The Santa Con

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinterklaas

Blackface is weird in every century, because stupid rich white people think they can get away with it. After all, if you're corrupt and you know it, who better to look down upon than a people notoriously kicked around by an entire culture designed to abuse them? We had to fight our nation's bloodiest war just to protect humans from treating other people like cattle, with a lot less respect than that at times. 

Sickness doesn't whack you in the face like a punch delivered expertly in a boxing ring. No, psychoses just creeps up on you, festering in those isolated pockets where such illness traditionally breeds: in the rural back-country, far from the modern civilized world, making it odder still that New Yorkers openly harbor such blatant prejudices against their own neighbors, as they have for generations. 

First, it starts out with that one Jewish kid in school envious about the many Christmas gifts the pretty blond shiska girl gets; you know, the one he fetishes over to the extreme, without ever doing her the human courtesy of greeting her properly, with normal eye contact and a wide open smile that says "hello" to you, before you hear it spoken aloud. Dehumanization is a necessary part of any disenfranchisement program, and the seemingly sophisticated provincial that New York breeds is a particularly dangerous kind at that.

The pseudo-intellectual cosmopolitan knows all about local theater (heavy on the musically-inclined Jewish crowd), or the most recent New Yorker op-ed commentaries (heavy on the Jewish liberal afraid of what lies west of the Hudson River, where those scary burly "bridge-and-tunnel" people live), but you'd be surprised that they're most often more afraid of the savvy native living in their midst, with a much wider and well-balanced view of the world that we live in. And so the ball rolls further downhill, away from what they think is their right as a hometown crowd in our fair city. First, the retail stores closed (no shopping), as do our gentile restaurants (no "Chicken Parmesan" on our holiday), and then before you know it, every store will be closed in honor of the birth of one very special Jewish boy.

Because even as cynical Hollywood cranks out nasty movies (hey there, Canadian "Jew-Fro") based on your Jewish attendance during our holy day, they forget that the sole focus of this day is the birth of a humble Jewish boy born destined to create one of the world's greatest faiths. Isn't it ironic that the sneering drunken holiday some Jewish people have created to blaspheme our holiday is the very same one born of their faith? So, the next time you think it's harmless to dress up like a slut and gorge yourself during our religious holy day (ooo, you're so "naughty"), because you mistakenly thought Christmas is about shopping and some big fat guy in a red suit, let me assure, it is not, and we're watching you very carefully.

For more on the real religious traditions tied to our traditional (and modest) forms of gift-giving, I invite you to explore the actual histories tied to our faith. For instance, did you know that the man known throughout Scandinavia as "Saint Nicholas" (taking his name from an earlier saint*, as is our naming tradition) earned his title by giving dowry gifts of money to the poor girls in town, so as to hasten their marriages**? Because that's the truth. I know! Soooo much better than the dumbly-dressed bar slut. OK, then check this one out. The North Star was said to have served as a guide to "The Three Wise Men"*** (who were kings) by guiding them across the winter sky to converge upon Jesus' birthday place in Bethlehem****, then a Jewish city? No?! They brought gifts of gold (gelt), frankincense, and myrrh, and today we still burn incense in church and at home, during certain rituals.

So come on in! Everyone's invited to celebrate this party. You haven't been left out in the cold, at all. You have the whole world at your feet through His Birthday (of Our Savior), through the gift of faith that is our annual message of peace to you. Now, put down that beer, you stupidly-dressed bar slut. Ain't nobody care about yo' ass, ho.

 

http://www.stnicholascenter.org/pages/home/ 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SantaCon 

*         https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Nicholas
**       http://www.stnicholascenter.org/pages/three-impoverished-maidens/
***     https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biblical_Magi
****   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethlehem

Games that Suck(ed)

Mission impossible, now ready for your 7 year old hands.

Board games of the past were usually about freaking you out, by proving to you (once again) that being a kid means you have no control over life (just like the game called "Life" that goes on forever), and that your tiny hands can actually do jack-shit because you do not have superior motor control, yet (like your dad who loves to beat kids at their own games). Topping the list for us was "Operation", which has all of the hallmarks of a bullshit game designed by adults who actually hate you at your level.

