You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy!
Waking up to a silent house on Christmas.
As the kids got older, they began to show less enthusiasm for rushing down the stairs. There’s something about teenagers and sleep that makes me think Snow White wasn’t the only one to bite into the poisoned apple.
How can you sleep in on Christmas Morning? It’s not like it’s a school day and the hot water is out and you all ready missed the school bus. It’s Christmas Morning! It’s the Oasis in the middle of the calendar where all good things exist.
To this day, I want to wake up and run down the stairs, I want to pull presents from under the tree and act like a 3 year old who is getting a garage full of Tonka Trucks.
When I was a youngster and a little more crazy than I am now, I woke up before the dawn. I went downstairs and literally opened all my own presents by myself in the dark. Then I opened my sisters presents.
My dad woke up and there was a look of “i oughta…..”
He still had the wrapping paper cuts from the night before.
Needless to say, I am one of the few Americans who has ever been sent to timeout before Christmas morning ever began.
Hard to imagine huh?
So that is why to me, Christmas morning should be an electric egg beater of energy.
It’s a race horse in a stall moments before the shoot door opens and the bell sounds launching this powerful creature forward.
In my perfect Christmas snow globe, Christmas morning is only quiet for a minute before the tree is plugged in and the music turned on.
Since I can no longer rush down the stairs with wild eyed delight, Now I can rush up the stairs and begin banging on doors like a Camp Lejeune Drill Sergeant.
Let’s go you Mamby Pamby’s. Santa was here! Get out of those bunks. Let’s go go go. We’re going to take that tree at all costs. Let’s roll ladies!”
To me, Christmas should erupt in a house. It should sound like starting a 10 year old chain saw on a quiet morning.
MERRY CHRISTMAS – VROOOOOM!!
Birds should scatter from the trees and chipmunks should hide their acorns.
It should sound like marine amphibious units hitting the beach.
To me Christmas has long has been a magical flash of everything is possible. It’s a neon pulse of Santa Claus scented confetti raining down in a red and green thunder cloud of good memories.
Feliz Navidad” by Jose Feliciano. I don’t know what the hell he is saying, but I just know that he’s happy and perhaps tipping back Tecates South of the Border somewhere.
Feliz Navidad everyone!
Christmas to me is the Christmas of my youth. when I was 7 or 8 years old. That’s when the anticipation of Christmas morning was like that ANTICIPATION Heinz commercial where the ketchup took forever to cover that burger. Your taste buds activated and began churning a salivating goo of gingerbread.
And it was like that when my children were young as well. I remember kids rushing from their rooms like the running of the bulls in Pamplona. The precocious fight to be first to the landing ot see what Santa brought was a legendary battle. And then the rush down the stairs where we were lucky nobody blew out an ACL. Then it was tearing of paper and shrieking of delight like a Mariah Carey wedding night.
It was good natured rants of “His pile is bigger” and “he just opened up a present, it’s my turn”
And then there is the music. The sound of the season sets the tone and invokes the memories.
And I’m old fashioned. I like Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole and Dean Martin delivering my songs of the season. I like orchestral equanimity that makes me think of virgin snow blanketing a Vermont hillside filled with Christmas trees all beautifully decorated by wood elves.
There’s something about an old fashioned crooner belting out White Christmas with a full orchestra behind a powerful voice that gives me a happy feeling. It sends chills up my spine like Hot Apple cider laced with a little secret medicine.
Just to hear that full orchestra purr to Christmas perfection like a bow tied perfectly on the box, does my heart good. The music creates a memory more layered than a deep dish lasagna.
As far as I am concerned old school Christmas Music is the only Christmas music.
Come on; Bing Crosby sings white Christmas or Run DMC?
Give me old school. That’s the velvet-smooth-voice singing so powerfully, you almost think peace on Earth is possible.
Do you really want to hear the chalk board screech of Snoop Dog and his version of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. The song is full of bleeps and drum machine staccato. It promotes a holiday memory like Barbara Streisand spitting on the sidewalk. Do you really want Kid Rock singing his version of silent night? I can almost hear gunfire in the background as little people with Jack Daniels in one hand and a Glock in the other take turns shooting at elves.
Santa Baby by Eartha Kitt makes me quiver with anticipation. I feel like a kid and wonder whether that bike I wanted is under the tree.
Kate Smith “Christmas Eve in my Home Town” just sounds like Christmas at my grandmother’s house. It reminds me of a store bought turkey from Zabars and fine china that looked like it was borrowed from a museum. It makes me think of my grandfather clearing his throat and carving the roast with a carving knife handed down through the generations. It makes me think of clinking glasses toasting family and a new year full of promise.
So on this Christmas Morning, in the wake of a quiet calm of new memories, I long for the shrieks and the doors exploding open and the wide eyed enthusiasm of anticipation of what’s under that bow.
But the house is quiet. The sound of sleigh bells extinguished by a blanket of calm so thick, it makes me want to get back in bed and close my eyes.
That’s where the dreams are, in my head, in the darkness, in the past.
And that is crazy!