Christmas, Loss, and Frosty

It’s January 1st. Time to strike the Christmas set. Time to strip the house of all of our little gee-gaws and doo-dads — the reindeer mugs, the Christmas Tree candles, the holiday tablecloth, the Christmas cards from our near-and-dear who are scattered hither and yon all over the world. Finally, it is time to take down the tree.

Every year when we take down the tree, I am filled with sadness. There is something so utterly poignant about denuding this beautiful, well — this creature, who has been a most hospitable house guest for the past three weeks. She has silently endured the indignity of being festooned with ornaments and strung with colored lights. She has endured countless hours of my playing the Beach Boys’ Christmas album. She has spread her branches like outstretched arms welcoming our brightly colored packages. She has allowed our cat, Henry, to sleep under her wings, peacefully enjoying her delightful aroma of earth and pine. She has weathered the unending hours of having the fireplace blazing only four feet away, literally sucking the life out of her by depriving her of her moisture. She has beamed her beauty for all, including our little neighbor, Stone, who came over frequently during the holiday season, I suspect, at times, just to feast his eyes on her. But now, it is time for her to leave us.

This year, for the first time, I actually cried as we undressed her. I had thought that this year we would be more lighthearted when it came time to say goodbye. We had made a point this year of spending lots of time with her and enjoying her company. And she never disappointed. So I thought when the first of the year rolled around, we would be able to part company with a sense of completion.

But this is the year that I lost my mother. Whatever that something is we feel when we have to let someone or something go, it was especially hard for me this year. The fact that we had tried so hard to honor her and treat her with the respect and admiration she deserved did nothing to ameliorate the sorrow of her loss. Am I talking about the tree or about my mother? For today, anyway, it feels like it’s all the same. Loss is loss. The harder I try to grab life with both hands and hold on tight, the more I feel it slipping away from me and vanishing into the Great Beyond.

But part of the joy of life, and of Christmas, is that it is not permanent. It has its season, and then it’s gone. But, as with just about anything in life I can think of, it reappears at some point, maybe different in some aspects, but also, thankfully, very much the same in others. Every year I say, “This is the most beautiful Christmas tree we’ve ever had!” — and every year it is true.

So now, I have dried my tears and just about put away Christmas for the year. I will miss our lovely green friend. I will try to remember the parable of “Frosty The Snowman”, according to the Beach Boys: “But he waved goodbye saying ‘Don’t you cry, I’ll be back again some day!’”.

HOLIDAY SHOPPING LIST

Most every Christmas — okay, *every* Christmas, so far — I have been stressed out and overwhelmed. Every Christmas I vow not to do it. Every Christmas, I do. Oh, I start out with the best of intentions. I make a detailed list, not only for gifts, but also for cards. I study the catalogs as if I were studying for the final exam of my life. I discuss it all calmly and rationally with Art. I make sure to learn the identity of the adult whom I will gift in Art’s family early. Like, right after Thanksgiving dinner. I plan for the lights, the tree, and I buy plenty of Christmas wrapping paper. I brave the madhouse of malls and department stores, driving in endless circles looking for a parking space. I scour the stores for those elusive perfect gifts (which are never right, anyway). Every year the holidays become,”an orgy of excess and waste”, to quote our president-elect. (Anyway, I think I got that quote right).

Every year on December 25th, right after the exchange of our gifts, Art brings in a big black trash bag. Out go the beautiful ribbons and bows, the artful wrappings, the raffia and tissue paper, a couple of rolls of Scotch tape, and the mountains of boxes are, at least, recycled.

The gifts are always thoughtful, lovely, and certainly appreciated. But while we sip our Christmas tea while gazing into the 5,000 watts of electric lights and staring at our beautiful gas-lit fireplace — while the radio brings us “Away in the Manger no room for a bed. . .” or “The Little Drummer Boy”, I think about all of the people whose Christmas will be anything but merry. Then the guilt begins.

On top of the stress of the holidays that everyone talks about ad nauseum, I have a little green Christmas monster. I hear his whiny little ET voice: “You are so lucky and blessed. What have you given to the needy, to promote the cause of peace, to help save the planet. Well???”. I picture this little monster tapping its tiny feet, its green arms crossed over its chest, its mouth scowling as it waits for a reply. (I take it as a rhetorical question so that I don’t have to answer). Usually in the week between Christmas and New Years, I put on a good five pounds trying to stuff down the little critter with pumpkin pie and egg nog. And then I make my one consistent New Year’s resolution: Next year I will make charitable donations instead of buying way too many expensive and unnecessary gifts. Next year I will celebrate in a more responsible and compassionate way.

