Window Dressing

On an idyllic sunny and warm December afternoon, with the windows all thrown open and the ceiling fans purring steadily, I lay on the couch and listen to the leaves rustling on the lawn.  Sunlight through the blinds makes flickering patches on the walls but the day is so unexpectedly mild that the cats show little curiosity, far more interested in watching the street and the dry, dancing leaves.  They cock their heads at each faraway child's voice and every leaf kicking footstep but they don't stir from their window seats except to stretch and yawn.  Remarkably, the dogs sleep through these gentle noises and all is as peaceful as the clouds drifting by on a lazy summer's day.

Except of course, that Christmas is a mere three weeks away and as much as I dislike the cold, 80 degrees is just somehow all wrong.   When I catch myself considering turning on the air conditioning - my hand is poised on the switch and a quick flick would do it - I turn away in horror.

Madness, I think to myself, Madness and sheer indulgence.  Don't be such a wuss.

There is, after all, a principle involved here.

Snow would likely be on the ground if I were in New England and my daddy, if he were still alive, would be wrapped up in long underwear and woolen socks with a knit cap pulled over his ears and a cat in his lap.  He'd be reading or maybe working a crossword puzzle, keeping a close watch on the fire and fretting about the cost of heating oil and the weather forecast.  But here in Louisiana, it's practically summer - knock out roses are in bloom all over the city and Christmas shoppers are in shirt sleeves.  It feels out of balance and off kilter when I walk into the office and see the lighted tree with its twinkling lights.  Carols are playing everywhere and the Salvation Army Santas are sweating in their red suits and beards.  The red, green, and silver decorations are up downtown but convertible tops are down - it's an unlikely mismatch of seasons, of holiday goodwill and home comings - and I confess it's hard to work up much Christmas spirit when it all feels so much like window dressing.  Sometimes I think but for the music I would be a hopeless grinch.

Last night I sat in a bar listening to a friend of mine put aside his usual set and play a few carols - a solo guitar doing a soft, sweet "What Child Is This" will bring peace and tears to even the coldest holiday hearts and I was no exception.   

May each life have one white Christmas, just for the memory of it.