While stopped at a traffic light earlier today, I scrolled through my mp3 player in search of some fresh music. Something fresh and vibrant, anything but the same tired stuff I've been listening to for the last several months. You know how uninspiring music can be when it's played beyond the point of "ad nauseum."
The last time I updated my mp3 player was sometime last summer (2008), so none of its two gigabytes of tunes are terribly fresh, vibrant, or inspiring. Thumbing the main control button, I scrolled through the genres and landed on an old and familiar one. Old and familiar, yet fresh and vibrant.
Christmas music.
To my recollection, I've never asserted my sanity to anyone, and doing so now would only diminish what little credibility I might have remaining. But in case you didn't read it correctly, I'll repeat it. Christmas music. I pressed the button to make my selection final, and my library of Christmas songs began playing in random order.
I rolled up the driver side window and glanced at the passenger glass to make certain it was up as well. No one listens to this stuff in August -- not even elves or reindeer -- and I couldn't bear to be on the receiving end of scornful glares and pairs of eyes narrowed in doubt, imaginary heads shaking in disgust, fingers wagging dubiously in my direction. No, I'd just as soon keep this dark little secret to myself. The light turned green and off I drove to the stylings of Jim Brickman and "O Holy Night."
With my mood buoyed better than any SSRI anti-depressant pill could manage, I found myself considering the intervening holidays. While most other people are enjoying the remaining weeks of summer with their BBQs and pool parties, I was mentally carving out pumpkins and imagining Thanksgiving football on TV, an icy yet oddly pleasant crispness in the air, clouds of discarded breath suspended before being swallowed back into the atmosphere, strings of lights adorning rain gutters and eaves and hedges.
Inevitably, I began to regard my Christmas shopping list. This year it will be pitifully curtailed to match my pitifully subdued income. Alas, no one remains bleak to "O Holy Night," and I was no exception. I ticked the volume control up a couple of notches, and Jim gave way to David Lanz. I cruised through a green light, sure to put a dose of cheer into any man's heart, and returned to the notion of buying Christmas presents. Perhaps a couple of intact neurons conspired to cause me to question further this holiday spree before it actually broke away from the drawing board and I steered the car into the nearest mall. I couldn't be serious about this! Even I still recognize lunacy when I see it. Moreover, it's sacrilegious to actually buy Christmas presents without all the hoopla normally attendant with the season, and this was one part of the tradition I was not about to forsake.
Besides, I have no wrapping paper or bows.
Still a few miles west of home, a fierce battle was raging inside my skull. While it was undeniably true that it might be considered by some to be mildly eccentric (I'm known for this) doing one's Christmas shopping four months early, there was a prudent side to it (I'm not known for being especially prudent -- calculatedly reckless, maybe). I reasoned that retail prices are lower in August than during December, remaining "normal" through September so they can be raised in October or November to assure maximum seasonal profit, only to be lowered again the day after Christmas. They magnanimously refer to this sudden illusory price drop as an after-Christmas sale.
Nobody said retail sales managers were stupid.
I've just pulled onto my street and have my driveway in sight. Windham Hill serenades me with "Deck the Halls." I've made it home without being lured to the mall. I still have at least six weeks until I suspect the price hikes to sneak through, so I'm not in any hurry. Not yet, anyway.
This may sound a little cockeyed, but let me be the first this Christmas season to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy 2010!