So yesterday I was staring at the great pile of catalogs on our coffee table. (Never mind that I have been steadily trying to stop them from coming in the mail. They continue at an alarming rate! One catalog company stops sending, but a new one always comes to take its place. One company spawns another company, and now instead of one catalog, I have two). But sandwiched between Land’s End and Plow and Hearth, obscured by Pottery Barn on top and Herrington and LL Bean and Lord knows what else, I found a very slim catalog with a picture of a llama on the front. It proudly announces itself as “The Most Important Gift Catalog In The World”. If I had blinked, I might have missed it. This is the Heifer International catalog.

The idea is simple: This organization provides farm animals, as well as much needed tree seedlings and honeybees, along with education for needy communities around the world. By providing families with such valuable resources, many people can lift themselves out of abject poverty. In turn, for example, if a family’s donated goat gives birth, the new kids can be donated to a neighbor, and so forth. What a wonderful gift! You can buy a “share” of a goat or a “share” of a tree seedling for $10.00. (You can find them on the Web at www.heifer.org/catalog).

There are many other worthy causes that have programs for sending holiday gifts to loved ones. I am especially drawn to Unicef, whose mission is to care for needy children all over the world. Unicef has gift “tribute cards”. Each card costs $25.00, but if your budget is tight, or you have too many people on your list, you can buy a package of five cards for only $75.00, which comes out to $15.00 each. (I did the math — which is saying something for me!). They also have more tangible gifts available on their Web site that help support needy children. You can find Unicef on the Web at www.unicefusa.org.

Oh, don’t get me wrong — There will still be some totally frivolous and unnecessary gifts to friends and family. And I’m not going to stop accepting my husband’s unfailing generosity. There will still be a certain amount of sheer selfish delight. (I’m still a long, long way from sainthood!).

But I always remember the end of “Schindler’s List”. The moment when Oscar Schindler discovers the heavy ornate ring on his finger, and he realizes too late that he could have pawned it to save lives, but that now, the opportunity — and the need — has passed. He shouts in frustration, “I could have done more! I could have done more!” So this is the year I am going to fulfill my long-standing new year’s resolution. Finally. And when you think about it, you’re getting so much “bang for your buck”. While you are helping an anonymous needy person or community somewhere else in the world, you are also giving friends and loved ones the warm glow that is truly in the spirit of Christmas, while finally, finally, getting the very same glow yourself. (And silencing that annoying little gremlin in your head — at least until next Christmas).

TAKING DOWN THE TREE

TAKING DOWN THE TREE or

THE TREE IS DEAD – LONG LIVE THE TREE!

Today is January 2nd. At last, the holidays, which began some five to nine weeks ago, are over (depending on whether you started counting on Halloween or Thanksgiving). This is our traditional day for taking down the Christmas tree. It is the death knell of the old year. Time to put the ornaments back down in the basement, put away the holiday dishes and the cute little mugs with Santa’s sleigh on them. Time to take down the beautiful green wreath and carefully put away the big, red, velvet bow that graces the Christmas wreath every year. These are melancholy tasks. The saddest moment of all is when we have to drag our seven-foot evergreen out the front door, down the steps, and cut it up into pieces small enough to be placed in the green dumpster on the street for recycling. It hurts my heart.

I tell myself, of course, that the tree was dead to begin with. When it comes right down to it, we buy ourselves an enormous cut flower arrangement every year which graces our living room for several weeks. By cut flower standards, that’s an eternity. And we are so lucky to have had this one for as long as we did. Every year when we finish decorating the tree I tell Art that it is the most beautiful tree we have ever had, and every year it is true. I think that’s because every year I come to appreciate the tree and its symbolism more and more.

Every year at exactly the same time the world celebrates the birth of a baby. Even Jewish people such as myself find it hard to resist the pull of such a holiday. It’s not just the festivities, the gifts, or the Christmas tree, but it’s the much deeper meaning of the celebration. It is the celebration of the rhythm of life. It is the acknowledgement that even in the dead of winter, there is hope. We can afford to be generous, because life is bountiful and replenishes itself with the dependability of the earth’s orbit. Winter heralds spring. And that’s where the evergreen comes in. We see the fulfillment of spring’s promise summed up in this sturdy little tree, which offers soft green pine needles and a heavenly aroma – just when we need it the most. The tree is sacrificed so that we can be reminded every year.

