Sad songs say TOO MUCH!

When you think “Christmas,” what comes to mind? Santa Claus? Presents? Shopping? Christmas trees? Decorations? Being stuck sitting next to Awful Uncle Howard with the disgusting table manners? We’re all different and the holidays evoke different feelings and meanings for each of us. For me, Christmas is about family, sharing a Christmas Eve meal, exchanging gifts, enjoying the decorations (although, not so much putting them up as reveling in the resulting splendor!), watching the excitement on my daughters’ faces on Christmas morning as (hopefully!) their wishes come true… ALL of it. I’m a big kid about the holidays. They aren’t complete without watching every animated Christmas special I can find on our satellite channels and I will sit through Charlie Brown, The Grinch, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman one right after the other, if given the opportunity. I am probably in a select group of “adults” my age who remember Burgermeister Meisterburger or the fact that Hermey didn’t want to be an elf – he wanted to be a dentist. The tears poured down my face and I cried right along with Karen when Frosty melted in that horrible, awful, greenhouse, courtesy of that horrible, awful Professor Hinkle. At least Hocus was cute. But, to circle the wagons back around to my point – I am a big sentimental pile of goo about all things Christmas. One of the things that makes my holidays complete is music. I often start listening to my Christmas CDs and cassettes somewhere in early November, as they really do help build my spirits for all the work that is Christmas. I don’t like to shop at the best of times, so stores crammed with panicked shoppers, stressed-out parents and grumpy retail staff is my own special brand of hell. Just last Saturday I was in Wal-Mart (all seven of those words are so very WRONG at this time of year) and I actually heard two women (I will NOT call them ladies) fighting over something… it might have been a shopping cart… and one GRACIOUSLY told the other, at the top of her lungs, to “F*** OFF!!” – several times. I’ll spare you the offense of reading it… my ears were offended enough for all of us and I’m not usually bothered by “colorful” language. But JEEZ! It’s supposed to be a season of caring, isn’t it? Even just a LITTLE? Again with the wagons! Back to the music. Many folks I know are annoyed, beyond all sense or reason, by Christmas music. Not me (well, ok, truth be told I don’t dig the “muzak” versions… that’s often where I draw the line). I even prefer the “childish” versions of certain tunes. The ones geared to kids and sung with gusto and glee by every young person I’ve ever known (me and my sister included!). Then, I absolutely LOVE some of the more classical ones… Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s The Christmas Canon is a favorite now because I walked up the aisle to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D,” quite possibly one of my most cherished pieces of music EVER. A lovely young woman I used to work with side by side remarked, when I told her the story, “You walked up the aisle to a Christmas song????” She must have heard “Taco Bell” when I said “Pachelbel” so I did explain that it was classical music first. So, with all the joy I derive from the beautiful melodies of the season, I fail, with every fiber of my being, to understand WHY ARE THERE SO MANY SAD CHRISTMAS SONGS?!?!?!?! UGHHHHHHHHHH!! When my mom was ill, I was inadvertently introduced to a “happy” little ditty called “The Christmas Shoes.” With all due respect to Bob Carlisle, have you HEARD this song? I babbled like a brook (well, if oceans could “babble,” that would be closer to what I was doing) when I listened to the words. Not to infringe on Mr. Carlisle’s copyright – and mostly because I just can’t stand any more than this – here’s just a snippet: “Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time You see she's been sick for quite a while And I know these shoes would make her smile And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight” AHHHHHHHHH… even those words have my eyes filled with tears!! Basically, the child doesn’t have enough pennies for the shoes and the “singer” gives him what he needs. The whole point is that you are supposed to be reminded of “what Christmas is all about.” Uh huh. I sure didn’t need the reminder. Then there’s the one about the cat and the mouse. I don’t even remember the name but I remember the premise: in the cold of Christmas Eve, the cat lies on the mouse to protect him and keep him warm… and ultimately freezes to death himself. When Santa comes, he tells the mouse that the cat has died and that he will take him away with him. HO HO HO! Ain’t that delightful?! More like BOO HOO HOO, if you ask me. Not even a week ago, I had the “holiday” station on the satellite and there was a song called “The Little Boy that Santa Claus Forgot” by Nat King Cole. I struggled through the beginning…. “He's the little boy that Santa Clause forgot, And goodness knows, he didn't want a lot. He sent a note to Santa For some soldiers and a drum, It broke his little heart When he found Santa hadn't come” and waited for the happy ending. Thing is… THERE WAS NONE. Seems the little “laddie hasn’t got a daddy” and he gets nothing… ACK!!! I can’t take it anymore!! Why do we need SAD Christmas songs? I KNOW there is a multitude of people for whom the holidays bring no joy. They may be missing their loved ones… they may have no money to put gifts under a tree… they may be ill… or depressed… or even just grinchy. But does someone have to SING about it?! I’ve had my share of sad Christmases… we all have. But music should lift us up. It should be a celebration. It should pull our “sentimental natures” up from the depths of where we hide them, so much of the time, and allow them to come forth and be felt. We need to feel. Yes, emotions include sadness and it’s ok to feel that too. I miss my parents with every beat of my heart at the holidays (and pretty much every other day too) but that doesn’t REQUIRE musical representation! My parents LOVED Christmas. They instilled that love of the holiday in me and in my sister. We may have changed the way we celebrate, to make the holes less omnipresent, but we still celebrate. So, this holiday season, sad songs be damned! I wish, for each and every one of you, a REASON to celebrate. It may not be obvious. It may, in fact, be very hard to find. But, I truly believe, if you allow yourself feel even a sprinkling of holiday magic, you will find it. Let it carry you. ((((( Merry Christmas! )))))

