Christmas?

I thought I saw a flash of light there for second. A flicker almost vanishing before I could capture it with my eye.

It's as if Christmas had been strapped to a giant rocket en route for the turn of the year and there was nothing I could do to slow it down. It would seem that Ol' St. Nick has turned in his whimsically archaic, mammal driven, flying contraption that has flown threw children's stories and imaginations for decades for a metal tube of flying, exploding keratinocyte propane and fiery wonderment bouncing through the month of December at mach 6 leaving nothing but a smoldering wake of broken boxes, torn wrappings, pine needles scattered about our living room floors and the disillusionment that questions whether commercialization really is the best way. The only way.

Yes my calendar was full for months. Especially December. These boyhood memories of Christmas set free in my noggin but caged within the inescapably accelerated, contextualization of my adulthood sensibilities.

But I wanted to do so much more. I wanted to ice skate underneath pine trees adorned with blinking Christmas lights. I wanted to snowshoe on a remote mountain somewhere with only the steady crunching sounds of my feet falling through the thick layer of snow and the blinking and unadulterated stars above to keep me company. You should see the stars. I wanted to walk through a mountain town decorated in such a way that only small, quant mountain towns can pull off. I wanted to sip hot chocolate as I sat at the base of a big, blinking and beautiful Christmas tree adorned with the eclectic ornaments acquired over the years, each telling a story of their own. Imagining what wonderful surprises were trapped within the cardboard walls of the boxed gifts underneath the tree. I didn't even give the holiday staple "A Christmas Story" a proper viewing this year.

Each of these thoughts having the canned response, "maybe next year" clipping closely at it's heals. Ah yes. "Maybe next year." It's a phrase you start hearing as a child from your parents. It's a phrase you learn to hate only to realize that you've been uttering it to yourself ever since 20 or so.

In spite of it all – it was a good Christmas. For an adult anyway. The snow storm that hit Denver just before the holiday shopping rush was just right. It was incredibly bothersome initially of course but it did serve to slow everyone down. Forced everyone to look each other in the eye. Take long sips of soup while watching romance movies. Help each other push their cars out of the snow. Forcing people to create makeshift snow shoes out of bookshelves and bungie cord. You know the drill. It's a wonderful thing, getting cabin fever right in the middle of the city. We were stranded together – my friends and I – some would say by choice but we might I've said that it was for the sake of our own sanity.

I got to spend Christmas with the guys. That's what my family is called now, "the guys." Because that's all there is. I can sense the lack of a female presence. But it's ok. For now anyway. We manage. In the name of memory Dad plots his course, perhaps to uphold tradition and perhaps to remember what it was like before mom died. Our Christmas was as it has been for as long as I can remember. No, there was no squealing of boyish delight at a newly discovered treasure under the tree and there wasn't an early, crack-of-dawn kind of wake up call but there was a familiarity about it all. And for this I'm thankful for Dad's unwavering dedication to what has been referred to for years as, "Christmas as usual."

I imagine the idea of Christmas is simply taking on a sort of hibernation. Like a big bear or something. For a reason of which I can't be entirely sure of. Perhaps it lies in wait for that day when the inner child comes running through this facade of responsibility and rational like a thin wall made of paper to proclaim in a loud and impish tone, "Surprise! You miss me!? You thought I was gone right? But here I am!"

And then again, and I suspect this is true either way, what Christmas is truly lying in wait for is the day when I have children of my own. When they rush in to show me the Christmas tree ornaments they made in school, or the day when I get to play with them in the snow or recite Christmas stories to them as they fall asleep – I imagine it's then when I'll relive my own memories as a child through my own children. Anticipating with them all the wonders that this magical day holds for them. I suppose that idea alone holds enough reason to be excited for the future days of Christmas.

Another Run In With The Law

I suppose it's safe to assume that the less that takes place here, on this blog, signifies an abundance of happenings in my world out there. So don't make the mistake of assuming that my life is boring ok?

Take this afternoon for example. I make a bad judgement call behind the wheel of my trusty Honda Civic and cause an accident involving a motorcyclist. No one was hurt thankfully. I did get a mandatory court date for not having updated proof of insurance. I've got insurance but I just don't have updated proof of it.

I'm sensing a pattern here. This court date oddly enough closely matches my run in with the law last year. And it's for the same reason! Granted with a little less fan fare.