There’s a little house in Cross Plains where they decorate for Christmas by posing giant teddy bears all around their house, wearing Santa suits and singing carols- doing Christmassy things. Every kind of bear you could imagine is there. I don’t know where they keep them all, because it’s such a small house. Last year, it rained, and they wrapped every single one of those giant teddy bears in clear plastic. I was so impressed.
I love obscure Christmas music (as you may have noticed).
One year when I was a kid, Uncle Dennis gave everyone each a copy of a Debbie Gibson single. Someone else got a mini golf set from Santa, so we spread out the Debbie Gibson records on the floor and played mini golf, using the big hole in the middle of the records as the golfing holes- they were the perfect size. When we had been golfing for awhile, I picked up one of the records and started to put it on the record player, only to be stopped by Dennis, “NO! No.” “But it’s a record,” I said. “I want to listen to it!” “No,” he said. “Some records are not meant to be listened to.” Then he laughed nervously, as though still fearful that I might actually play the record.
I love egg nog spiked with rum.
I love Christmas ales.
I love all of the terrible Santas. There was the mall Santa who told Little Z that Santa lives in Florida. (I was sort of wondering if that Santa actually lived in Margueritaville.) The next year, there was the Santa who went to get her cigarettes out of her purse. Little Z, then four or so years old, looked at me and whispered, “That is not Santa Claus!” I had to admit: she was an imposter.
I love making our Christmas card.
I love most of all how we distract ourselves so thoroughly from this horrible, deep and long darkness, and make it the most light and festive time of the year- as though we can change reality. And we do. The coldest darkness becomes the warmest light.
Merry Christmas, friends!