Get the message?

What is with some business people and their outgoing voicemail messages? Have you ever been subjected to someone’s life story, when all you really wanted to do was leave your name and number after the beep? “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Bob Smith. I’m sorry I’m out of the office today. I am doing some incredibly important business in our secondary facility in Shaboogamoo. I will be checking voicemail approximately three times a day, in between my critically important meetings with the upper echelon of management there. If you leave your name, number and a detailed message, I will decide if you are worthy of a call. If so, I will reach you via my Blackberry™ because I’m cool that way. Alternately, you may get a reply from my secretary, simply because I want you to know that I have one.” Sigh. SO much more than I need to know. I don’t care if Bob is the CEO or the cafeteria maintenance person. If I’m calling him, I have his number and there’s a reason I need to speak to him. He doesn’t have to try so hard to impress me. This isn’t a pissing contest. You see, I’m self-employed. An independent contractor who works each day from the “home office facility.” My outgoing voicemail message is a polite but short blurb, apologizing that no one is currently available to take your call but inviting you, if you wish, to leave a message after the tone. This seems adequate to me and equally appropriate for a business or personal call. I got to thinking about people like Bob. Some corporations do indeed require that their employees leave their availability or “current status” in their announcement. I get that. Hell, I’ve DONE that. But, in many cases, people really just want to try to make an impression on their captive audience. Since I work from home, I figure I could make a wonderful, albeit LINGERING, impression if I left outgoing messages truthful to my "current status” at any given moment. Being serious, dedicated and a professional in all aspects of my work, I’d never really do it… but here are some I’d secretly just LOVE to try out: “Hello and thank you for calling. I am out of my office today and working from the dining room table facility. Please leave your name and number and, as soon as I find the cordless phone, I’ll call you back. BEEP!” “I’m sorry I’m not available to take your call right now. I’m currently hard at work, in collaboration with Proctor & Gamble. I have about six loads left to do and then I’ll return your call. BEEP!” “Hello. I am currently unavailable to take your call. An unexpected scheduling conflict arose when Fido decided to yack all over the home office carpet as I was about to start work. I will call you back after I disinfect my hands and settle my stomach. BEEP!” “Hello. I truly wish I could take your call. Please do not take this message to mean that I am uninterested in your new project, as I would dearly love to accept it. However, I am currently stuck entertaining yet another drop-in visitor who refuses to believe that “work at home” really does mean WORK at home. I will return your call as soon as I’m done looking bored, distracted and repeatedly checking my watch. BEEP!” … and, last but not least… “HELLO BOB. Thank you for finally getting around to returning my call. I’m sorry I didn’t have the luxury of waiting around for you to reach the lower “echelon” of your pecking order. Part of the reason I work from home is so that I can be productive, avoid unnecessary meetings and sleep-inducing lunches, and actually accomplish what I need to do each day. Following that, I attend a critically important, daily meeting at the dining room table facility – with my family, who seriously outrank you, Bob… because they’re cool that way. BEEP!”

