There are a few things missing to make Christmas official for me besides the tree, lights and presents. Some of them go way back, some are recent. But they all have to be there or somehow it just isn't right.
For those of us a certain age there are the necessary movies to be seen.
*Any time after Thanksgiving, but best on the Friday after, is Miracle on 34th Street. None but the original black-and-white will do. Only John Payne, Maureen O'Hara, Edmund Gwynn and Natalie Wood can set the holiday mood for the ensuing five weeks.
*The modern classic, Christmas Vacation, is essential as well. Chevy Chase is a bit of a horse's ass but I have to admit he was good as the hapless Clark, trying to deliver the perfect family Christmas to his clan. I don't know, somehow I can identify with him -- and his failures, mostly. That could easily have been me sorting through hundreds of bulbs, searching in vain for the one that killed the whole show. There are hundreds of quotable lines from that movie.
*White Christmas. When I was a kid, the Wichita TV stations we received inexplicably ran this on New Year's Eve. It didn't make any difference. White Christmas kind of rounded out the holiday experience but it unfortunately always reminded me, on New Year's Eve, that school was about to resume.
*Go ahead and laugh. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer still has a place in the holiday schedule. If you feel you are too old and dignified to watch this, kids around or not, you are cold-hearted, without spirit and probably smell of Ben-Gay and Mentholatum.
*A few others--Going My Way, A Christmas Story and A Christmas Carol. If you can say it was truly a great holiday season without at least one of these you probably gave out gift cards as presents. My Christmas Carol, by the way, is the one with George C. Scott. He was another horse's ass in person, but he evermore made me believe he was Scrooge.
It isn't just movies. You have to get the L.L. Bean catalog to look through, and imagine getting and wearing all their great winter clothes for the next three months until Spring breaks. Like that would ever happen. Then there are the classic Hickory Farms and Harry and David food catalogs, loaded with ridiculously expensive gift boxes of sausage, pears and jellies. It is all good but Harry and David are sure proud of their products. People love to get them though. I recall my dad received a couple of these jewels every year the last week before Christmas. I don't know who sent them; I just remember I was happy they did.
A couple of other things: you have to go to a party and you have to go look at the lights on the Plaza. A party doesn't hold as much as it used to. Often as not, we'll get a work-related invitation and don't know anyone else there, or it is so out of our league {read: classy) that we are the brown shoes to the social tuxedo. Or both, with us completely unsure why we were invited to begin with. The parties were more fun when they were people we knew, but the people that know us won't invite us to their parties any more so we just operate on the outer edge of any kind of society.
Who cannot be moved by the sight of the Country Club Plaza set aglow by miles of colored lights? If you don't have to work there it's a true holiday icon. With all the shop windows to explore and the bustle of people everywhere, an evening there during the season reminds me that some things never change. All of the sights and aromas of holiday shopping are part of the complete experience. Of course, the Plaza has a lot of high-end stores which have nothing I could afford to buy, let alone give as a present. It is just fun to cruise through and watch the high rollers spend their money.
You don't have to have the glowing tree and a lot of expensive presents (athough there is a lot to be said for them) or rich friends and a crowded social calendar. Sometimes it's just staying up and watching an old movie late at night that truly makes it Christmas. And going back to work the next day to remind you that Scrooge is out there too.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Merry Christmas 2009
Here is our annual Christmas letter, just slightly early this year. I have noticed over the last few years that the number of family Christmas letters we receive has fallen off a little, and I really don't know why? Of course, I'm surprised when we get cards or letters from anyone at all.
Hello Friends,
With another year having evaded us we know you are all anxious to hear what direction our lives have taken, which frankly—if true—does not speak very highly of any of you. So put down your US magazines because we bring Christmas Greetings from the swamp of banality here in America’s heartlands.
While many of you may be misled by the opulence of our daily lives we actually have very simple existence. Mary Ann still trudges in to St. Pius to lead the Advancement Team which in turn struggles to lead the Board, Principal and interested Alums into the 21st Century, often with mixed results. In the last year, fund raising has lagged in priority as Mary Ann has become increasingly responsible for cleaning toilets and setting up folding tables. She does a wonderful job, attacking each fecal-encrusted American-Standard with the same credo that took her to these heights: “Any job worth doing is worth doing right!” Pity the poor fat-ass who fouls the faculty toilet if she ever finds out who it is.
