well, you'd think....

Although not surprising, I'm surprised at how difficult it is to choose gifts for people. It's almost Christmas and all I have are ideas. Vague ones. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Just like the germs and bacteria in a microscopic landscape, I'll be able to squiggle and jostle about a crowded store and maybe, with a little Darwinian luck, I'll bump into the perfect items to give on Christmas morn. While the worst case scenario of that scenario would be that I would evolve into an evolutionist, it's unlikely. Basically, with so many trillions of other shoppers out there, I have a slight, if not miniscule, if not nonexistant chance of bumping into the right thing. More likely, there is the likelihood of a small run-in on a piece of trash that I will delicately wrap in expensive gift wrap to make myself believe it is a worthy give to give to someone I love so much that they will not even know what to do with it and will smile and say their thank yous and we will later be on our merry ways and depart henceforth, thankfully in opposite directions, for it would wrench my heart in bitter fashion to see my lovely gift thrown in the nearest rubbish bin. I love Christmas! It brings out the best in everyone. It is a bless-ed reminder to remind everyone to remember to remember the true meaning of Christmas. "Don't forget, children!" we say with tilted head and wide smile, a glint of merry joy in our eyes and a hushed whisper for effect, "it's in the name: Christmas!" With glee the children run around the Christmas tree, hands held high above their heads, which playfully bob side to side with the rhythm of their tireless dance of giving and love, and laugh their way to the floor where they smile contentedly before offering to take everyone their gifts and open their own last. Then they sit on their mommy's and daddy's laps and giggle squirmingly, eager to see the surprised delight in their parents' eyes as they cherish their young ones' gifts, dear to their hearts and forever guarded with the utmost care upon the fireplace mantel. They are small porcelain gifts, painstakingly painted and glazed and fired hot to perfection with little delicate strokes by little delicate fingers, and they look like the gods and godesses of ancient Zarathustra, with the truest of virtues etched exquisitely in the bottom corners in such a way that when the sun beams of an evening sunset caught them in just the right way, they would glint and shine in their parents caring hands. They were obviously simple gifts, nothing that showed any kind of special intelligence or talent for sculpting or artistry, but they were special, for it was almost as if they had been wrought with the very blood of the children. But of course they had not been, that would be foolish.

Well, that's how Christmas goes down in my home. What's your story like? I'm sure it's different, maybe just as good in its own way, but it's probably the only story that your family could ever tell. To whisper a different tale, well, that just wouldn't be right. Remember though, to include a reminder to remember to remember the true meaning of Christmas. Otherwise, all your greedy, grinchy, stressful, loveless, tedious, load-bearing, cold, boring, usual, run-of-the-mill, unwanted gifts might not mean quite so much.

(Note: I just wanted to write something because everyone else seems to have good stuff to say all the time. So I just let my miserly fingers type out what my grinchy mind came up with and if you hate me, fine. If not... I'll try harder next time.)