Egg Nog

The presents are all purchased, waiting to be wrapped and loaded into my sleigh. I’m going to the ol’ homestead as soon as I clock out tomorrow. It should be a good time. Lots of games, candy, turkey, desserts, candy, egg nog, candy, movies, presents, lights, and candy. This will be the first Christmas with Jack the Beagle. I bought him some little puppy antlers--Sssh! Don’t tell!

I submit, for your approval, a portrait of Christmas relaxation:

After stuffing yourself with turkey and such, you’re nestled all snug in your pile of pillows on the couch. Your sweater is warmed by the fireplace as you pour your attention into reading your Calvin & Hobbes book. The lights from the Christmas tree dance in the glass of egg nog by your end table. In the background, there are sounds of everyone else doing other festive things—playing board games, baking cinnamon rolls, and watching that Charlie Brown Christmas special, or maybe A Christmas Carol with Patrick Stewart. Somewhere outside, jingle bells are heard as a horse-drawn wagon full of drunken carolers turns onto your street.

This, of course, doesn’t quite work at our house. We don’t live in a neighborhood, and there isn’t a fireplace by the Christmas tree. But Christmas is about obscure, archetypal (yet infinitely variable) moments that dwell within your childlike sense of idealism. Maybe you don’t like sweaters, maybe you always listen to Gene Autry instead of Bing Crosby, maybe you prefer Crown Royal over egg nog (I like ’em both!). That’s what you call the many faces of Christmas, I guess. Oh, but these days it’s politically incorrect to say the word Christmas, so…

Happy Pro-Liberal Secularized Commercial Holiday Season, everybody.

Wait, screw that. Happy Jesus Day.