As the business has sufficiently deteriorated, LSG felt comfortable leaving Bob in charge of the shop and promoted their manager out of Kansas City. Awash in a sea of dark-ages European accounting and ever-deepening governmental regulations he once again suffers with accountability. Not unlike the President, he spends money he doesn’t have doing things the owners really don’t want done. But unlike the President, he knows that Lufthansa may eventually come to their senses and demand their keys be returned. Other than listening to everyone’s problems and working weekends, the steady stream of government inspectors and arrogant customers have created an ideal work environment. Part of life is a daily mantra just to be thankful to be working, but hardly anyone believes this who has been in any part of the airline industry.
Katie has fared somewhat better. No, she still baby sits both in a physician’s office and at the local Methodist church, but she is alive. In January, only months after having found a car with which she was truly in love, she was forced off a freeway onto the icy shoulder. Losing control on the ice she careened back across all three lanes of I-635 facing back the wrong way as she came to rest on the center barrier with her beloved chariot in ruins. “It gave its life for me,” she intoned. She acquired another car, lost fifteen pounds, joined a gym and continues to not cook, feeding mostly on crap from fast-food emporiums.
Liz and family have enjoyed the usual trappings of youth: childhood sicknesses, squabbles, injuries, etc., but the real highlight of their year came in October when Brett’s company suddenly terminated his job. Having been recruited to this company by a fellow member of the parish less than a year prior, Brett was repaid by having his insurance immediately cut off. Once the shock subsided he secured work as a limo driver. As usual, and true to life, he says lawyers are the worst tippers. Their kids are fine: Robbie is all about sports; Annie is all about being a Princess; Stevie is all about having a driveway on which to pee.
In spite of protests from the Governor and tourism office, we all went back to Colorado for our week in the mountains. It was a great week, but this year we were visited by bears raiding nearby trash containers at night. Mary Ann thought it great fun to have them around, and one even strolled past her in downtown Estes Park. Bob thought it more prudent to not stand on the deck at night, take their pictures and otherwise attract the bears’ attention as they have a limited sense of humor. We did not have the food of kings in our cabin, but bears are happy to eat crap too. Steve gleefully acquired and used a Whoopee cushion which finally split open from fatigue. He tearfully told everyone he would never, ever have another one.
Just this once, we approached the lives of real people when Mary Ann was notified she had been nominated for – and won – a civic award in the memory of Anne Robb Townsend, an honor to which she replied a gracious “Yeah, OK” to Guy Townsend when he called. With something akin to Cousin Eddie visiting the Griswold home, the whole family was invited to the River Club for the presentation ceremony wherein we were treated to drink from clean glasses and sit on unstained furniture. The River Club, we noticed, had an armed guard at the door ostensibly employed to deny entrance to people like us.
Apparently Mary Ann’s dedication, stamina and help from heavy-hitting seniors iced her win. We’d like to say the award changed her life, and it did in that her peers perceived her somehow able to clean more toilets than ever before. Mary Ann’s photo will be in At Home in the Northland, but few we know will see it as this magazine is distributed only to elegant households earning $200,000 annually and up. Of course that means we won’t see it either.
With Brett still out of work, uncertainty in the airline business, and the unbroken line of foul toilets into the horizon it has been a challenging year. We are too young to retire, too useless to find other work and pretty much unmotivated as well. So it’s good to get our letter out first this year before we receive the news from all those untouched by the stench of life that we know so well--and to which we always feel obligated to mockingly reply. With people all around us turning 60--and up—now we have to worry about ear hair and varicose veins. It isn’t looking good for us right now, but hell, it never looked good anyway, so Merry Christmas. Now let’s go take our country back!
Hello Friends,
With another year having evaded us we know you are all anxious to hear what direction our lives have taken, which frankly—if true—does not speak very highly of any of you. So put down your US magazines because we bring Christmas Greetings from the swamp of banality here in America’s heartlands.
