And So It Is Christmas...

Or Hanuka. Or Happy Holidays (yuk. I hate that.).

One of my jobs right now is in retail, where Christmas starts before Halloween and ends at 5:00 on Christmas Eve.  Christmas music--not exactly the carols of old--play amongst the 50% off clothes racks. We are bursting with red sweaters and rhinestones, Christmas puppies (only 6.99 with purchase) and funky slipper socks and little coin purses no one will ever use.

Is it a wonder I have so little joy for the holidays? James Brown singing about Santa's brand new bag and some chick crooning about the yacht and convertible, light blue, are not conducive to the real meaning of Christmas.

Give me no gifts (unless you've already bought the Kindle Fire, of course!) save a small token that really means something to me--like the piece of rope my step-grandson gave me when he was four--"to tie up the monsters, Grandma." Spare me the last-minute sweater. I'd like homemade penuche (brown sugar fudge to the ill-informed, just like Jean Swanson used to make). 

A kiss under the mistletoe would be nice. A bottle of Tangueray. A warm hug. A dance to the Righteous Brothers in the snow. Send me an email telling me I am your friend. I'm not hard to get along with--a no-cost dose of affection is all I need--plus the Tangueray and Kindle.

We spend too much time and too much money, many of us buying for the sake of buying because we "should", when all we need to do is invite a sad friend for coffee, or compose a poem or draft a note.

I won't go to church on Christmas Eve because Hubby will have to go to work, but I know in my heart that is where Christmas belongs. It isn't the tree or the wrappings. Christ makes Christmas.

But I won't turn down a Kindle.