I interviewed local writer/blogger/entrepreneur, Bud Hearn, on the radio show a couple of weeks ago. We mentioned his lively and entertaining blog posts that are written as “The Weakly Post”. Mr. T and I read this past week’s post and laughed with delight through the entire thing. I decided, with the permission of Bud, to share this with my readers today! It’s funny, light hearted and filled with his wit! I’ll be having him on the radio as a guest again soon! In the meantime enjoy this holiday read! And then go here to read more from Bud: www.theweaklypost.com.
The Weakly Post
This Time of Year
Christmas begins earlier each year. It now kicks off around Labor Day.
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Somebody resurrected Burl Ives who woke singing in CVS about a Holly Jolly season. Legions of chocolate marshmallow Santas populate the aisles at Walmart. They keep company next with last year’s Easter bunnies. Walmart squeezes pennies.
Our household stoically refuses to buy into the early frenzy. We don’t budge until December bumps up on the refrig calendar and pictures of poinsettias and dollar-down mattresses dominate the newspaper inserts. Everybody’s selling something.
Last Sunday on the coast was bleak, cold, rainy and windy. A perfect day to begin the tradition of Christmas preparation. Maybe it was the Advent sermon, the one about light coming into the world and how men loved darkness because their deeds were evil.
People react to sermons differently. Some people listen and are inspired. As for me, I tend to doze off and miss the punch line, but always wake up refreshed. Listen, women love darkness, too. It covers a multitude of evils, not to mention wrinkles and blemishes. Chew on that candy cane.
Anyway, a lady of antiquity in the pew in front kept humming Deck the Halls. It energized my Christmas spirit. She had a wicked smile and a heavy emphasis on Falalalalalalalala. It led me to believe she was remembering a time long ago. Maybe the Christmas when Santa slid down the chimney with his bag of gifts, anticipating more than milk and cookies. Whatever. Church is a safe place to air such memories.
On the way home we stopped into the vacant lot and bought a nice 8 foot Balsam fir tree. Two high school boys did the heavy lifting. One attempted to master the chain saw to square off the end. Unfortunately, the saw got away from him. The mechanical monster spun round and round on the ground in a bizarre rampage. It chewed up dirt as well as my tree before it headed on its own down the row of trees. The scene was surreal. We bought another tree.
We tied the Balsam on the roof of the car and headed home. I felt like a member of the Joad clan en route from Oklahoma to California with a mattress strapped on top of the jalopy. Chevy Chase adopted this scene.
We dusted off the decorations boxes and unpacked elves, the candles and the lights. I unwrapped the manger scene, which after almost 50 years looks about as ragged as I suspect Joseph felt. The ninety and nine manger animals were out to pasture, lost sheep forever. Mary was missing four fingers, Joseph’s staff was broken and the angel’s feathers were falling out. Even the baby Jesus looked disgusted. Shelf lives are getting shorter.
The tree occupied a nice corner spot over the heat register, a hospice of sorts. It was the least we could do to insure its comfort, seeing as it was already on its last leg. I felt sorry for it, so my daughter and I clothed its nakedness with about five thousand tiny lights, remembering the sermon.
I like to name our Christmas trees after biblical characters. This year its name is Amos. The name is translated from Hebrew, of course, which means literally ‘fire tower.’ It didn’t improve Amos’ disposition that Mac, our male Westie, found its vertical stature intimidating. While the challenge was enormous for him, he never failed to give it his best squirts. Amos is well-watered.
In a few hours the house looked festive, ready for whoever might be coming down the chimney in a couple of weeks. As the day closed, we turned down the lights and admired our handiwork. We poured ourselves some eggnog, spiked with a skosh of brandy. The gathering gloom began to close in. Our eyes got heavy.
Conversation in these reflective moments is sparse, lacking all evidence of intellectual profundity.
I say, “Beautiful, huh?” Silence.
“Yes, beautiful,” she answers. More silence.
“Our best tree ever,” I say.
“Yes, it is,” she replies.
“Lots of space for presents, huh?” I’m ever hopeful.
“Yes, seems so,” the reply.
And on and on with longer gaps in silence as conversation transcends into sleep, allowing visions of sugar plums to dance in our heads. Through the darkness Amos shone brightly.
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“….(And) The Light shineth in darkness, and the darkness overcommeth it not.” Amen!
Bud Hearn
December 12, 2014
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Melissa |
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12 16th, 2014 |
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Whatever the color you like, this flower brings color to a season that, otherwise, tends to be lacking in color. Leaves have fallen and gardens are resting for now as winter settles in over the next few weeks. Yes, we are lucky here on St. Simons Island to have evergreen plants and shrubs in abundance. But the splash of Poinsettia color is happy and bright for all to see and enjoy! It is a reminder of this blessed season and its true meaning.
