The Twelve Weeks of Christmas

I don't want to jinx myself, but I think/hope that I might be through the worst of it.  I don't think I have a pain in my lower abdomen this morning.  I haven't really tested it yet with a bunch of movement, but it is, at least, better.  I have scarcely eaten for the past few days.  Last night, though, I had my most substantial meal, a can of Campbell's chicken and rice soup with two eggs dropped in to make a kinda sorta egg drop chicken soup.  I'd recommend it.  

I will take a walk and maybe try to do a small, light workout at the gym this morning.  Maybe.  To be seen.  After that, Tennessee is coming over to do a little plumbing work that has been on hold for about six months.  Fingers crossed, I hope this works, for the plumber I called said he would have to tear the wall out to fix the thing.  

Wasn't that fascinating?  Sorry.  I haven't anything else.  I haven't left the house for days.  I have basically sat still.  I did manage to take a couple walks.  And I can report this.  On the Boulevard, the Christmas decorations are already up.  Yup.  AND they have installed speakers on the lampposts that play Christmas music.  It is not The Holidays any longer.  Trump is King.  I expect to hear religious prayers through speakers when Christmas is done.  

Truthfully, I don't mind it being Christmas.  I grew up anticipating Santa.  Away in the manger never interested me, but there was a magic surrounding the Christmas season.  Back then, however, it was the Twelve Days of Christmas, not the Twelve Weeks.  O.K.  I exaggerate.  But it wasn't the Christmas season until after Thanksgiving.  After that came the big Christmas Parade.  All we kids had to do was wait that one out, so we made our little cut out hand turkeys in our elementary school classes and colored them with crayons and put them on the classroom walls in anticipation.  After school, we played football in the streets until dark, for it was football season and we were seasonal kids, and we watched our black and white snowy t.v. football games on Sunday.  Then we were back in the streets.  Our parents were glad.  Punishment for being bad was to be stuck in the house.  It was punishment for both parents and kids, and usually the sentence was rescinded when our parents couldn't stand looking at us any longer.  

Thanksgiving was alright.  The Packers played the Lions every year.  That was the traditional Thanksgiving game.  Later on it was the Cowboys playing Somebody, but I was not a kid anymore when that blasphemy came about.  We all had color t.v.s by then.  

After Thanksgiving, the lead up to Christmas was tremendous.  Some nights, perhaps, our parents might take us out to see the Christmas lights.  We would go to stores and buy whatever gifts we might give to friends and relatives, and, of course, parents would take us through the toy department asking us what we hoped Santa would bring us.  As Christmas came closer, Santas appeared in shopping centers and department stores and we would go sit on his lap and nervously tell him what we wanted.  This was confusing, of course.  Was there more than one Santa?  Oh, no, our parents would say, these were just Santa's missionaries sent out to find out what children everywhere would want on Christmas Day.  

Yea, we were all idiots then.  But someone's older brother would always shit on our hopes and tell us there was no Santa and that all the toys were wrapped up and stored in the closets in our parents' bedrooms.  And one day, we got brave enough o sneak in and look.  

"Those are not for you!  Those are for other people.  Santa brings yours on Christmas Eve."

Whatever.  The jig was up. 

So. . . I don't mind that it is Christmas once again, but I am guilty about it.  I'm a trained multiculturalist.  I love all the people.  We were told about Chanukah as children.  The rest of it, though. . . bagel.  

I doubt kids ever believe in Christmas anymore.  I'm sure they see their parents watch "Bad Santa," etc.  When I was a kid, all we had was "Miracle on 34th Street."  

Santa--"What's the largest nation in the world?"

Child Natalie Woods thinking. . . "I don't know."

"Why, it's the imagination!"

Little Natalie didn't believe in Santa, but. . . well, it turns out fine (link).  

You had to believe, just a little bit. 

Like everyone else, though, I grew up and by the time I was in high school, I was calling it "The Miracle on 42nd Street."  

Ho, ho, ho.  Everywhere a Ho.  

My drama teacher told me I was too young to be such a cynic.  She was only a year out of college, and she told me that at her apartment, but that is another story.  

I'd better get to feeling better and start making more pictures for I am just about done with the roller derby stuff.  I have gotten tired of going through the thousand raw images and working them up to look like anything at all.  The weather is nice now and I should be out.  I just have to get some "umph" back in my body and mind.  The body is shot and the mind is following, I'm afraid.  The Mike Tyson fight probably brought a lot of people down.  It was clear that age beats you up no matter who you are.  It is difficult to pretend after watching that fiasco.  It was a liver punch to the aged.  

I had no idea I would tell you all about Christmas today.  My mind is a mystery to me.  

Here is another mystery, too.  WTF?  She's celebrating the Twelve Weeks of Christmas.  

I won't end on that one, though.  One of my old friends likes to play Snoop for her little daughter.  I was shocked, but she scoffed at my. . . whatever.  My friend in the midwest went to high school with Snoop and is a fan.  She said he was pretty normal then.  So here. . . wake up the kids. . . Snoop Santa Dogg is coming to town.  

I don't think that I'll be hearing this one on the Boulevard.