So we celebrate a baby’s birth just as it looks like everything is dying around us. This year, with the tragedy of the tsunamis, it couldn’t be more poignant.

But this year when we take down our tree, as every year, she will shed her pine needles all over the carpet as she is carried to the street. The smell of Christmas will be with us for months to come. We will vacuum the floors, but the essence of the holidays will linger until next Halloween, at least, when we will begin thinking about Christmas again.

Yesterday my sister and her “significant lover”, Jesse, were married in their home. There was a beautiful Christmas tree prominently displayed in front of the window. The whole house was decked out in flowers in various shades of dark red and burgundy flanked by greens. A fire blazed in the hearth. The atmosphere was relaxed and guests ranged in age from twin girls of eight months to the family matriarch, my mom, who has asked that we refrain from citing her age. As the winter sun sank in the west, the windows were open to the cool breezes off the ocean. As I knew I would, I wept throughout the ceremony. The feeling was one of overwhelming love, not just between Michele and Jesse, but overflowing from them to the families, and from the families back to them, and from Jesse’s family back to our family, and from our family back to Jesse’s, until there was a complete, happy circle of love all around. It was the end of one life and the beginning of another.

I imagine that like us, Michele and Jesse will be taking down their Christmas tree soon. The one they bought when they were single will be recycled, but next year it will be reincarnated in all its splendor as they approach the first Christmas of their brand new married life together. They couldn’t have picked a better day for a wedding.

© 2005, Robin Munson

PEACE

PEACE

It is December 26th. There is a hush over our house. My husband is asleep, and our cat, Henry, is curled up at the foot of the bed.

I have just made a brief tour of the wreckage that was Christmas Day, 2004. There are bits of raffia scattered all over the kitchen counter and strewn throughout the house. Pieces of red and green wrapping paper and bits of shiny ribbon no bigger than a thumbnail are distributed everywhere. Our coffee table is littered with melted-down candles of every size and description, and there are rings of purple on the blond wood from last night’s wine glasses. Unwrapped gifts are now placed haphazardly under our tree, which has dried out quite a bit since we first brought it home. We ourselves are happily worn-out and sloppy. I think we probably both gained a pound or two from all the holiday candy, cakes and cookies, which were showered down upon us like manna from heaven.

Outside, I can hear the world moving on. There are trucks and cars already out on the freeway shushing along, although the sun is barely up on this Sunday morning. I wonder where can they possibly be going. But then, I realize that there are people whose lives don’t go on hold just because of the holidays – hospital workers, convenience store clerks, news anchors, the people who magically appear to take your order when you’re just too blown out to cook breakfast.

Today I will slowly regain my equilibrium. At a leisurely pace, I will sweep, vacuum and scrub the floors, wipe the counters, put away the wrapping paper, discard the used candles, clean the glass rings from the coffee table, change the sheets, change the kitty litter, water the Christmas tree and all the other dried-out houseplants, and do the laundry which has been completely neglected for the past week.

It feels as though I’ve been on a merry-go-round for the past month and a half. Time to slow down, breathe, put away the party hats, and get ready for the coming new year. It feels very good, returning to normal, after all the hoopla.

Yesterday my Christmas prayer was for peace. For now, in this house, at least, my prayer has been answered.

© 2004, Robin Munson

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Dear Friends,

I am posting the lyric to one of my songs which I think is in keeping with the season. It was inspired by a comment made by Norman Rockwell towards the end of his life. He was responding to the criticism of his work as being unrealistic and too idyllic. (I paraphrased his answer).

This is my Christmas card to you. I wish you the happiest holiday. May God (or whoever runs the Universe) grant us all peace in the coming year.

Dona Nobis Pacem — Robin

LIKE I SEE IT/ROCKWELL

HE WAS A YOUNG MAN FROM NEW ENGLAND

AND HE HAD AN EYE FOR LIFE

AND HE MADE SUCH PRETTY PICTURES OF IT ALL

AND THE PICTURES TOLD A STORY, AN AMERICANA DREAM

AND HIS WORDS WERE PLAIN AND SIMPLE

WHEN THEY ASKED HIM WHAT IT MEANS

(HE SAID). . .

