Happy Holydays

A season of thanksgiving is upon us and there are so many things to be grateful for during this time of year governed by annual equinoxes, or as I like to call it: the seasons of seasons. This late fall early winter time between that is in perpetuum (forever) magical. And not just because of the massive opportunities for gorging yourself on craptastic food: described thus because while it almost all tastes fan-freaking-tastic, it is most definitely usually junk, save of course the tryptophanic induced coma several of the feasting occasions induce. Mmmm, turkey.

So I am thankful for the clump of holidays at the end of the year and consider them as the original word, hāligdæg, would imply: holy days. A sacred time set apart for family and joy and love, and well, all that good yet mushy stuff. Not to say you won’t get a heaping dose of helpful reality to bring you back down to earth in a plummety kind of way. Within these times set aside for family and friends there is bound to be dissent in the ranks with so many people set close together in the utmost stressful conditions of trying to make their once a year celebration come off without a hitch amidst all the drama and constant problems that don’t get a vacation simply because you do.

Nonetheless, tis the season, and the big mother of them all has yet to rear its magnanimous head. The one time of year we should be able to put aside differences and petty plights and come together as the king of Christmas Carols attests, “I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely…”

And as you’re plowing through someone for that perfect gift at a more than perfect price, remember “the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? …[Christmas still]… came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

Christmas isn’t merely about lavish gifts. I’ve received my far share of gifts in my 33 (yikes) years, and the best ones usually didn’t cost much if anything at all. Some kind words, time, a truly needed item all represent the greater ideal: love. And the one thing I would disagree with my favorite seasonal flicks on (I own practically every Christmas movie ever made), is that Christmas cannot die. Even when it faces the harsh light of reality, it thrives under such conditions as long as we remember, the Spirit of Christmas is divined from the heart (and maybe that’s the lesson they’re trying to teach).

Wouldn’t it be nice if as we say, “Happy Holydays”, “Merry Christmas” or whatever cheery or miserly winter greeting you give, if we were to possibly pick out one person in need to give them more than just words this year. Even Scrooge found the amelioration (betterment) to himself in giving for that warm fuzzy feeling and tax deducting benefits. I’m just saying.

“May the spirit of Christmas bring you peace,
The gladness of Christmas give you hope,
The warmth of Christmas grant you love.”

That is all.