The Santa Inquisition

My niece slept over at our house the other night. She’s 8. One of the things I love most about 8 year olds is their brutal honesty. She didn’t hesitate to announce “I’m BORED” when she tired of the video game that she and her cousin were playing. She was the first to compliment my dinner – I even got applause! 8 year olds don’t pull any punches – and they expect the same forthright behavior from everyone else. Hence the hairs standing up on the back of my neck when she asked, between mouthfuls of salad, “Auntie, you don’t have a fireplace. So how does Santa get in your house?” WOAH! A million questions flooded my brain! What has my sister told her? Is she wanting a serious answer? Is she still looking at me? Hey.... How DOES Santa get in our house?!?! In all truthfulness, I said, “You know, honey, I’m not really sure. Sometimes I think he unlocks the front door.” She replied, quite simply, “Nahhhh… I don’t think so.” “Well,” I asked, “what do YOU think?” She said, “At first I was thinking the basement windows – but he’s too fat for those!” Well fine! We'll get the “0 trans-fat cookies” for this Christmas Eve! We ultimately reached the consensus that, since he’s magic, he can come in any way he pleases – but our current agreement is that he probably uses the back door since it’s close to the stairs leading down to the tree. Crisis averted!! Or, so I thought… With barely enough time to swallow, she said, “Auntie, I asked my mom and I don’t think she knows….” Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh CRAP! “Who exactly are the elves? I mean, they aren’t Santa’s kids, right?” My husband chose this moment to helpfully chime in with “The elves work for Santa – he’s like their boss.” Well, my niece thought this quite ludicrous because “What boss would give THAT many people a place to live and food and stuff???” Good point, kiddo… and you’ve yet to swing through the trees of the corporate jungle! We convinced her that, yes, the elves are workers but Santa has lots and lots of room for them at the North Pole. Particularly since his whole “compound” is invisible anyway – a fact that we all learned from “Miracle on 34th Street.” I was seriously thankful for hanging on to our VHS tapes at that very moment! Just as I felt it was safe to dive back into my pasta… “Does Santa freeze time?” I know my sauce wasn’t spicy but I'm pretty sure I broke a sweat. Harking back to that “Miracle on 34th Street” education, I suggested that Santa slows down time… so a minute becomes an hour, an hour becomes a year, a year becomes a millennium. I sat, quite proud of my sometimes laggy, 42-year-old memory, until she responded, “Yeah. So basically, he freezes time.” I was losing my appetite. “My friends at school don’t believe Santa’s real, Auntie,” she said in a most dejected tone. NOW, the truth spilled out, without hesitation… “That’s really sad, Sweetie. Of course Santa’s real. No one sees him because he makes sure of that. I believe in Santa. Everyone has a Santa and Santa loves them very, very much.” “I’m going to sleep by the tree, Auntie. I told my friends I was going to take his picture and then they would believe.” ACK!!!!! “Oh… but you CAN’T do that, love… Santa’s been at this for a VERY long time and every child knows that Santa won’t come if you’re awake.” “But I’m a GOOD fake sleeper!” “Don’t you remember? ** insert spontaneous singing ** "He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awaaaaaake…” At this point, she got quiet, stirring her chocolate ice cream into sludge. “I guess so. If no kids have done it, after ALL that time, I guess I can’t either… Santa’s REALLLLLLLLLYYYY old, huh Auntie?” “Yes, honey, he is.” And, now, SO AM I – aged rapidly by the honest inquisition of an 8 year old!