Christmas Piece 2009

It’s Christmas, by cracky. But, the lack of snow makes getting into the spirit somewhat difficult. “They said there’ll be snow at Christmas.”*

 It’s Christmas, by cracky.

But, the lack of snow makes getting into the spirit somewhat difficult.

“They said there’ll be snow at Christmas.”*

Yes, I do hate snow. But, as much as I dislike it, snow is one of the primary elements that make Christmas, well, Christmas.

Or, so we’ve been led to believe.

It’s really difficult to be merry and gay (okay, so being gay just comes natural for some folks) when the grass is still green — in the northern part of Illinois.

Yet, the reminders are always present, like having to dodge the Salvation Army guilt patrol every time I need to run into a grocery store for a loaf of bread.

In this time of economic unsettledness, the Salvationistas seem to have become more aggressive, positioning themselves not off to one side or another of store entries and exits but right in the path of shoppers.

And they’ve set up buckets at more stores than in past years.

I usually share some change upon the first encounter of the season, but if I have more to give it’s going to Mazon.

Sorry, I digress…

Not having rugrats to fill our home with wonderment (nor am I anxious that my son should provide some), my seasonal joy is somewhat limited to the sparkle of lights on a tree (this year we got one earlier than the past few years, and it’s really a beauty), assisted by Christmas movies, television programs, and music.

We kicked off our holiday viewing traditionally, with the original 1966 version of Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas;” the size of our hearts can’t help but be increased as Boris Karloff genially recounts events in Whoville, and the love shown by each Who to one another.

For the second year we’ve been delighted by the antics of Will Ferrell’s supersized “Elf” (2003) —  with Ed Asner as the perfect Santa, and Bob Newhart’s wonderfully droll elf narrator.

And, just last evening, our faith in humankind was at least partially restored as we made the annual visit with Charles Schulz’ Peanuts crowd for “A Charlie Brown Christmas” (1965).

Then there’s the music; in an attempt to spark my enthusiasm I’ve had more holiday ditties and carols playing in the background than the past few years.

Tchaikovsky offers a life-sized Nutcracker.

Pearl Bailey wants five pounds of money in a box.

Bing Crosby dreams of a Christmas that’s snowy white.

Frank Sinatra waltzes through the season in three/four time.

Judy Garland suggests having a little Christmas, so long as it’s merry.

Nat “King” Cole seems to be roasting Mel Torme’s chestnuts on an open fire.

Paul McCartney is simply having a wonderful Christmastime.

Eartha Kitt is still looking for that 1954 Caddy convertible.

Gene Autry’s up on the rooftop, brightly lit by Rudolph’s shiny red nose.

Jimmy Buffett may venture off to Christmas Island.

As Hitler laments his lost tannenbaum, Satan is keeping space reserved for Andy Dick.

Emerson, Lake, and Palmer believe in Father Christmas — still looking for peace on Earth.

The Kinks express a more pragmatic need for cash rather than silly toys.

Dean Martin lets us know how cold it is outside.

Elvis is blue.

The Beatles teach us that o-u-t spells “out.”

Willie Nelson says you better be good, and watch out because Santa Claus is coming to town.

Mr. Hankey will undoubtedly be making a visit, too.

According to Sammy Davis, Jr., all the world over it’s Christmas time.

John Lennon reminds us war can be over, the best gift ever, so long as we want it.

Mahalia Jackson is having a silent night, one that’s holy as well.

And in between the Christmas cheer, this being a democratic household, for eight nights we light the candles.

Thus, the best I can leave with you are the words of St. Nick, as quoted by Clement Clark Moore, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!”

Shalom.

* Greg Lake, “I Believe In Father Christmas”

(Erstwhile Philosopher and former Educator Jerry Tenuto is a veteran who survived, somewhat emotionally intact, seven years in the U.S. Army. Despite a penchant for late-night revelry, he managed to earn BS and MA Degrees in Communications from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. On advice from a therapist, he continues to bang out his weekly “Out Of The Blue” feature in The Lone Star Iconoclast — providing much-needed catharsis. Jerry is also licensed to perform marriage ceremonies in 45 states.)