Is It The Most Wonderful Time of The Year?

NOVEMBER 29, 2018

Is It Really the Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

     The sound of the weatherman’s voice could be distinctly heard coming from dads’ old radio. One of his many prized possessions. Yeah, you know the one with the broken antennae and the tip wrapped in black electric tape.  The ridges on the dial practically worn out displaying the many years of spinning and turning it to locate the right frequency.

     “It’s going to be chilly today folks, be sure to snuggle up tight, looks like quite a nor’easter on the horizon and it’s likely packing a tent and staying a while, mutters the vibration of the one and only, New England’s very own weather anchor, “Mel Spring”. I can only chuckle as I look out through my bedroom window and physically see what was just “prophesied”.  Thinking of the irony of the weatherman’s last name. Oh, how I wish it was a nice 65-degree spring day as opposed to this single digit knee buckling, beginning of the new year winter storm.  A “serendipity”, perhaps, for Penguins?

     Well, I’ll focus on the bright side, spring will be peeking it’s purdy little face around the corner soon. Perhaps instead of feeling blue, I’ll just sit back, close my eyelids and use the power of imagination to create a beautiful sunny April day. Ahh, now that’s better.

    “PJ, I think you got a bite, quick, grab your pole”! I immediately reach over to sequester my favorite ugly stick whilst falling in what seemed like slow motion off my bed. I suddenly realize how powerful my imagination really is! I was just there! At the creek I mean.

     Then without even being remotely aware I’m translated back into our quaint lil double wide in the middle of this maize field.

     I sat there and stared intently at the ceiling momentarily. Pressing the rewind button to evaluate what just took place? Is my ability to imagine that powerful? Should I be more careful about what I imagine? What If I imagined that I was filthy rich, lived in a beautiful mansion with butlers and maids at my beck and call? I just had an epiphany! One that I certainly did not have a complete understanding of, but nonetheless no matter who didn’t believe me, I knew deep in my knower that what I perceived was as real as the nose on my face.

     Maybe this is what Santa does? He sits with his elves and imagines flying through the air with Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Rudolph and the rest of the “brood”. Going from chimney to chimney an offloading presents to those who were not so naughty.

     Now there’s a subject that’s sure to brighten things up, Christmas! That’s right. “Hey Alexa, how many days till Christmas”? “There are twenty-seven days left till Christmas PJ”.

     Dad will soon be bringing home quarts of grammas home-made egg nog. They’ll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting and caroling out in the snow.

     They’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glory of Christmases long, long ago.      The sound of sleigh bells will fill the air and families will spend cold frosty nights together roasting chestnuts, entertaining, and lovers everywhere will be on the lookout for every hanging branch of mistletoe.

     Oh, but wait, what about the Flemings? Aww man, I just realized that they lost everything in the fire last Christmas. How are they even coping after being told by the first responders that their twins didn’t make it? How is it that they were able to move across the street? And practically every morning I see Mr. Fleming walk across his lawn to fetch the paper with what often appears to be a cheerful countenance? I guess it’s not the most wonderful time of the year for everyone? 

     Wow. This makes me pause and realize that while the festivities are taking place and kids are barreling down steep snow-covered hills on their toboggans, nearby a mother peers out of a window with tears streaming down her face still hearing the echoes of her tragic loss screaming into the depth of her soul

     With Andy Williams crooning, “Noel”, in the background and the fragrance of Douglas fir dancing in the air, Mommy wipes her face, dons her prize mask and makes an about-face, she marches to the family room to create the best atmosphere she can for those that survived and deserve to have the best Christmas ever.

     The most wonderful time of the year still remains a mystery to me at least because I’m torn between these two worlds of happiness and sorrow.  At best I’ll infer that it is relative. So, I will rejoice with those that rejoice and cry with those who mourn.

Feliz Navidad