Blue Christmas

Hello World, Happy (almost) Winter Solstice! I'm sure that all of you Druids out there (and the dinosaurs and I know who you are) must be delirious at the prospect of greeting the shortest day in the year on Monday, with all of the pomp and circumstance, rituals and trappings of yesteryear, just as we used to do it way back in the ancient days from time immemorial. The good news is that from that day forward, the days start to become incrementally longer, so even though it feels like the deep dark bleak days of interminable winter, actually we're inching closer to spring all the time, thank heaven. It's also true that the last Sunday in Advent is already upon us, which seems early, probably because Christmas this year is on a Friday, almost a whole week after the 4th Sunday in Advent. So if your Advent calendar seems to be getting a little ahead of itself this time around, don't blame it on the Druids. Speaking of Sundays in Advent, we can't let last week come and go without a mention of Lessons & Carols at church, which they now call their Christmas Carols Sing-Along in order to be politically correct, one supposes, but is still pretty much the same old thing as it always was, regardless of the name change. There were the usual Bible readings about the Nativity story, and favorite hymns of the season, plus some interesting classical pieces from the choir and special musicians trotted out for the occasion, and all very well received by the appreciative audience, and I ought to know. I had strong-armed a fellow congregant into joining me on a duet of "The Star Carol," which turned out to be more of a baptism of fire than she expected, since she not only had never heard it before, but we also had no time to rehearse, and then the organist changed her part at the last minute, on top of everything else. But she was game, I'll give her that, and slogged through it in spite of it all, and the whole thing certainly didn't come out nearly as badly as might be expected, especially under the circumstances. Of course, as these things go, Divine Intervention cannot be ruled out, and in fact, might be the only explanation after all. In other holiday news, it was last Saturday that Bill and I went back to the venerable VFW Post nearby to pick out a Christmas tree, just as his family has done for generations, and still going strong to this day. Anyone in the local area at the time could tell you that it was inexplicably 70 degrees and sunny, with throngs of people outside in shorts and tank tops, like this was December in the Florida Keys, instead of the suburbs right outside the town so nice, they named it twice. We decided to go out early and beat the crowds, and I said to Bill that I had my flip-flops and suntan lotion, so I was all set. The news had been awash with horror stories about tree shortages and high prices, due to severe droughts where the trees are collected - but we found a very appealing selection to choose from, that still didn't break the bank, as it were. There were plenty of giant behemoths of the forests that made us swoon with delight, but we knew we had to reluctantly pass them by, or cut a hole in the side of the house just to fit them inside, alas. So we turned our attention to the more reasonably sized offerings, and settled on one that had a nice shape, although shorter than we preferred. As so often happens, when we brought it home and stood it up in the stand, the tree just barely cleared the ceiling with room for the angel at the top, so we could not have picked out a more perfect height if we tried. On the feline front, the new cats, for whom Christmas last year was an exciting novelty, greeted this botanical wonder in the living room with their signature indifference, that was so pervasive even eggnog was no proof against it - and that stuff is usually pretty popular with the kitty contingent at our house, I can tell you that. But their opinion notwithstanding, the tree is a thing of beauty and a sight to behold, and of course, comes complete with its own heavenly fragrance that makes the yuletide worthwhile, if for nothing else. Some eggnog and holiday music rounded out the perfect excursion back and forth through O Tannenbaum Land, although admittedly, the weather being what it was, it seemed more like a trip to Palm Springs instead. Say, isn't that Santa Claus in those Foster Grants? Meanwhile at work, the holly jolly season continues apace, and we already received some nice treats from our vendors, and we did not look askance at them, I can assure you. There were also plenty of holiday cards from tenants and vendors alike, and naturally, since everyone wants to be politically correct nowadays, not one of them actually mentions Christmas, or exhibits any colors of red or green, traditional to the occasion. So even from a distance, anyone could tell that this welter of cards had become a veritable surging sea of blue on the credenza, as if we were busy celebrating Greek Independence Day, or coming out in support of both sides in a Finland-Somalia soccer match. I don't know when blue became the universal non-partisan, unspecific, neutral, and anti-adversarial agreed-upon hue for the whole ho-ho-ho extravaganza, but it has certainly taken off in spades (like a bolt out of the blue, one might even say) which is probably just as well, because I can imagine that it can only be replaced now by something much, much worse, like neon yellow or electric purple, and that's not just the fruitcake talking, believe me. And speaking of holiday elements that have missed the mark, and often woefully so, it can't be denied that in the realm of modern lawn ornaments, there is often much more bad than good, and it is rife with potential disasters of all descriptions. Of course, we've all seen the giant inflatable decorations, ranging from your average happy Santa or snowman, all the way to Homer Simpson and Darth Vader, and just about everything in between - including penguins, airplanes, elves, snow-globes, teddy bears, carousels, the Grinch, trains, and Snoopy riding a motorcycle, of all things. I have a pretty wide tolerance for the personal quirks of holiday decorations, and far be it from me to rain (or rather, snow) on anyone's parade, if their dubious choices make me squirm rather than squeal with delight. But passing by one property on the way home from work last week, I couldn't help but notice that among their assorted inflatable assembly was a blow-up Nativity scene, that I thought looked just so ridiculous, and seemed so very wrong on so many levels, that I simply couldn't countenance it in any way at all. In fact, it looked for all the world like The Holy Family made out of marshmallows as a Sunday School project, which is an idea whose time has not come, and may never come, I shouldn't wonder. On the other hand, in a gambol around the neighborhood recently, I happened upon an exquisite Nativity in one of the neighbors' yards that was entirely hand-carved out of wood, and which for the size of it must have been quite an undertaking, and a labor of love, and was so outstanding and extraordinary that it needed no exaggeration from me, that's for sure. Of course, at the time when I saw it, everyone around the manger was wearing sunglasses and swimsuits, but hey, as it says in the Bible, this too shall pass. Elle