It had small pieces that went missing the same Christmas morning you excitedly opened it on (probably swallowed by the dog, which means you have to "pooper scoop" for days in the yard to look for it, then wash off the dog crap after you do find it and pick it out of said crap wearing rubber gloves), then when you do have all parts required AND assembled (with your dad who hates holiday mornings with hammers and screws, because he basically escaped from the 'hood by following motor skills to the Navy, which he also hated, and then into white collar work, so this brings back all those bad mornings with his alcoholic parents who drank their pay away and bought no gifts, while you wait for him to angrily burn off his Christmas energy and make your game), a friggin' pair of adult-sized tweezers so other kids can watch your hand shake all over the place with tension and nerves over some stupid game that (to them) has the very fate of the world at stake, with this scary loud alarm that instantly sets your heart racing uncontrollably with a flashing red light that goes off, to let everyone near you know that, yeah, you suck at this game, too. 

So basically, like a really bad, totally dysfunctional, and typically broke-ass working class New York Christmas morning (with or without the hangover,) which me and my bro re-enacted for ourselves and the next generation by working through it one morning at Grandma's place, building an extremely complicated Transformer-like obstacle course with over 100 separate pieces for his totally freaked-out oldest son who doesn't like anything not to work ever, so he stood by us tensely monitoring our progress, alternating crying and occasionally nail-biting within plain sight because my werewolf Malamute unknowingly swept his very large tail all over our work up to that point, thus creating yet another starting point for us to panic over anew.

Up there with the rest of this water torture entered arcade games, designed to rip you off in under 15 seconds flat. Scammers, man. Also, here's a strong "Fuck you! " to the creators of Pacman, Ms. Pacman, and dumb-ass Donkey Kong. Take that! I hated you all >:o( Super Mario Brothers, Intellivision's Pitfall, Tetris, and Wolfenstein may stay with the new computer, but you must go. Go now!

 

Sunlight Series (Before Christmas)

Three Christmas trees (real and man-made), and a Hanukkah bush.

(Pearl River, N.Y., December 2014)

Plastic

This year I got some beautiful stuff for Christmas, like floral bouquets, 
a wedding announcement from my dear cousin and his longtime girlfriend that's lovingly designed to be a two-sided keepsake ornament shaped as a pretty snowflake, and some cold hard cash (what any young publisher really needs), along with the usual tepid crap, like plastic cards.

What disturbs me most about it are the gaping vulnerabilities savvy companies use to exploit the mass consumer, and they do so with impunity. Here's a great example: on a recent shopping trip, I thought I expertly calculated my gift card usage down to cents, and I was right. In exchange for my shopping prowess, here's what I got back from my friendly neighborhood (and totally red-faced, embarrassed) cashier:

Wow....the a**hole is strong on this card!

That's right, the cheapskate asshole who designed this program for a local supermarket chain will not allow cashiers give back a mere .$36 in coinage to the consumer, you know, in case I went power drunk with my excess riches. Uh, thanks. And so, the average consumer gets tricked into giving cold hard cash to a faceless conglomerate instead putting it where it belongs: in the gift recipients' pocket. Not convinced by mere words? OK, let's do the math together.

For example: one very busy, successful store in my town (I actually LOVE it) sells about 1,000 of these cards in racks by each check out line, and after they're used, they each have a remaining $.36 on them. That's $360.00 profit for them, barring manufacturing costs for printing the card, and distribution to stores. Next up, 10,000 cards in my home county are sold throughout the holiday season. That's $3,600.00 for the company, and not you, the consumer, or your "loved one", and I am being generous with the amounts. Most folks leave a lot more on these types of cards, because it's too much of a pain in the ass to use up the $1 to $2 that's left on them. 

Feel me on this one? Good. I'm trusting that you understand the dynamic here, right? Great! Don't do it again. Bad shopper!  You're actually feeding an industry of crooks. Live and learn, folks, and then let's move forward together, conceptually-speaking. That's all is is.
Thank you.

