The title of this very, merry blog posting is courtesy of my younger brother who, in listening to Linda Ronstadt's cover of Joni Mitchell's "River," remarked, "Linda was such a poacher."
Happy holidays!
'Tis the night before Christmas and on a break from my strict Christmas movie schedule (A Charlie Brown Christmas, A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All!, The Muppet Christmas Carol, An American Christmas Carol...A Christmas Story, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, The Nutcracker Prince to follow tomorrow) I've decided to compose this, my Christmas Eve blog.
Santa's comin' to town with sequins in his hair...
We still pretty much adhere to the movie traditions described above around here even if, traditionally speaking, we adhere to little else. The silver tray of Christmas baking has been absent two years running and Christmas, at least as I remember it from a child/teenager/young adult's perspective, has certainly metamorphosed. There must be at least three dozen films about a protagonist struggling to understand a broken, altered Christmas and yet I was no less shocked to discover mine had changed in its turn just a few years ago (what's actually surprising is that it remained as consistent as long as it did!).
Of course, it wasn't really Christmas that changed but life that changed, while Christmas--as the culmination of a year in the life and the bonds therein forged and destroyed--merely came to reflect in some uber-concentrated way the life alterations of the recent past.
No, no one died or anything like that and I'm afraid such complexities of life and personal admissions will have to make their way gradually into the contents of this blog and will not be recounted and summarized conveniently here and now. (For all of you reading out there. The multitudes, the crowds...)
When Jesus Christ was nailed to his tree he said, 'O-daddy-o, I can see how it all soon will be. I came to shed a little light on this darkening scene. Instead I fear I've spilled the blood of my children all around.'
Suffice to say what I recognize is I'm certainly not the first to 1) encounter an alien Christmas and wonder where the time has gone, 2) look back on a year in conclusion and wonder where the time has gone and 3) feel lonely and sad at a time of year which promises, in its various forms, not one but all of the following things: a fat ass white man visiting and rewarding ALL the children of the world in a single night, a saviour borne of a single parent (if you don't count that omnipresent baby daddy) and a holiday that basically equates family and harmony (ha!).
So, indulge my Christmas whinings and letdowns, even if they are a mite predictable. After all, Linda was a poacher and I, as it turns out, am not much different.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
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