Last year I
did this and it felt so good all day, I’ve decided to make it another Christmas
Day tradition.
Christmas Day
is a silent day for us who live alone.
There is no
tree. There are no presents. Perhaps a Christmas song but by now the brain is
overwhelmed with Feliz Navidad. All the neighbors are either gathered under the
tree and then packing up to visit grandma’s house or already vacated to parts
and families unknown.
It is the
one-day of the year the Tummy Temple is closed.
If there is
snow, the landscape will be undisturbed but can’t be shared.
Other than
putting out some treats for the woodland creatures that have not attended the
manger request, it is 24 hours of silence.
Electronics
can bring all the noise of the one-day holiday without shopping but messages of
joy and reverence that have been heard over and over again. Choirs and angles
and candles and flashing lights and fires in the hearth and children running
and laughing and dying trees decorated with gaudy bangles soon to be put back
in the attic and too much revelry and alcohol to make the most favorite into
the worst enemy has lost whatever meaning this one-day is suppose to represent;
other than a day off work.
Once all the
drunken relatives and friends have left running over your bushes and tearing
down your outdoor displays and the children are all asleep after breaking their
new toys and the bags of expensive easily torn color printed paper that was
never big enough to cover a box and those once used and discarded pre-tied bows
are filed and taken out to the trash with the dog who is more crazed than you
are about all the ruckus and inability to get outside to poop; one thinks a
breath can be taken to pause and reflect on the one-of-a-kind holiday.
The 26th
of December may be a day of going back to work, or if agreed upon by an
employer knowing no work will be done, spent taking back crap that you received
from your friends and family rather than throwing it away in the garbage or
worst re-gifting it back to them the next year. This day should be Christmas II
for all the hangovers and tacky sweaters still being worn while the children
are still out of school and fired up with candy and broken toys. A day of
shuffling well-meaning family back to their previous locals instead of trying
to cook more from the scraps creating more dirty dishes that won’t be cleaned
before Valentine’s Day.
Calm won’t
resume until after the cork pops and the balls drop.
My normal
Christmas tradition, given to me by my late wife and adhered to in reverence,
has been to assemble a special load of treats for the one’s who don’t know it
is Christmas. Sometimes it was going to the parking lot of the nearby mall to
feed the gulls circling from the beach. Sometimes it was to walk to the park named
after a prominent descendent of the township to offer grace with winged
friends. Sometimes it is to carry a coffee cake to the mother of a former
friend in knee-deep snow.
My presents
beyond the ventures have been gift cards for city workers, postal delivery
personnel and any one who has interaction with me and I wish to show
appreciation. Similar to my yearly offerings to those I request to help with my
house or yard. After grateful platitudes, a six-pack of beer on a hot day
brings a smile.
This year
there have been many stories from our west coast of good people working hard to
save life and property against burning tinder. The photos and stories could not
convey what they people were facing or even why they were there. They came from
every part of the country to help strangers sometimes sacrificing themselves.
I like
firemen.
There are few
occupations devoted in helping others like firemen. On an instant call, they
come running with a tangle of nerves and hoses trying to calm a disaster for
fire has no enemies. Skilled in tactics that would make a military general
blush they battle Mother Nature and offer medical assistance to those far from
doctors and nurses. They will even come and get your cat out of a tree.
I like
firemen.
If you can
remember 9/11 when the call came in, these folks rushed to the scene of the
crime with nothing less than an offer to help evacuate and care for the general
public until the walls came tumbling down. YouTube videos show the unselfish
attempts of these public servants doing what so few of us would ever.
Where I
worked got a call from a local fireman. He asked if we could reproduce a NYT
page with the faces of all the firemen who perished to inspire the local
stations. My boss discarded the request as a waste of materials, so I contacted
the NYT, got an email of the page and printed out the copies requested,
presenting them to an appreciated fireman. While the company missed a public
relations opportunity, the fire service community responded with FDNY caps from
New York for a few who understood the need.
I like
firemen.
Every time I
hear their trucks, for they have a sound like no other, I pause and listen for
where they are going. It maybe cars crash or a house fire or some other
emergency, but when I hear their sirens, I know there is big time trouble.
Station #18
responds to my neighborhood. They have been here before. They carry no weapons
or agenda but only offer to help.
I like
firemen
On this year
of our Lord two thousand and eighteen, I will continue my tradition from last
year. This will be my second tradition for the day that is the one-day of the year
that everything stops.
Depending on
the weather, load up my pony and ride less than a mile through empty streets to
the station next to the playground and the railroad tracks. A knock on the
door, a quick presentation of an unexpected southern pecan pie and a ‘thank you’
and hope you don’t have to work today is my mission.
The surprised
fireman can return with a present telling the others Santa had arrived, while I
return to watch the feasting and enjoy the peace and quiet. Even the full moon
is special on this last Tuesday in December.
and for the ladies, what couldn't be cuter than puppies.
Merry
Christmas from Puppywoods.
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