I PAINT IT LIKE I SEE IT

LIKE I WANT THE WORLD TO BE

CAUSE I CAN’T ACCEPT THIS DARKNESS

THAT’S BEEN PLACED IN FRONT OF ME

OH YES I WANT IT, SO I PAINT IT

AND I PRAY THAT SOME SWEET DAY

THE WORLD WILL BE MORE BEAUTIFUL

AND I CAN PUT THIS BRUSH AWAY.

AND HE HELD A MAGIC MIRROR UP

SO THAT ALL OF US COULD SEE

THE SIDE OF US THE HEADLINES WOULDN’T SHOW

THE MOTHER AND THE BABY, THE FATHER AND THE SON

AND HE TOLD WHAT HE BELIEVED IN

WHEN ALL WAS SAID AND DONE

(HE SAID). . .

I PAINT IT LIKE I SEE IT

LIKE I WANT THE WORLD TO BE

CAUSE I CAN’T ACCEPT THIS DARKNESS

THAT’S BEEN PLACED IN FRONT OF ME

OH YES I WANT IT, SO I PAINT IT

AND I PRAY THAT SOME SWEET DAY

THE WORLD WILL BE MORE BEAUTIFUL

AND I CAN PUT THIS BRUSH AWAY.

OH, WE CHOOSE THE LIFE WE’RE LIVING

WE SAIL THE COURSE WE SET

AND I BELIEVE THE BEST CAN HAPPEN

CAUSE IN THE END, WE MAKE THE LIFE WE GET

AND NOW I SING THIS SONG FOR CHILDREN

AND FOR CHILDREN WHO’VE GROWN OLD

AND CHILDREN ARE SO FRAGILE

THAT THEY BELIEVE THE THINGS THEY’RE TOLD

(THAT’S WHY I). . .

SING IT LIKE I HEAR IT

LIKE I WANT THE WORLD TO BE

AND I WON’T ACCEPT THIS DARKNESS

THAT’S BEEN PLACED IN FRONT OF ME

OH, YES I WANT IT, SO I SING IT

AND I PRAY THAT SOME SWEET DAY

THE WORLD WILL BE MORE BEAUTIFUL

AND I CAN PUT THIS SONG AWAY

THE WORLD WILL BE MORE BEAUTIFUL

AND I CAN PUT THIS SONG AWAY.

© 2004, Art and Robin’s Music

A WORD ABOUT THE HOLIDAYS – ANOTHER ONE

A WORD ABOUT THE HOLIDAYS (ANOTHER ONE)

I just got off the phone with my sister. We were comparing notes about our progress with the holiday madness. Both of us have been having the same experience. We have a list. We are organized. We go down our gift lift methodically. We buy a thoughtful gift for each designated recipient. We wrap it carefully. We cross that person off the list.

But the list keeps growing! What about that guy down the street who helped me fix my flat back in March? What about those long lost childhood friends I sent a present to last year? What about the friend of the neighbor who died two years ago who used to come by on a regular basis? What about the little girl we pass every day on our walk through the neighborhood? If this is the season for giving, where does the giving end?

And then there’s the “second guessing”. Two days ago I bought little presents for the teenage stepdaughters of my sister. I thought they were cute. Yesterday I was afraid they might be hokey, or that the kids would be insulted thinking they were “baby” presents. So I added another present for each of them, which meant I had to add another present for their younger brother. This sent me to the mall yet one more day, one day closer to Christmas. Need I tell you what a scene it was just to find a parking place?

Now, let’s talk about the “M” word. That’s right. Money. Oh, dear, not a very seemly word for such an exalted time of year! But as the list grows, so does the expense. I always start out (remember, I began shopping this year in October) very optimistically thinking I will be smart in my shopping. I will find just the right presents that are reasonably priced. I will budget myself. Come December 26th, I will feel that I have given generously, yet wisely. (Kind of like the three kings – No silly video games, no overpriced jewelry, etc., but only the most exquisite, yet symbolic of gifts). By this time every year, I am concerned for our future. I can see the repercussions of my excesses haunting us long into our golden years. (“Remember Christmas of 2004? That’s the reason we had our phone service turned off in May of 20014!”)