While many of you may be misled by the opulence of our daily lives we actually have very simple existence. Mary Ann still trudges in to St. Pius to lead the Advancement Team which in turn struggles to lead the Board, Principal and interested Alums into the 21st Century, often with mixed results. In the last year, fund raising has lagged in priority as Mary Ann has become increasingly responsible for cleaning toilets and setting up folding tables. She does a wonderful job, attacking each fecal-encrusted American-Standard with the same credo that took her to these heights: “Any job worth doing is worth doing right!” Pity the poor fat-ass who fouls the faculty toilet if she ever finds out who it is.
As the business has sufficiently deteriorated, LSG felt comfortable leaving Bob in charge of the shop and promoted their manager out of Kansas City. Awash in a sea of dark-ages European accounting and ever-deepening governmental regulations he once again suffers with accountability. Not unlike the President, he spends money he doesn’t have doing things the owners really don’t want done. But unlike the President, he knows that Lufthansa may eventually come to their senses and demand their keys be returned. Other than listening to everyone’s problems and working weekends, the steady stream of government inspectors and arrogant customers have created an ideal work environment. Part of life is a daily mantra just to be thankful to be working, but hardly anyone believes this who has been in any part of the airline industry.
Katie has fared somewhat better. No, she still baby sits both in a physician’s office and at the local Methodist church, but she is alive. In January, only months after having found a car with which she was truly in love, she was forced off a freeway onto the icy shoulder. Losing control on the ice she careened back across all three lanes of I-635 facing back the wrong way as she came to rest on the center barrier with her beloved chariot in ruins. “It gave its life for me,” she intoned. She acquired another car, lost fifteen pounds, joined a gym and continues to not cook, feeding mostly on crap from fast-food emporiums.
Liz and family have enjoyed the usual trappings of youth: childhood sicknesses, squabbles, injuries, etc., but the real highlight of their year came in October when Brett’s company suddenly terminated his job. Having been recruited to this company by a fellow member of the parish less than a year prior, Brett was repaid by having his insurance immediately cut off. Once the shock subsided he secured work as a limo driver. As usual, and true to life, he says lawyers are the worst tippers. Their kids are fine: Robbie is all about sports; Annie is all about being a Princess; Stevie is all about having a driveway on which to pee.
In spite of protests from the Governor and tourism office, we all went back to Colorado for our week in the mountains. It was a great week, but this year we were visited by bears raiding nearby trash containers at night. Mary Ann thought it great fun to have them around, and one even strolled past her in downtown Estes Park. Bob thought it more prudent to not stand on the deck at night, take their pictures and otherwise attract the bears’ attention as they have a limited sense of humor. We did not have the food of kings in our cabin, but bears are happy to eat crap too. Steve gleefully acquired and used a Whoopee cushion which finally split open from fatigue. He tearfully told everyone he would never, ever have another one.
Just this once, we approached the lives of real people when Mary Ann was notified she had been nominated for – and won – a civic award in the memory of Anne Robb Townsend, an honor to which she replied a gracious “Yeah, OK” to Guy Townsend when he called. With something akin to Cousin Eddie visiting the Griswold home, the whole family was invited to the River Club for the presentation ceremony wherein we were treated to drink from clean glasses and sit on unstained furniture. The River Club, we noticed, had an armed guard at the door ostensibly employed to deny entrance to people like us.
Apparently Mary Ann’s dedication, stamina and help from heavy-hitting seniors iced her win. We’d like to say the award changed her life, and it did in that her peers perceived her somehow able to clean more toilets than ever before. Mary Ann’s photo will be in At Home in the Northland, but few we know will see it as this magazine is distributed only to elegant households earning $200,000 annually and up. Of course that means we won’t see it either.
With Brett still out of work, uncertainty in the airline business, and the unbroken line of foul toilets into the horizon it has been a challenging year. We are too young to retire, too useless to find other work and pretty much unmotivated as well. So it’s good to get our letter out first this year before we receive the news from all those untouched by the stench of life that we know so well--and to which we always feel obligated to mockingly reply. With people all around us turning 60--and up—now we have to worry about ear hair and varicose veins. It isn’t looking good for us right now, but hell, it never looked good anyway, so Merry Christmas. Now let’s go take our country back!
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