Here's your homework: http://www.dailyfinance.com/2012/04/20/new-laws-mean-unused-gift-card-money-wont-be-a-gift-to-stores/ 

And: http://www.qualitylogoproducts.com/blog/secret-of-gift-cards-plastic-into-profit/ 

Magic

A horror show. No, not a fake movie: the real deal.

Every year my aunt Marilyn gave us the worst gifts should could get away with, and that was the point. She had responsibilities an an adult she hated. She gave one son to her mother to take care of, then left her daughter by another father to drugs, jail, and prostitution, hiding behind the falsely fretting, hand-wringing, long-suffering mother posture. It was sneaky and clever, which was also the point. She wanted to be seen as devilishly smart, like the thief who can't get caught, locked in a childish game of cat and mouse with life that included the people around her who were closest to her. She had a wild teenage past, complete with bad tattoos and a stint as a Go-Go dancer, with lurid white vinyl boots and the also-requisite bad attitude that fell flat with the laissez-faire Acadians in her clan, pragmatic and slow to anger, every single one of us. Wayward youth? So what! Same, man! And ain't that the world we were dealt? Ho hum.

In response to our sangfroid demeanor, she upped the ante to get the attention she wanted. And so, she embarked on a career as a petty antagonist, with her barbs and pat, trite, oft-repeated quips, her rapid-fire, snappy replies, and her nearly constant smoking and drinking. It still didn't really bother us, though, because we love a raucous bon temp, too! What's next? She had a genius IQ that she hid out of laziness and spite, choosing to become my father's ever-dependent. When she lost a job, he had her go to a bank (my dad started in business as a banker), where they promptly sent her to a facility for IQ testing, which, unfortunately for her schemes, came back genius level. They told my dad that she could do whatever she wanted, but that she chose not to. She could have any job at the bank, but she chose the easiest one of all: a teller. She liked being easy, and that's what she did, over and over again, in full view of us.

It was the same with our so-called "Christmas gifts", or birthday presents, or school graduations, or weddings, or...you get the point. She had to make an appearance to save face by honoring her benefactor's kids (my father), but how best to subtly show her disdain? Aha! Tacky presents. Eureka! It wasn't something you could necessarily prove in a court of law, but it delivered the intended bad effects upon the recipient, with just the right amount of bitchy, clever pettiness, the exact affect she wanted.

And so it went, the same bad joke every year: ugly wool sweaters that immediately caused our skin to itch, which my mom backed up by forcing us to wear in front of her as a "thank you" that was really a "fuck you" without the gesture or words to prove it. Huh. Clever, girl. 
If the scariest horror movie that year was an evil puppet gone psycho, she sat there at the table, smoking and listening to us talk about it, so she could buy a ventriloquist dummy for me that she could pass off as a beloved relic from her youth: "Oh, Mortimer Snerd! I loved him!", from a show none of us kids had ever heard of. She laughed when I said it gave me the heebie jeebies at night (because that was the point), so I simply solved the problem by putting it in the back of my small bedroom closet with a blanket over it. Done. It went away eventually at a garage sale, just like her pin cushion that was the shape of a Victorian woman's expensively shod foot, knowing that I didn't sew regularly as a hobby, because I had so many others that she could openly ignore.

She pretended not to know me, just like she neglected the birth connection she shared with her offspring. We were disposable, and she remained angry that she was never center stage until the day she died from a slow suicide of cigarettes and alcohol, refusing until the very last day she struggled for breath on this earth, choking on the kitchen floor of the house my father bought then gave to her after he moved on, refusing to quit her bad habits even after the diagnosis was delivered with an oxygen tank for her to breathe with, and oh, the horror of that, forever depriving us of someone who could be the funniest, warmest soul you ever met, delivering a big loss we all keenly felt, the power of her final hurt put upon us for the rest of our lives. 