By December 21st, I am your typical consumer. I am out there with my credit card, just praying for an idea for one last gift. I don’t care if I have to overpay for it, so long as I get to scratch it off the list and move on with my life (and get out of the mall). It’s not a pretty picture. Yesterday I was sitting in my car in the mall parking lot, just staring out into space and wondering what to do. I only had two people on my list to buy for. You’d think it would be easy, but it wasn’t. I felt totally overwhelmed. I sat there staring and having a severe hot flash. But my brain wasn’t really working. I got home and realized I was still one gift shy of my goal.

On top of that, this morning I woke up and thought of a couple of friends we had heretofore overlooked on our list. I couldn’t believe it. Art gave me that vacant stare that signals he has already washed his hands of the whole thing. This is one of my sacred obligations as a wife – to deal with the stuff that’s too important to ignore, yet too tedious to be dealt with. (Does anybody out there relate to that one?)

Anyway – I’m off to the mall again today. This time, I swear, it’s the last time for this year. And by Christmas, whatever I’ve overlooked or forgotten will just have to go on my permanent record as an official Christmas blooper.

Where’s Santa when I need him?!

© 2004, Robin Munson

HO-HO-HO-HUM

HO-HO-HO-HUM

Dear Readers,

This is a gentle reminder that, especially at this hectic time of the year, it is vitally important for all of us to be well rested and not to overextend ourselves. Like I did yesterday.

For those of you who may have been reading my posts for a couple of months, you may recall that I said that this year I would not be rushing at the last minute to do my shopping (as in years past). Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Yesterday, one week and one day before Christmas, found me making a large loop centered around the mall. I had to go to the post office, the drug store, the grocery store, a restaurant for a gift certificate, then to the mall. Well, I had my route all planned and was in the Christmas spirit. I had just finished a successful mall run and was congratulating myself when I realized I wasn’t done yet. I had forgotten to go to the pet store to get a gift for my mother’s little dog, Mugsy. (It’s really more for Mom than it is for Mugsy, truth be told). Anyway, after that, I was really starting to feel the fatigue setting in. A little voice in my head said, “Robin – Go Home!”, but I refused to listen. Next thing I know, I was trying to park my car in the last available space on the street. I had to back up to pull in, and I started to do that, then looking back realized I would have to move forward a little to give room to the car behind me. As I pulled forward I heard a “Thunk!”. That was the sound of my left fender crunching the tail light of the big black Mercedes in front of me.

You can imagine what ensued. The offended elderly couple got out of their car and began to berate me. I began apologizing and shaking and feeling like I was four years-old. We exchanged information, and very slowly, I pulled away and went home with my tail tucked between my legs.

Now, it’s cold and flu season, and Art has had a cold, so on top of the holiday bustle, I have been running on less than all four cylinders. (If one person in a relationship has a cold, essentially, you both do – because every time he wakes up to cough, you wake up, and your sleep is interrupted.) So I was tired and I had a lapse where the synapses weren’t firing.

Take it from me. Sleep. Rest. And if that little voice in your head starts to nag you to go home, go home. There are still seven shopping days left till Christmas.

© 2004, Robin Munson

POST-THANKSGIVING BLUES

It is one day past Thanksgiving. We have the traditional Day-After-Thanksgiving food hangover. Our refrigerator is now stocked with enough to provide a small Russian army for the rest of a long winter campaign. We are fat and sassy and not too ambitious.

I’d very much like to hibernate for the rest of the weekend, but there is a catch: Christmas. Christmas is looming, its bright green and crimson head is peeking out from behind the pumpkin, grinning at me and saying, “Well? Pick up the pace! I’m practically here!” And you know, I hate to say it, but, well, I’m a little bit behind in my plans.

You see, Art and I are making a trip back east next week, and we don’t plan to be back home until December 13th. Well, that’s a scant twelve days before Christmas. We’ll barely have time to pick out a tree by then – if there are any trees left to be picked out.

I looked at my list yesterday. (The famous one that I check twice and promptly lose before hitting the mall). I thought I was doing so well. Then I realized that I haven’t even picked up Christmas cards yet. On top of that, I had completely forgotten that there is the whole Nashville contingency on my list to be considered. The lights are still in their boxes from last year.

Art and I have never had a Christmas party. This is why. There’s so much to be done just to do “normal” Christmas stuff. (I’m sorry – I keep saying Christmas, and I really should be saying Chanu-Mas or Chris-Chan or something – it all gets wrapped up into one big holiday pudding with us. We make no religious distinctions when it comes to the holidays).

