Hello Christmas, it's me again

Christmas Mouse, Window Display of Abracadabra in Port Townsend, Photo by Bonnie Obremski

Christmas Mouse, Window Display of Abracadabra in Port Townsend, Photo by Bonnie Obremski

Christmas, I can’t quit you. I feel like I’m a wild animal that you raised. When I was still a pup, you tossed me outside and yelled, “Go’on, git!” And even though it hurt so much, I still keep visiting you once a year. Because it was so cozy in your magical, snowy chalet and I can’t stop believing it could be that way again.

I’m no longer a Christian, but Baby Jesus is all over my playlist. How could a baby be wrong, right? It was before He got hurt, it was before people caused hurt in His name. It’s a story about joy and hope. I can get behind that.

Still, it’s a rationalization that gets harder to construct every year. I’m learning to play “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays” by NSYNC for a gig at a holiday craft fair. I changed the lyric “God sends you His love,” to “I send you my love.” I wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea about me, you know?

Still, I’m not about to take the “Christ” out of Christmas. It still sounds right: “Chris” like crisp, like crisp winter air, then “st” bringing things to a point like the peak of a dollop of whipped cream and then “mas” jingling like the sleigh bells on the doorknob of a Bavarian toymaker.