The Grinch Lives

They stole Christmas.

I've been having more than a few bummer bouts lately, and it had really been bugging me, especially since I'm only a few weeks away from a holiday vacation at home on the farm. I mean, it wasn't that long ago when I wasn't able to go home for Christmas at all, either because of work schedules or financial limitations. But this year, I get to spend 10 whole days soaking up the solitude of a rural Nebraska winter. I get to bask in the fun of my nearly 18-month-old nephew frolicking in the snow (please, Bing, let it be a white Christmas...).

If I can just get there.

Yeah, that must be it — all the trials of moving: the packing, the cleaning, the glass-wrapping, the phone calls, the address changing. And all of it on top of the seemingly daily struggles at the office, trying to figure out how to keep existing despite the desperate turns the newspaper industry seems to be boxing itself into.

It must all be getting to me. This must be taxing my soul.

Hmm... On second thought, maybe not. Because — seriously — what do I have to complain about? Not a lot. My loved ones aren't fighting enemies abroad or diseases within, or vice versa. We have jobs and shelter, food aplenty. My rent is cheapening and my car nearly paid off. (Don't ask about the credit card — but at least there's only one!)

What's my deal?! What's with all the weeping and whining?

On the way home it hit me: The Grinch stole Christmas, and he had accomplices.

With all the turmoil at the apartment and all the moving as a direct result, I'm really not able to enjoy the season. For starters, I wasn't able to spend much time with my relatives on Thanksgiving break because I had get home and start packing up everything I own. Despite the fact that I'll have two living rooms in my possession by the end the week, I won't be getting a Christmas tree this season, and I really really wanted one this year.

Well, OK, so they didn't steal Christmas, exactly. But they did force me to keep it in a box.

Instead of unpacking my accumulated holiday treasures, I'm getting them ready to be U-hauled to another county. Instead of spending my time looking for a great gift for my niece, I'm scanning movers' quotes and trying to get the cable hooked up. Instead of working on a present for my sister, I'm cramming newspaper-wrapped valuables into "small" boxes.

It sucks — a lot — because this year... this year, I really need Christmas. (Don't we all?) And I'll find it. I haven't packed the Christmas DVDs up yet (or the liquor — shhh!). I bought a big bottle of gingerbread flavoring for the lattes. I'm also going to try to cut myself as much slack as possible the next few weeks because Lord knows I deserve it. I've been very good this year. (Mental note: Without newspapers, what will you pack with? You'll have to buy bubble wrap, and that can get pricey... is all I'm sayin'.)

The Grinches can do their best to try to usurp the holiday cheer right out of me. But in a few weeks, it will all come flooding back. Trekking out in the countryside with my brother, trying to find the perfect ginormous Christmas tree for the Shoppe party. Piling up the presents under the living room tree until my nephew can tear into them. Sitting in the darkened room mesmerized by the twinkling tree while watching "The Muppet Christmas Carol" with the folks for the seventh (Dad's 12th) time this year.

I can't wait.

Thanks for allowing me the Hallmark moment.
Merry Christmas.

The Christmas Letter

I used to be good at this. Award-winning, even. At least, that's what they tell me. Granted, "they" are biased, of course, being mostly relatives and a few good friends. And OK, it was one of my uncles who gave me the "Best Christmas Letter" award that one year, paying my way into Universal Studios on one of our family's last summer vacations.

So I haven't sent Christmas cards out for some time. I thought of just sending cards — no letter — but it felt like cheating. Consequently, it's been several years since I've actually chosen a quality greeting card (I have standards, you know), written and edited down a witty letter that fits on one page — BTW... why is that hard for me to do? I'm not married, have no kids or even a pet, for crying out loud! — physically written the greetings and addressed those envelopes, slapped on those stamps (sometimes the holiday sort), and dumped them in a nearby blue monster.

All bias aside, I think my Christmas letters are at least a good read. I think the last letter I actually did write and send out — with a card and everything — contained the tale of how I got a six-foot-plus Christmas tree into my car then into my less-than-six-foot-plus, second-floor apartment almost entirely all by myself. (See what you've been deprived of?)

What I have done almost every year is compose the Christmas letter. How could I not? Between my many address shifts, my ever-changing job duties, my series of somewhat unfortunate events, and ever-frequent clumsy adventures, I can't NOT write one. In my head, at least. Except I rarely have shared it with others — actually written it down and disseminated it. Weird, since that sort of thing is really my bread and butter.

In my defense, weak as it may be, I have written many witty Christmas letter sentences in my head. I've even designed my own card. Had that puppy ready to go last Christmas... or was it the Christmas before? Same difference.

It's a good card, I think, and I'd like to promise that this year, I'll deliver it. But circumstances will conspire against me yet again, I'm almost positive of it: Moving into a new apartment in the middle of December — a mere two weeks from now and just a week before I head to Nebraska to spend Christmas week with my family — seems likely to seal the fate of this year's Christmas letter.

Maybe I should blog my Christmas letter this year. Facebook it. Keep with times, and all that. I considered just sending it out over e-mail last year. Almost had myself talked into it: "It's 2007! Why aren't more Christmas letters sent electronically?! Besides, it's the thought that counts, right?"

Yeah, whatever. Nothing substitutes the hand-signed, hand-addressed or even hand-delivered Christmas card. In truth, I hope — and am pretty certain — nothing ever will.

In case you don't hear from me: Have a Merry Christmas and very happy 2009.