Here We Are

Here We Are.

Tis’ the season, to tolerate crying kids, pissed off adults and horrible parking lot traffic.

I don’t ‘shop’. I don’t like crowds. If I am buying something I like to haggle. These qualities (or deficiencies) in me basically mean that if step foot in a mall, I will spontaneously combust- is it spontaneous if you know it will happen?

My brother has two kids. One boy –whom I call ‘the Boy’, and one niece, whom everyone calls ‘Bob’ for some reason.  When they were little kids Lori and I would split Christmas shopping for them. The “Boy” got Legos, or remote control cars from me. Bob got frilly fru fru dresses from Aunt Lori. It was a great system. It was fun watching the niece and nephew spaz out when they opened all of their gifts. It made Christmas fun. That and the abundance of alcohol my brother and sister in law provided freely.

Now they are hitting their teen years and they both have much more advanced vocabularies than I do. I’m now known as Uncle Caveman. Good old Uncle Caveman.

It’s not as much fun at Christmas now. I can’t buy the boy a pellet gun. The boy wants Airsoft or Paintball gear. That stuff is more expensive and causes less permanent damage than a pellet gun.  Remember the neighbourhood kid with the stutter? He didn’t used to stutter until I got my first pellet gun.  When it comes to Niece Bob I am at a complete loss. I don’t have kids and if I did have kids I am not the type of guy who should raise a daughter.  I’m a little rough around the edges for that adventure. God give her a good sense of humour if she looked like me too, and a lot if razors.

Now the kids want Gift Cards for iTunes, or simple bank transfers to their accounts. I have never transferred funds ‘electronically’ and I am hopeful that I never do. Smug little pishers!

Funny how time changes us. I’m pretty sure we all ‘see’ the same things. We all react differently – or don’t react at all to Christmas circumstances. I see men in varying states of pain during the season to be festive. I  see women getting obsessive about having the perfect Christmas party- I haven’t been invited to any of these parties but I  see it through their windows.  Relax.  Nothing on this planet is ever perfect. Imperfection is the sauce of life.

As machines become more and more efficient and perfect, so it will become clear that imperfection is the greatness of man.
Ernst Fischer

Put the turkey in the oven late-more time to drink and talk. Let the kids peel off their ridiculous sweaters and run rampant. It’s one day. Only one day. So what if all your wine glasses don’t match.  I’d drink wine from a dog’s bowl if I were having fun with friends and family. Triviality. We focus too much on things that are ‘fluff’, They look good. They taste good. There’s uneasiness about the situation though. I better use the right fork and gods forbid I break wind or I will destroy the effort she put into this day. Women! Relax. Have fun. Let all of the foibles of the day guide us. Imperfection is perfection. Glasses will break. Tablecloths will be ruined. Grandma will spill the beans on Mary Sue’s 5-month pregnancy and chaos may occur. Breathe it in. These are the best of times.

We are who we are. We don’t have to know each other. We don’t need to like each other for whatever misconceived notion we hold. One day. One day is all we need. Drink. Laugh. Eat. Joke. Tell Stories. Sit back and think.  Watch the kids run pandemonium gauntlets. Watch cousin Ray’s elbow slide of the mantle midway through his drunken epistle. Smell the burnt whatever erupting from the kitchen. Is it perfect? No. Would you change it for the world? I hope not.

This Christmas I ask that you realize- Christmas will never be perfect. It can’t be. There is no fun if it is. Let it go. Ride the whirlwind. Take it all in and enjoy.

Had not been for the sweetest woman I have ever known I would not know these things to be true. Merry Christmas to all and thank you,  Mrs. Anderson for being and showing me the true meaning.

God Bless.