Long may she rest in the peace she never found nor gave to those she was supposed to love the most and hold onto the hardest. She was my father's only sibling in the world, a man who paid dearly for her every sin with generosity and faithfulness without ever getting the genuine, heartfelt "thank you" he deserved for his consistent, regular attendance and filial duty to her, by leaving him alone in a world he chose to excel in, because he chose to live. 

Amen to you, my faithful who are also "The Faithful", during this time that is our continued Holy Week.
 

A horror show in a box cleverly disguised as a "gift".

The Gift

Early morning delivery.

On Christmas Eve Day, I opened the door early morning to what I first thought was a Christmas present, then I thought it was a freebie sample that I ordered online, but when I bent down to pick it up, I saw the label. Oh. It's from a small indie publisher that I designed for in the past, a rich kid imprint paid for by his also-rich daddy, a guy who cashed out by selling his imprint years ago. They probably use the son's company as a tax shelter for the earnings from that sale, which renders their product indifferent, like so many widgets that exist only to serve their obscured financial purpose, not worth the paper they're printed on. And so the gift was actually my own work mailed back to me in bound book form, certainly not a new experience for me. How...well, not a gift.

I quickly took a look at the work I did for them on the cheap, unsurprised by its' poor quality. One book had been case stamped on the spine incorrectly (upside down, actually; a major production error that's a firing offense in major league houses), which I noticed by removing the jacket I designed, because I always inspect books for their quality. The other book contains some inane drivel about an arrogant British wanker who hates the yoga retreat he's attending, and (surprise, surprise), probably has epiphanies later on down the road, read: further along in the book. Ho hum. A real pager turner, not worth my time. It's not exactly prize-winning stuff, but that's the whole point; they position themselves deliberately on the bottom of the pile, to mine the marketing niche as low-end producers, probably wanting to escape notice so The Tax Man doesn't come a-calling. Huh. I know that game, too.

It's embarrassing, but people do this kind of stuff ALL the time. Every day, actually. They take a real vocation and turn it to shit, then piss and moan about the cost, which is exactly what they did to me when I worked for them. It was beneath me, and by them time they shamefacedly told me they were flat broke, (the first and only time their "publisher" deigned to speak to me in person), and besides, like, they could totally use my desk space for one of his six or seven pretty boy "assistants" (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), I think they thought they were lashing out at me for being a major talent who stooped to their level for shekels because they had me in a vulnerable position financially, which is about as far from the truth as we are from the sun; another light that will forever fail to reach them, because they just don't get it on every level, and that includes way existentially, man.

As they continue to play their petty games with one another at their inept labors today, I couldn't help but reflect on my time there, in the early morning light, Christmas Eve morning, looking at these books that could have been so beautiful, and I thought that when they had the real deal right beneath their gazes, they refused to see true worth. They took the hefty gifts I gave them, and they turned their backs on them, because they know they aren't worth the price of the ticket. I thought about how sad that was for them, but that they were no longer my flock to tend to. They are now someone else's poor problem.

I wish you peace on this 26th day in December during our continued Christmas season, as we recall the journey of The Three Magi who came bearing gifts for our Lord and Savior, a baby born lowly in a manger, because His parents were turned away from the inn at Bethlehem, and Amen for that: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biblical_Magi.

More cheap, shoddy goods, just in time for Christmas! How thoughtful.

Happy Christmas

"Merry Christmas, Marie! Shake hands?"

A row of tiny Charlie Brown trees. 

Merry Christmas, from the town of friendly people. 

From The Land of Ice and Snow

Red berries, green firs, and white snow.

A natural wreath tied with red string.

Decked out for the holidays.

Christmas scenes from 2013.

Secret Santa

I've written before about my feelings regarding Christmas, and it is typically a lot of "Bah Humbug", but occasionally I'm reminded that there are many people out there who feel like I do, and highly influential ones at that. Why buy more stuff, stuff that the people in your life don't need? After the first addictive rush of "Gimme!" wears off, they're left with an awful, empty hangover feeling from a binge that gets them no closer to where they really desire to be. Do something real for them this season by giving to someone who really needs it. They may not thank you immediately, but what you're doing lasts far longer than whatever piece of cheap (and toxic) plastic they'll eventually toss out. Hang in there and go the distance, because that's where the real good stuff is.  I'm with you on this one.



