Walking In A Blinkered Wonderland

Okay, see if you get this…

Shop and drop drones and liquor store left turns
parking lot escapade
entry exit
colliding spend thrift
consumption kings in tow

baked basket stuffing plump
face rumpled plodders and crowders
wanting and wailing
racking up retail
hole plugging sale
for whatever ails ya

when darkest days come
and bowl for every bum
neon blue twitter twink
chiming to the touchbasing
expediters of talk bustle rush

adornments and ornaments
decorating the void stuff
for girls and for boys
wrapped in red green and gold


Abstract seasonal poetry. Oh well, I’m trying to get the Nat King Cole chestnut roaster going, but my interest in things yule wanes in about sixty seconds.

Ba humbug to the shop-aholics. I said it. I don’t feel grouchy. I just don’t know what all the consumption face stuffing merchandising is about. I thought Christmas was about one day, maybe two, where friends and family get together, share a meal and sprinkle a little frosty joy on the kidlets. Now it’s a big sloppy shopping cash grab.

I blame Constantinople. Isn’t that the guy who re-rigged the calendar and timed a faith holiday with Saturna party dates for the solstice? Whatever. It’s a human construct, and funny beasts they are.

Reminds me, I’m in a Home Deplore store picking up sandpaper (I’m a toy elf) while the supervisor at the self-checkout engages in seasonal pleasantries with a customer. They must have been somewhat familiar, exchanging holiday plans and family updates. The customer turned to leave and the cashier uttered,

“Merry Chris….oops, we’re not allowed to say that,” the Anglo-Saxon red head guffawed.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” the obviously Hindi customer of south Asian descent responded, “Merry Christmas to you.”

“Thanks,” the cashier answered, “Happy holidays to you!”

Meanwhile the piped in music on the ceiling speakers is crooning White Christmas, Bing Crosby. Humans, such conflicted ceremonial beasts.

Hey, you ever sit on the knee of the ol’ jolly red fart himself? Probably at the local mall, hey? Anyway, me brother is highly ceremonious. And that’s what Christmas, Santa Claus, The Grinch, egg nog and yule are all about. Ceremonies. We keep ceremonies as a measure along our pathway—to gauge how far we’ve straggled off the civilized path. Bonding yearly to recount and account. That’s what keeps a tribe together and provides a general veil of security. If the traditions are upheld and the ceremonies performed, the society claims another year of existence.

There’s lots of ceremonies, lots of faiths. All a colorful tapestry and weaving and winding when viewed from a thousand miles out in space. Little lights go on, little lights go off. The traditions a like a cup that put boundaries on our behavior, how far do we hold dear the step by step of whacking a tree and adorning said guest of honor in corner of a room. I think crows share a similar multi-generational legacy.

It’s about the stories, the first memories, the over stimulation, sights of twinkles and smells of nutmeg to brand an identity within the tradition. Of course the kids are big on the neon, what impressionable entities wouldn’t be?

Do I believe in Santa? Are you nuts? I believe in the spirit of giving. I think Santa is fun, because there’s no religion in it. That little iota probably pisses off a few religious types, but you can’t beat down consumerism. The mall is the biggest church in the land. Gosh, I knew that even when I went to Sunday school.

The Wife believes in Santa. Technically, I dunno, like I’ve never pinned her down to a lie detector to see if she was, in fact, insane. However, she sports a glowing pro Santa existence demeanor. Some walk in a blinkered wonderland. I’ve long ago spelled out the arguments pro and con that a human in a multi-mach top secret aircraft couldn’t pull off what St. Nick purports. Only Fedex, maybe. Ah, let the wife have her chimey day. There some auras you don’t need to dissect. If keeps her happy and it keeps the middle class from rioting in the streets, let Santa pervail.

But I pause to consider the promise behind Santa. Why have faith that this gentle old patriarch will fulfill your wishes? I think the toys and promises come from the parents. It’s a tangible reward. Yet it’s the wish fulfillment that the child considers. The wish could be anything. If a bucket of rubber was the deal of the moment, all kids would want a bucket of rubber. Yet, the old Jolly one represents more. I think Santa represents a moment when our world was small enough to believe in benevolence, and that we mattered as a wee thing.

Happy Days,  Merry Christmas,  Sparkling Saturna, Boxing Sale Madness, whatever pleases you, I say. It’s the solstice and we get to crack open the good gooey stuff we stored from summer. Enjoy, and have fun in what brings you closer. And try not to just shop and buy crap to fill the wanting joy hole our hearts. Christ is a doorway, not a religion. Verily.


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