If you don’t like Christmas music, then you don’t want to listen to the radio. Every station is dialed in on Christmas. I’m more in the spirit this year than any time I can remember. My righteous friends want it to be all about the baby Jesus but it’s about a lot more than religion. People have been celebrating this time of year since they figured out moon cycles and the four seasons. I can hear Nat King Cole on the radio in the kitchen, “. . . and so I’m offering this simple phrase, for kids from 1 to 92, although it’s been said, many times, many ways; Merry Christmas, to you.” This is the Christmas I’ll celebrate and remember.
Life is pretty good. Mine is long enough that I truly know the difference and young enough I still think about the future; the music is a gentle push in that direction. This holiday is for kids and people who remember what it was like. We haven’t changed that much, just a little tattered around the edges. I remember rushing home from work, packing the car with food and presents; with kids in pajamas who would sleep while I drove through the night. The next morning they were ready for breakfast at Granny’s, then play in the back yard while I caught up on sleep. Now it’s them on the road, coming to see me for the holidays. Music on my radio has turned to Chuck Berry and “. . . run, run Rudolph, tell Santa he can take the freeway down,”
Winter in Missouri isn’t like it was when I was a kid; not like Michigan winters when my kids were kids. I gets wet and cold here and it may snow but you can’t count an anything but nasty. I spend as much time in Grand Haven, Michigan as I can; any season, any reason. I’ll drop in at “Coffee Grounds,” day or night and they know me, remember that I take a toasted “Everything Bagel” with butter, a large decaf and that I’ll set up shop at the table in the window. It snows there, you can count on it. People come and go and nobody talks about the weather; they eat a scone or a muffin and drink their coffee, talk about kids and pets; talk about detours on the highway and the economy. I sit at the window and write about whatever comes to mind. Summer will come in good time and people will dress for it. Sandals and shorts will be in order at Coffee Grounds and the tourists will return, the beach will be crowded and the river channel will be full of power boats, idling their way out to the big water. Elvis just called in and it’s still Christmas season with, “. . . Merry Christmas, Baby; you sure do treat me nice. . . . feelin’ good tonight, got music on the radio. . . want to kiss you, underneath the mistletoe.” I am in a sweet Christmas frame of mind.
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