How the Scrinch Loved Christmas ... Songs

 

Years ago I DJ’d part time at a local radio station (which figures into my novel Radio Red). I happened to be working when the boss decided it was time to start the Christmas season with the Gift of Music.

He produced a card file and a stack of CD’s. On each card in the file (no computers -- it was that long ago) was the name of a Christmas song, which we shuffled into randomness. As soon as I saw what happened to fall as the first one, I had my intro.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to get the holiday season under way with WLNB’s selection of Christmas music, and I’ve been chosen for the honor or starting it out. I’m perfectly okay with that, as long as I don’t have to play ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’. Now, let’s see what’s on top of our play list ... no. It can’t be. Not that -- anything but that!”

Ah, but it was. And so I started out the Gift of Music with a redneck song about a reckless driving Santa Claus murdering elderly pedestrians.

I never said I was a good part time DJ. Note that I’m no longer employed there.

 

Santas got run over by a fire truck?

I like to be the best combination of Scrooge and Grinch that I can possibly be. For the uninitiated, Scrooge is the old time British fellow who gets scared by ghosts into loving Christmas. The Grinch is the green guy who goes down to Whoville to steal Christmas, but ends up returning everything when the Whoville people start singing happy carols. This begs the question: if the people in Whoville were happy anyway, why didn’t the Grinch just keep the stuff, and sell it on Ebay?

Yep -- two great stories, two bad endings. Just call me the Scrinch. Or Grooge, that would be okay.

 

There are other books, you know.

 

 

 

 I base most of my attitude on either out of control commercialism or people who, themselves, act like Grinches. Yes, I get upset when I see giant plastic Santas on display at Wal-Mart -- in September. But don’t we all get mad when some scumbag burglar steals the Christmas presents right from under someone’s tree?

Christmas all year round might seem like a good idea, but in reality it would make the holiday cheap and ordinary. Put a friggin tarp on the decorations until mid-November, okay? I once went shopping for Halloween, and turned the corner to discover a plastic Frosty giving me a ... well, a frosty look.

As for stealing gifts, vandalizing decorations and such ... not that I haven’t wanted to vandalize decorations, but only when they're lit in October. For everyone else, a public whipping on New Year’s Day should beat the holiday spirit into them.

My point is this: Although I get as angry as everyone else when “Let it Snow” starts playing in the store while people in shorts and tank tops stumble in, wiping sweat from their brows ...

 

I don’t know if I should say it. It might ruin my reputation, and where am I without that? Next thing you know, people will discover I really like animals. But ... okay, complete honesty, here:

I love Christmas music.

People may never look at me the same way again.

 

Christmas is the only thing I look forward to through the months of bitter cold, with nothing but driving snow and black, dead foliage. I hate cold, I hate snow, I hate heating bills, I hate bulky clothes that never warm me up ... but I love Christmas. Colored lights shine through the dull twilight of winter. People actually cheer up a little. Well, some people. And of all the things about Christmas, I love the songs the best.

It doesn’t matter if they’re old or new. Sure, the barking dog Jingle Bells thing grates on me, and I’ve heard versions of “Santa Baby” that make me want to hurl down a chimney. But from Frank Sinatra to Christina Aguilera, nothing perks me up more. What they’ve done elsewhere in their lives, or what other people think of them, doesn’t matter -- I’ll listen to it if it’s Britney Spears, or Barry Manilow.

Old or new? I love “Carol of the Bells” and “The Hallelujah Chorus”, which my choir sang in high school. They didn’t have new Christmas Songs back then. But I’ve got songs in my Christmas library by Faith Hill, the Trans Siberian Orchestra, the Eagles, and, yes, Hannah Montana.

 

Type of music? It’s all Christmas to me. Doesn’t matter whether it's the Bryan Seltzer Orchestra, Jessica Simpson, or Andrea Bocelli. Or that other fella, Tchaikovsky, and his Nutcracker thing. Still, nothing will ever beat the classics, and Bing Crosby is the king of the classics. I may not like white winters, but “White Christmas” will always be close to my half-frozen heart.

So that’s it --  my big confession. I love Christmas music ... almost all Christmas music. As long as the lyrics aren’t being “sung” by pets.

I don’t even mind that great tribute to holiday violence, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”.

Much.

 

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Remember to have a Merry Christmas!

 

 

Happy Birthday, Emily

 Despite the madcap wildfire of a year this has been, Emily still gets a birthday.

 And it's the first day of winter, which means that thanks to her, the days are going to get longer. 

Emily doesn't particularly like to get her picture taken (okay, I don't either), but I grab one, now and then. For instance, when she has a dog on her lap, and can't get away. She's an animal lover, so if I ever want her to stop for a second all I have to do is throw one in front of her. Definitely a good personality trait.

She's made a few mistakes in her life. She married me, for instance, and I moved her up to a place that has real winters. On the other hand, she embraces hot days the way I embrace chocolate, which I wouldn't do on hot days.

