saints. Of course, Tuesday was Christmas the world over, for people who believe in all that folderol (or should I say, fa-la-la-la-la) and their name is legion, and the dinosaurs and I ought to know-ho-ho. It had started snowing the night before when I was at church, and although it rained after that, there was still the merest hint of a white Christmas for the perpetual child in all of us, which is such a rarity nowadays as to be noteworthy, compared to yuletides of the past. Another break with tradition was that we didn't get up in the middle of the night and start tearing through our presents like a house afire as we used to, but slept until a more reasonable hour and took a more leisurely approach to the whole day. Whatever last minute obstacles there might have been, they were soon swept away, and at least at our house, Santa Claus showed up right on schedule and did his usual masterful job. We happily unwrapped gifts of apparel, technology, entertainment, literature, nostalgia, and even a few practical household items tossed in for merry measure. (And let's face it, a hot pink high-heeled tape dispenser is truly a gift that keeps on giving, I dare say.) We couldn't overlook the newest member of our family, the Sony TV, and showered it with its own presents, which were surround-sound speakers and a DVR expansion drive for the TiVo. (Now we really will have to quit our jobs to watch all of our recorded programs - although I've always maintained that sleep is over-rated.) There were cinnamon buns for breakfast, and crumpets for lunch, and plenty of junk food in stockings to tide us over between meals as well. Everyone knows that Christmas really is the season of giving, but seriously, you can just go get your own Milky Way caramel snowmen, and keep your reindeer paws off of mine, by jingle. Notably missing from the festivities were the resident felines, who elected to observe the holiday by studying the inside of their eyelids, and they were nowhere to be found when presents were being handed out. The undisputed king of the roost, Max, turned up to sample some holiday treats, and stayed nearby to bat around bits of wadded-up wrapping paper, but the others found nothing to entice them, and took a pass on the whole event. The best news of all was that the roofers didn't show up, and after a silent night, we enjoyed a silent day, free from their incessant stomping and banging from every corner of the house, underscored with the drone of the air compressor, and of course, the raucous Mariachi music at full volume, it goes without saying. This turned out to be another quiet holiday at home, compared to the frenetic whirlwind of years gone by, with elaborate preparations months in the making, and a jam-packed itinerary of places to go and people to see that verily rivaled St. Nick's in its enormity. Now there's even time to squeeze in a nurturing Noel nap, which would have been nothing but a candy-coated pipe-dream in the past. So whether it was our deodorant that wore off, or our mouthwash stopped working, for whatever reason nobody wants to see us on Christmas anymore, there's certainly something to be said for being unpopular, and that's not just the fruitcake talking, believe me. For me, the best part of the holiday is taking time off from work, and I was out last Friday plus this whole week, and loving every minute of it, I can assure you. I find that it really takes the pressure out of getting ready for the big day, especially those last-minute emergencies that always seem to crop up when you least expect them, no matter how carefully everything is planned, down to the nth degree. Afterward, it's such a luxury to relax and savor the memories, play with new gadgets, take the time to watch seasonal movies and specials, or just enjoy some blissfully unstructured down-time for a change. I did go in to work for a while on Friday to wrap up the year-end payroll, and things seemed quiet and under control - quite unlike the usual chaos when I take time off, and I come back to find an avalanche of papers where my desk should be, and my office full of screaming lunatics. I guess there really is something to be said for bad deodorant and ineffective mouthwash after all. At least that should work until they found out that fruitcake tin on my credenza is really filled with Milky Way caramel snowmen instead, and then all bets are off. Elle