There seems to be a distinct lack of Christmas spirit in my neighborhood. The Scrooge who lives around the corner sleeps soundly as the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet To Come apparently cannot be bothered. Perhaps the ghosts have too much on their plates this year, unlike the lines of gloomy mendicants outside St. Anselm's soup kitchen, on whose behalf they supposedly appear. And across the street, the weatherbeaten nativity scene in the front yard is replaced by inflatable figures from Disney's Frozen: our seasonal celebrations are now chained to the holiday movie franchises we forged in life. So there is no need for militants to fight a war on Christmas, it's already been won by a blitzkrieg of holiday ennui.
When I moved here many years ago, most homes were decorated with twinkling lights and you could see people's Christmas trees through their living room windows. Now the houses are generally dark except for the blue, binge-watch flicker of flat screen TVs. There are small beribboned and berried fir wreaths on some front doors, but holly seems to be a thing of the past and mistletoe unheard of. Those chestnuts roasting on an open fire are forgotten about and reduced to ashes; that was probably the burning smell I noticed when taking my recycling out. Jack Frost still nips at your nose but who cares? You're wearing your new polar fleece ski mask, a gift from aunt Flo that she ordered online because you never see her anymore, what with the Covid and everything and she lives so far away.
What do the three Magi bring to the manger today? A department store gift card, a gourmet fruit and nut basket, and some weird handmade wooden toy from a Christmas craft market. After all, what can you get for the newborn king who has everything? Even the shepherds are too busy checking their phones instead of watching their flocks by night. Perhaps the angel of the Lord should sign-up for social media to spread the good news. Just flapping your wings in the air while blowing on a trumpet can't compete with viral videos on TikTok and Twitter, no matter how bright the glory of the Lord shines around. So the shepherds definitely should be afraid, if only of all the email spam they'll be receiving.
But I'm one to talk about my neighbors. I'm hardly dashing around town in a one horse open sleigh. There are no jingle bells ringing in my ears, only a nagging voice reminding me how many shopping days are left until I need to return everything I bought because it's the incorrect color or the wrong size or simply because little Daphne already has one like that. I'm also worried the greeting cards I sent will not arrive on time since the mail these days is more Cedric the Cross-Eyed Sloth than Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Although as long as the consumer spending report is in good cheer I guess the spirit of Christmas lives on, at least in Wall Street's heart. Ding dong interest rates on high, the supply chain has neurosis. Oh well, fortunately Christmas Day is on Sunday this year, usually the least inspiring day of the week, so we can kill two turtle doves with one stone and try to rally ourselves for 2023.