 

She's a good sport. I mean, she doesn't usually have to be, since we share so many of the same interests. Still, as I alluded to above, she's not fond of cameras, but still comes out with me to places where they may be taken. 

I can't begin to tell you how much I love it when we read together; watch history, science, or obscure documentary shows; do the tourist things at places that have in their names words like "forest", "cliffs", "state park", "trails" or "lake shore". I love geeking out with her about science and science fiction. And, well, I love her.

 

I know I've said this before, but I really don't know how I would have made it this far without Emily. Not just with our books, which she's largely responsible for, but with just keeping me going in general. She has her head together when I don't. She's tough when I'm not. She fixes things I can't--and I mean that both figuratively and literally. The other day she fixed our bathroom sink. I kicked it. Kicking didn't help.

 My plan for a birthday gift crashed and burned this year, but I did get her cheesecake! (And a different gift to come later.) So happy birthday, Emily, and thank you for bringing back the longer days.

 

 

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Remember: Another day older is another day better, at least until you hit your 50s.

An Ode to Odious Winter

As months go by and seasons change

We watch the outside rearrange

Nature knows a change is due,

And it’s not hard to see a clue

 

Like puppies frozen to a tree

While going out to take a pee;

Digging mammals, shivering bucks,

Will all soon know that winter sucks.

 

At first we think it’s not too bad.

We’ll tell ourselves we won’t be sad,

As plant life dies and smart birds flee

And utilities charge a higher fee.

 

So-called dumb beasts burrow down

To spent all winter in the ground

And never see the frigid season –

Who would want to? There’s no reason.

 

The deer that ran all summer, free

Look to the future, and when they see

The coming winter, run their hide

In front of cars: deer suicide.

 

"You just wait 'til November."

The people who have earned their pensions

Have long made known their full intentions

To head down south, and send postcards

From Florida, still in green yards.

 

They’re wearing sandals with white socks

Or maybe out-there Birkenstocks

While pink flamingos’ flag their grass

They tell the winter, “Kiss my butt!”

 

But we the workers must stay there

Where all is froze, from toes to hair

With no more comfort than to say

At least we’re not Canuks today.

 

Because it’s true, or so we hear

Our weather’s not the worst to bear:

The Weather Channel made some calls

And featured International Falls.

Just finish covering me with snow and leave me until spring.

 

Not one bit better do we feel

As we suffer through this bitter pill.

It’s bad enough to feel this pain,

To make it worse, we can’t complain!

 

And so we skate across the lots

While searching for our parking slots

More fender benders as we slide

From one curb to the other side.

 

We get the after-crash advice

To let it go, or else the price

Of our insurance hits the roof,

Or just gets canceled, and goes poof.

 

On that we have to take a pass –

We need our cash to pay the gas.

The meter spins at higher speeds

To meet the frozen public’s needs

 

For someplace warm to thaw our toes

And that’s not outside, Heaven knows.

Nor can our car’s heat melt the ice --

The price of fuel has risen twice

 

Just since we got home from our work,

Which took an hour, ‘cause some jerk

In an SUV, (thought he could do his thing)

Crashed in a ditch and caused a scene.

 

It may be true four wheel drive’s nice,

But doesn’t do a thing on ice

Especially when the guy inside

Has little brains, but lots of pride

 

And somehow thinks that he’s immune

To weather you don’t see in June.

And driving like a maniac,

He puts his truck up on its back.

 

Which leads the rest of us, quite snidely

To laugh at his misfortune widely.

Despite the danger that, down the road

It might be us who ends up snowed.

 

Once Christmas goes, there’s nothing new

For we poor Hoosiers to look forward to

Just slushy ground and blackened trees

And snow that comes up to our knees,

 

Ah, but then March arrives.

The end’s in sight, so we surmise.

We start to feel, and with good reason,

That we survived another season.

 

It’s true, the roads are covered now

With melted ice that no snow plow

Can get removed, but it’s just brief.

Besides, the thawing brings relief

 

From frostbit skin and higher bills,

And moods so dark that only pills

Could bring us through more rounds of snows

Without our family coming to blows.

Sometimes it doesn't pay to get off the porch.

 

But wait! Just as we regain our reason

Comes basketball playoff season.

The high school teams roam far and wide

And bring back temps that rip our hides.

 

How is it that the final games

Can bring us so much weather pain?

With snow and sleet and wind and ice,

And other crap that’s just not nice.

 

The groundhog may have said we’d get

An early end to this, and yet

As long as we have basketball

There’ll be an ice storm ‘fore the fall.

 

Spring is never early, though.

It will arrive and then we’ll know

We have some time to smile and thaw

Until the heat waves bakes us raw.

 

So it goes in the Hoosier state:

There’s always something new to hate.

 

 

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Remember: Nobody ever crashed into a ditch while reading a book at home.