Wednesday, December 24, 2003

(I'm Dreaming of a) Wet Christmas.

Considering that we've already had close to four feet of snow so far this December here on the North Shore, I find it bizarre to flip through the nightly news on T.V. and find newscasters actually complaining that we're not going to get a "White Christmas" this year. Are we so brainwashed by Bing Crosby's soulful holiday anthem (and accompanying movie) that we now think of snow on December 25th as something we're entitled to? As if there were penguins and polar bears dancing around the manger in a Bethlehem stable some two thousand-odd years ago.

Personally, I like when it rains on Christmas. It's not that I'm a curmudgeon, just that I don't believe in the kind of perfection that's been meticulously engineered to meet impossible expectations, as Christmas and so many other days in the American calendar are now celebrated. For too many, Christmas has become the search for "perfection" - the perfect gift for others or, disturbingly, one's self; the perfect Hallmark family moment, no matter how much water under the bridge; the perfect combination of tinsel, blinking lights, and giant inflatable reindeer on the front lawn, no matter what the cost. The desire for a "White Christmas" is part of this madness, and although there may have been a time in the past when I found myself caught up in some if not all of this hooplah myself, I'm just not interested in any of it these days.

Maybe it's because right here and right now, I have exactly what I want - a beautiful wife, a wonderful child, a couple of jobs I actually enjoy, and a dictionary's worth of words fixing to bust out of my skull for the first time in over a decade. What else do I need, really? Sure, I wouldn't mind a pickup truck, a house in Maine, or a brand new laptop, but such things aren't going to make me any more happy than I already am. And I know this. My life may not be "perfect", but it's perfect, and that's all I ever really wanted for Christmas.

Happy holidays, everyone! Peace on earth.

(And a joyous belated Festivus [Dec. 23rd] to all!)

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