Here's yet another "secret" (that's not so secret) from a real life "Santa" who always gives :) Facebook users, click on the link for a great Xmas tip: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152091712840590&set=a.336319760589.197360.114205065589&type=1&theater 

Around the Way: Sunset for the Holidays

Seasonal sunset

A very Merry Christmas to you.

Around the Way: Holiday Season

Corner of Third

At Home: Warmth and Cheer

Christmas time at 3rd Street

This year is a low key Christmas for me for many reasons, so it has become one that I can celebrate without all the hype and merchandise. I see it as a great opportunity for reflection and expression. The theme is very simple: trees, lights, and The Nativity. I have a small African sculpture of the scene carved out of salt sitting underneath this tree, a gift I got from my mom from UNICEF, and a 3D paper assemblage sits atop one of the bookcases. 

The second tree is on the mantle, next to the t.v. In my bedroom, I have a wise man riding on a camel, another gift , this one given to me by my stepmother. I couldn't help but notice my decor is remarkably similar to my church's, though on a much humbler and smaller scale. After so many years of kowtowing to others peoples' ideas about the holidays, ones that were always forced upon me, I also couldn't help but notice that this years' decorations feel the most authentic to me and my ideas about Christmas. 

They bring me a sense of peace and calm I had yet to feel around the holidays, and for that first, I am truly grateful. It's important to feel that connection. How will you celebrate this year in a way that feels true to you?

 

Sharing

berry bush

Yesterday I "shadowed" one of the wonderful ladies in my parish who volunteers as a teacher for the children's services in the back of our church, while the adult congregation hears the more sophisticated sermon from the priest up front. It's a time to introduce basic concepts that are central to our faith. I chose the group who have yet to receive the sacrament we call Communion*. That age is a good fit for me as a writer and illustrator of picture books, books made to facilitate a child's development from the pictorial to more text literate.

*http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2012/05/my-first-communion.html

It was the Third Sunday of Advent, a time spent in preparation for Christmas, or Christ's birth, though it's not an exact calendar match. Roman Catholicism derives its' timetables from pagan holidays and their seasons, easing the conversion from polytheism. As such, our holidays take much from traditional and ancient concepts of the earth's rotation around the sun. The Wise Men of yore found Our Savior through navigating the North Star* across the sky, a star bright in the winter. *http://earthsky.org/brightest-stars/polaris-the-present-day-north-star

The overwhelming commercialization of our holiday is something I've written about before, and it is a good point to repeat, but something else caught my attention. The children's curriculum focused primarily on John, a follower who became known as St. John the Baptist, for blessing converts through water purification, common to many religions of the world, as his custom was derived from Judaism. He was often confused with The Messiah, because he gave sermons of great impact to the crowds who gathered for baptism.

I thought that the best (and most simple) concept of the day was that of sharing. How many of us get cold, hastily bought gifts of gaudy plastic baubles or horrible clothes, that are banished to the backs of our closets and of no use? We all have, and they only serve as sad reminders that the giver is someone not even well-acquainted enough with us to know what we want or need, a dusty relic of the kind of spiritual poverty that pervades so many people's lives.

Take this from the Gospel of Luke, paraphrased for children, that preaches a message of love instead: “Be generous and kind and always ready to share whatever you have with others. Be honest and fair and be happy with what you have.”

From that basic idea, we can derive an easy set of actions for kids to do with their parents, ideas about spreading a love that sustains when that toy breaks two days after Christmas. 

- give what we can to local charities, 

- bring a card or gift to someone who lives alone, 

- give outgrown toys to a local nursery school or child's home in the neighborhood. 

Donate, and give, give, give. That's the stuff that survives for ages. Blessings to you during this week!

