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.

Replete

The last two months have been a whirlwind of plague, seasonal bliss and merriment. So contradictory and yet still true. Because of the marvelous Family Medical Leave Act, I was able to spend quite a bit of time with my sons for baby bonding time with my little monkey. And I also spent quite a bit of time quarantined away from my three sons. It has been a bitter sweet season.

And now the munchkin is 4 mos old, 14lb and a whopping 27 inches long or tall as the case may be. Those are his statistics, but they don’t give much information about Davin himself. Davin is as adorable as ever and can melt any heart with a single smile, but more than that: more than his cuteness, his strength, his obvious intelligence and certain “je ne sais quoi”, he is simply Davin. And to me that Davin-esqe quality, the one word I would sum up my son with, is peace. I believe everyone has a gift or two, maybe three, and my son seems to have inherited an aura of serenity. He is one of the most zen babies I have ever encountered, but more so, he tends to imbue that ability into his surroundings. Even when he is a little out of sorts, starving for his next bottle and cries till his face turns red and sound no longer comes out (daddy is always slow making those bottles). Even then, my nerves have by no means been frazzled by his outbursts of need. He is a normal baby and will at times cry his little heart out for a myriad of reasons, and yet no matter how hard a day I’ve had, when I hold my little man I cannot remember any of the heartache, even on the rare occasion he’s cranky.

Of course, that sounds like coincidence and indeed if that effect only happened with me I would agree, but I’ve seen his affect on others and have witnessed my lil’ zen master at work. Just like my son Nate permeates joy and my son Dean love, the triunity of these three brothers create a profusion of goodness and our family now seems complete. Well, on the other hand, I don’t know if I would yet say our family is complete, if we’d ever try for a forth, maybe a girl. But for now, I am content with my lovely wife and three boys and feel wondrously blessed.

That is all.