White Christmas The Drifters
Bells are ringing, voices join together, and stratocasters bend Xmas notes, while Bing and Tony and just about anyone who can sing and a lot of others who (like myself) repeatedly attempt it, despite the results, go forth spreading the spirit in grocery stores, in mega shopping palaces, at the post office, in corner drugstores, and even outside on the street.
It’s easy to let the commercialism get to me, but I won’t go into that rant right now. I try to transform the sounds and sights into something greater than chaos and, at the same time, remember what’s absolutely basic to this holiday that, each year, seems to spiral out of control.
That’s probably it. Every year, it’s wild and out of control. I need to learn to throw all the intentions and wishes and presents, traffic, interpretations, aggravations and limitations up in the air, like confetti or snowflakes, and try to dig it all, because no matter what, there’s a spirit.
Christmas is a long (and growing longer) season of anticipation and hope that culminates in a relatively short time spent around the tree or by the fire or in my chair or wherever I find myself. It’s in this moment that everything stops and a huge emotion makes itself known. All this hubbub has prepared me well and I feel the underlying spirit of Christmas in its pure form and am not overwhelmed. I find that I’m digging it, while it’s happening, just as Frank Zappa advised.
Right then, each year, I make a resolution to bring a little of it with me into the New Year and add it to all the bits I’ve received from the wonderful Christmases that have come before.