Welcome, Christmas

Tonight I'm attending Midnight Mass, which kicks off what is possibly the biggest birthday celebration in the world.
I haven't attended church on Christmas Eve since early adulthood, when I was home on break from college. There will be a musical exhibition before tonights' service. The pop culture equivalent for me is "Welcome Christmas", a song from the original animated version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The townspeople from "Who-ville" usher in the holiday with joined hands and song. May your heart be lifted and filled with joy on this special day.  Merry Christmas!

Fahoo fores dahoo dores

Welcome Christmas come this way
Fahoo fores dahoo dores
Welcome Christmas, Christmas day
Welcome, welcome fahoo ramus
Welcome, welcome dahoo damus
Christmas day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to clasp
Fahoo fores dahoo dores
Welcome Christmas bring your cheer
Fahoo fores dahoo dores
Welcome all Whos far and near
Welcome Christmas, fahoo ramus
Welcome Christmas, dahoo damus
Christmas day will always be
Just so long as we have we
Fahoo fores dahoo dores
Welcome Christmas bring your light
(hum next two lines...)

Welcome Christmas, fahoo ramus
Welcome Christmas, dahoo damus
Welcome Christmas while we stand
Heart to heart and hand in hand
Fahoo fores dahoo dores
Welcome welcome Christmas Day...
Welcome, welcome X-mas day.... 

Christmas in New York

Marriage proposal on ice, 2010

Yesterday I went into Midtown, visiting St. Patrick's Cathedral and Rockefeller Center. Rock Center is famed worldwide for its enormous Christmas tree, which typically comes from the tri-state area. Last year I saw a marriage proposal on ice, and I immediately caught the Christmas spirit. This years' sightseeing had the same effect upon me, though the crowds can be daunting. Sidewalks fill with school kids going to see The Radio City Christmas Spectacular, while tourists flock to the sites, crowding the views. I navigated it successfully, fortified by a big street vendor pretzel and chocolate from Dylan's Candy Bar.

St. Patrick's Cathedral, © Marie Doucette

Figure in Pew, © Marie Doucette

Altar to St. Andrew, © Marie Doucette

Angels of Rockefeller Center, © Marie Doucette

Ice-skating Santa, © Marie Doucette

Rockefeller Center, © Marie Doucette

 Enjoy the sites!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Patrick%27s_Cathedral_(New_York) 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rockefeller_Center_Christmas_Tree

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radio_City_Christmas_Spectacular

http://www.dylanscandybar.com/

"Making Christmas!"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Grinch

Sometimes stress from the holidays make us reconsider how we spend our time. It makes me want to bow out completely! My escape involves indulging in fantasies like running away to a foreign beach for Christmas, sending postcards back home to family and loved ones. 

Tim Burton feels my angst. My favorite "Anti-Xmas Hype" song of all-time is "Making Christmas" from the animated film, The Nightmare Before Christmas ( my favorite movie, which you already know: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2011/10/nightmare-before-christmas.html ). The town decides to help Jack Skellington co-opt the holiday, albeit in their typically dark fashion:

This time of year can be a hotbed of dysfunction, bringing out the best or the worst in people. Ever been elbowed in the ribs by a harried shopper, caught up in the frenzy for this year's top-selling item, in an overcrowded and overheated store? What a crazy way to spend the day! I'd rather spend my time with like-minded souls. 

http://brendariddle.blogspot.com/2010/11/mistletoe-make-bake-2010-day-2.html

 

http://baptistsforbrown2008.wordpress.com/2007/12/

It's also the reason I avoid midtown during the holidays. My grandfather used to say, "Buy for Baby Jesus!", perfectly mocking the ridiculousness and hypocrisy about spending an ungodly amount of money in celebration of a holiday which lauds totally different values. 

http://jerusalemtrading.com/

Under our Christmas trees, besides presents, there's a manger which represents the birth of Jesus Christ. As a child, I moved the statues of The Three Wise Men closer and closer to the Nativity Scene in the town of Bethlehem, during the month of December and into early January. They followed a bright star as a guide, bearing gifts of frankincense and myrrh to honor His birth. We place a white bulb for the star above the manger, hanging angel ornaments near His crib.

http://www.frankchambers.com/

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total "Grinch". I enjoy reflecting upon the people in my life by giving them things I hope they like. There's no annoying slogans with me, like "Jesus is the Reason for the Season!" It's too strident. We should try to let our actions and thoughts show everyone what's it's all about. 

