Hung by the Chimney with Care

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Perhaps I'm not a traditionalist. I often hear from friends who thoroughly enjoy the experience of trimming the tree, hanging lights, singing songs, and placing the stockings by the chimney with care. It's just another time-consuming job with me, and if Springsteen isn't singing the Christmas song, I don't want to hear it. Although the John Mellencamp - "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus", and Elvis' "Blue Christmas" are awesome.

Now, don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the Christmas season. I love cooking dinner, watching the kids open their gifts, and drinking a couple dozen cocktails with family members. It's the added work this month that I can live without.

My wife's brain is captured by the shopping season - from Thanksgiving on, her conversation is limited to how many dimes she saved by returning presents because she found a better deal. I just nod along, pretending that I'm not bored out of my skull. I do appreciate the fact that she doesn't forget a family member or a God-child, but it certainly doesn't inspire me in anyway.

Perhaps it's the fact that I'm mechanically -challenged that brings out the frustration. I can never get our artificial tree to stand right. I can't even begin to pretend to know how to string a light and that friggen' star never stays on the tree. Christmas time usually goes about like this:

I pull out all of the decorations, I take a stab at standing the tree and positioning it just so, I plug and unplug the lights trying to get them all to work, I hang the plastic Santa by the door, and I walk away.

Half-an-hour later, my wife comes down, evaluates my pathetic attempt, smiles, picks up the Santa where it fell to the ground, and changes everything, making it looking as though real adults had something to do with the decorating, and making all of the lights work.

The day after Christmas, I rip it all down and put it away, wondering why the hell I can't fit it back into the box it came in.

Ah, Christmas... you gotta' love it.

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