Time marches on. The globe still spins and the sun is tucked under the clouds. Two couples walk their dog and roll their baby down the street and all is quiet.
There are so many tales and rumors about this one day at the end of our calendar. Whether your belief is in some fable of an unwed teenage giving birth in a barn or some obese fella who lives in the coldest environment as a recluse but then on this one day invades houses and leaves gifts we don’t want. There is music played only this time of year and warm feelings of philanthropy soon forgotten. Was that hobo sleeping in the bumper car at the Tummy Temple or was he dead? I didn’t stop to check a pulse.
There are even tales of battles stopping on this one day so armies of like species can join together in a drink and conversation and perhaps a game of football before being ordered to go back and use our latest technology to show how we can shred the human body. Want a woodworking hobby? Build caskets.
Slept through the night. Sees that extra 6-pack helped pass me out. Did my usual run to Station #18 for a secret Santa gift of an apple pie and placed a bag full of doggie treats, apples (for the barn ponies) and a bottle of champagne on the neighbor’s fence and retired to the thoughts of the seasons.
There are nostalgic moments for December 25 is just another day, but… It is a special day when EVERYTHING is closed. There is little traffic for everyone is staying home celebrating their holiday with not working, but plenty of gorging and slouching down gallons of alcohol for good cheer trying to get along with people you only see once a year. Sit around the big screen to watch other people run about and then watch it again and again with instant replay on multiple platforms while listening to the blaring tunes so familiar at this time of year. Where are the surf tunes?
This is the time of year when your junk room or sewing room or art studio turns into a ‘guest’ room for the sleepovers. Usually, relatives who are to cheap to rent a room at a nearby hotel, dirty up your sheets and towels, eat all your food, and Uncle Ben drinks the bottle of bourbon you were saving for your annual fishing trip with your war buddies. Your children have grown up and left home, but they have decided to procreate and bring the little rug rats to run around, make noise, spread germs and knock over the candelabra handed down for generations and will now go into the trash along with all the torn wrapping papers and ribbons.
Along with the chaos and drama and merriment of the holiday, there are memories. Every year there are fewer who can attend the Christmas feast, but we will remember the empty chairs. It may be that the distance is too long to travel or a loose of interest in that part of the family. Maybe a flight delay or a broken axle will cause a deletion from the invitation list?
As the calendar’s numbers increase, the number of people you have known through the ages dwindle. There is only one Christmas card snail mailed each year now. He continues to use the antique process to wish seasonal wishes (and promote his latest painting). Postings on social media with memes someone else created seem so meaningless, but time marches on.
Since I have no one to shop for (or shop with), today is Wednesday. The trash and recycle removal came two days ago and the Tummy Temple is closed. There are enough options for food but not really hungry. Cooking for one only creates dirty dishes and too many leftovers. My only Christmas present (to myself) was another guitar amplifier, like I need another. It’s a tool (or toy) with the latest gizmos and effects built in the 2024 technology and it didn’t cost much. I don’t need another pair of socks or a tie clip or a funky message t-shirt, so I give myself something that will give me a smile.
A hawk came by and gave me some feathers for a unexpecting present. The usual yard monkeys are keeping me entertained while they search for the rain of peanuts. Even Al, my old buddy owl from years ago, came by for a visit, but not all survived the holidays.
It seems Rocky won’t be joining us the Christmas dinner. A Petie didn’t make it through a roll and tumble. There may be others who come and go through the neighborhood we share. I can only bury the carcasses I see while Mother Nature takes care of the rest. For the rest, we have old black and white photos or digital selfies to bring us nostalgia of times gone by.
Tomorrow will be December 26. The world will go back to distress and anger and frustration and hatred enough to kill one another in so many techniques that are too numerous to report here.
Try to remember the feelings from this day and maybe, just maybe, carry it over into say a special day in July?
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