 

That's my Christmas wish for this year!

Christmas Diorama Madness, 2011

 

 

I've completed the final touches to my annual Christmastown. First up, the scene at the mantel. A blanket of snow has covered the floor. But, who are the inhabitants this year? Let's go in for a closer look.

Looks like a neighborhood of Santas have sprung up, to the right of the Nativity Scene. One is Scottish, that's apparent from his kilt, but where do the others hail from? Maybe the Santa Claus in the plane just flew in from the North Pole. I'll have to keep on eye on this block, for any new developments that occur. Let's call it Santaville.

I see The Simpsons of Springfield have settled in for the holidays, bringing friends with them to the party. Bart is looking particularly angelic this year, while Barney looks a little worse for the wear. I guess we know who's been Naughty and who's been Nice! Chief Wiggum seems unconcerned, even though Ralphie eats paste straight from the jar. The garden gnomes enjoy fresh powder from a new snowfall. Feisty as always.

Lots of fun, colorful lights twinkle with holiday cheer...

 

...and angels came down to land atop the mantel, near the CD player. We sing along to Christmas carols. My favorite is from Lou Rawls: http://www.amazon.com/Have-Yourself-Merry-Little-Christmas/dp/B000TE5BZQ

As fun as Christmas village can be ( Barney gets a little rowdy ) , nothing tops the beauty of a decorated tree, except maybe an angel. Even the coziest of dens can be decked out for the holidays.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas!

Living in the Land of Misfit Toys

Sometimes, a native New Yorker ( me=4th generation ) has to just shake their head in wonder. Ever have one of those days when you see something so weird, you can't believe it just happened? For us, this happens on an almost daily basis. Our fair city attracts its fair share of loners, misfits, freaks, geeks, wannabes, anyone looking to recreate themselves into their vision of the American Dream, be it Rock Star, Ad Man, Wall Streeter, what have you. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rush_hour

It must be confusing, changing ones' persona from it's point of origin. This town is my home, not some mythic place filled with cash to be bilked, like a  City of Oz with smoke screens and tricks. It's my real Land of Wonder. So, outsiders intrigue me, as do all subcultures and nonconformist types. It's that show of rebellion, I guess: who do they think they're fooling? We pride ourselves on having seen it all, or at least a heck of a lot more than most people will. After all, we have a person from ever country on the planet living within our city limits. It's not hubris or arrogance with New Yorkers, or some blasé show of world weariness, like we shrug off our fellow man, we simply have your number down pat.

The Christmas movie that best identified this internal power struggle, for living an authentic life, is the elf character from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Hermey the Misfit Elf. He hides his secret from the other elves; he prefers dentistry to making toys! Hermey realizes he can't be happy pretending to be someone he's not anymore. Once he accepts himself for who he truly is, he finds real acceptance. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudolph_the_Red-Nosed_Reindeer_(TV_special)

How great is Burl Ives as Sam Snowman? What a beautiful voice. His character is so cute, shushing through the snow. I instantly loved this classic Rankin/Bass from the opening song. As a little girl, it made me so happy and psyched for the holidays. Nothing is more cheerful than a roaring fire, a decorated tree with gifts underneath, and a sparkling blanket of snow covering the ground on Christmas morning, followed by a big pancake breakfast.

Of course, many of my readers will guess that I loved Yukon Cornelius and his doggies. "Mush! Yah! Mush!", as I watched the holiday special snuggling my snow doggie, Snowflake, the prettiest Samoyed a little girl could wish for.

When the stress from too many obligations, or gifts to buy, starts to get you down, just remember, it could be worse—

it could be an Abominable Snowman Nation!

http://FunnyOrDie.com/m/3bp1