We are into one of my favorite times of the year, the Christmas Season. Often I think I like the anticipation of Christmas the best. Too many times it seems that we can’t wait for Christmas to get here and then in a flash it is gone and we are left waiting another whole year. I want the season to last longer so I can savor each moment, but somehow each year I manage to pack more and more onto my calendar.
This year is no different. I had plans to clear my calendar and spend time in preparation for Christmas. Enjoying the sights and sounds of the season, but just yesterday I looked at my calendar and I have something on every day until the 21st. To make matters worse, I did it to myself. Well at least I can enjoy Christmas music as I drive to the various events, parties and basketball games.
I enjoy Christmas music about as much as anything during this season. My family will tell you that I enjoy singing along but I am the only one who enjoys my singing along. Eleven months out of the year my radio is firmly tuned to AM but from Thanksgiving to Christmas I leave the dial on the all Christmas music station.
Such was the case yesterday. Tatum and I were driving into town, listening to Christmas music and I was holding myself back from singing along. Somewhere on the road to town “I am Dreaming of a White Christmas” came on. I turned the radio up and we were both enjoying Bing Crosby.
After the song was done, Tatum mentioned that she hoped we had a white Christmas and asked if I agreed. I didn’t hesitate. “No,” I said, “I am hoping for a dry, brown Christmas.” The look she gave me indicated that I had once again lost my bid for Dad of the Year and she viewed me as the Grinch and Scrooge all rolled into one. I might as well go ahead and told her the truth about Santa Claus and that Frosty the Snowman had melted. I knew what she was thinking, “the guy who can’t get enough Christmas doesn’t like white Christmas, how can that happen?”
Maybe my answer was a little jaded, after all we had just come off of an icy Thanksgiving and a white Christmas didn’t really sound like a good idea. Between the stress of worrying about Dad doing chores by himself while I was out of town and the treacherous drive home, I just wasn’t very crazy about the thought of any more precipitation right now. Especially precipitation of the frozen variety.
It could have been because I was still in my knee boots and I could smell the odor of muddy lots and see the grime of slop on my coveralls. I am sure that the reality of feeding cattle and sheep in the snow didn’t help my attitude either. A snow looks really pretty until you have to go out in it and feed hay. Of course wet chore clothes and gloves didn’t help my outlook either.
OK, before I get labeled as a curmudgeon and a fun hater, let me explain. Some of this was definitely tongue in cheek. At times I do enjoy a white Christmas. When it is the kind that could be made into a Norman Rockwell painting of a white Christmas. There is nothing that gets me in the Christmas spirit more than watching snow come down and seeing the new blanket of white on the ground. I love looking out my picture window, sipping hot chocolate and listening to Christmas music. I like it as long as there is no wind, I don’t have to drive in it and it doesn’t get too deep. If we meet those criteria, I am all for a white Christmas.
I am also aware that I am whining a little bit and we all know that Santa doesn’t like whiners. So I guess what I am asking for is a little time to dry up after this last storm and time to prepare for the next one. Then maybe I will be ready to whole heartedly wish for some snow toward the end of December (as long as it lays right, doesn’t last too long and behaves itself while it is here). After all the chorus of “I am dreaming of a warm, dry Christmas” just isn’t as catchy.