In spite of all that, we had planned a holiday party one year when we were in Tennessee. We had hired the caterer (Indian vegetarian). We had Xeroxed copies of the lyrics to about twenty Christmas carols and had them on top of the piano, ready to go. The house was spic and span. The tree was up. The menorah was in the window. The lights were lit. The music was on the stereo. Then, the night before – at the exact same time – Art and I both came down with the flu. We were both sick as dogs. I had to call my dearest friend and neighbor and beg her to call everyone on the list so that they wouldn’t show up at our door that night. We had to apologize and grovel to the people who were scheduled to cater the party. (They were extraordinarily kind. We were extraordinarily lucky).

We thought about having a holiday party this year. We talked about it for several days. We planned to invite all of our friends and family in the area. Then we realized. What were we thinking? How on earth could we plan an entire party before we leave for Connecticut, and then execute said plans and actually have the party before Christmas? Were we out of our minds?!

Our friend, Judith, suggested having the party in January, after the holidays. She reasoned that January is the letdown month when there is nothing to look forward to. For a minute, I thought that was the perfect solution. Then Art and I talked it over and remembered fondly how relieved we were last year when the holidays were over. The holidays are like a great vacation. You have so much fun anticipating, then you have so much fun being there, and then – you can’t wait to come home. January is the month of coming home. I think we should leave it that way. As for a holiday party – maybe next year.

© 2004, Robin Munson

JINGLE BELLS

Well – Ho, ho, ho! It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but I’m already doing my holiday shopping. I love the holidays. I actually enjoy the hustle-bustle, the anticipation, making a list and checking it twice, losing it, and making a new list and checking it twice. . .Forgetting the list when I go to the mall. . .Finding the list New Year’s Day. . .

There seem to be two schools of thought when it comes to the holidays. One is the School of Early Shopping. It makes sense to me. First of all, you get a better selection. If you’ve ever waited until the week before Christmas to do your shopping, you know that when you finally do find something you like, they’re out of the size you want. When you find something in the size you want, it’s all too clear why it’s still on the shelf. Besides, there are no sales from Thanksgiving to Christmas. “Yes, there are!” I can hear you protesting. Well, here’s my theory about sales between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The stores take the wholesale price of the item, mark it up 500%, and then sell it for “half price”. Everybody wins. They make a killing, and you feel good. (But you still don’t get it in the right size).

The other good thing about early shopping is that you’re not in a panic Christmas Eve. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been frazzled, crazed, and pacing the floors on Christmas Eve wondering if I did everything I was supposed to do. Did I get the pumpkin pie and the mandarin orange slices? Did I remember the bunion kit for Aunt Sally? Did I remember to leave something in the mailbox for the letter carrier? Were the stockings, in fact, hung by the chimney with care? Did I get my annual cat toy so that our cat can ignore it and dive into the wrapping paper? Oh my God – Did I remember a Chanukah gift for my stepmother? But wait – Chanukah was two weeks ago! Oy! (Pace, pace, pace). It’s so cute, Art always thinks it’s because I can’t wait for Christmas. “Like a little kid”, he always says. “Yes”, I always say, “Just like a little kid!”

Then there is the School of Late Shopping. That’s Art’s alma mater. He likes nothing better than to wait until one week before Christmas, play hooky from work for a day, and hit the malls. (This is usually on a Tuesday or Wednesday so as to avoid the absolute chaos of weekends – He’s not totally crazy). Art likes to walk into Macy’s, say, and pretty much close his eyes, point, and wherever his finger lands, he will buy it. At home, he will go through the odd array of presents and divvy them up. (“Say, wouldn’t that make a nice present for Aunt Sally? She might like a dart board this year instead of a bunion kit!”).

There’s a lot to be said for the Late School. For one thing, it’s over in a matter of hours, as opposed to weeks. For another, you don’t torture over every little decision. (“What kid doesn’t want a cheese slicer?”). For another, you wake up refreshed and happy on Christmas morning having experienced no stress whatsoever. Your shopping is done. Your head is clear. You’re ready to party.

Well, as my father used to say, “That’s what makes horse races”. Neither one of us will ever change, so we’ll always balance each other out. That’s what makes good marriages.

I almost forgot. There’s a third school of Holiday Shopping: The School of Skip It Altogether. (A variation on that theme is: Wait Until After Christmas and Get the Sales). To that I say, “Bah! Humbug!”