As Hanukkah winds down and I hear the faint ringing of sleigh bells approaching, memories of holidays past once again flood my reverie. I made a conscious decision this year to avoid the “Bah Humbug” and embrace all things “Merry and Bright” and so far… all is well.
In My Humble Opinion
Mother Nature is at it again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan—but every once in a while, her plans get in the way of mine. Such was the case over the last few days, and my schedule changed accordingly when the first real snowfall of the season prevented me from getting to some of my appointed rounds.
Boy, is it ever! Even before the Thanksgiving leftovers are gone, Christmas & Co. is in full swing throughout the Upper Delaware River region—and beyond. Although Hanukkah is early this year, (12/13) I’m rarely overwhelmed by latkes, dreidels and chocolate coins, but Christmas? Uh huh.
Uh oh. If that’s the case, then I am in big trouble. I’ve had food issues my entire life, stemming from the fact that I never really cared. Honestly, if I had my druthers, I’d take a pill three times a day to satisfy my dietary requirements. Since that’s not possible, I eat when I have to, but not necessarily because I want to.
I’m not big on awards shows. Don’t get me wrong—it’s kind of cool when folks are acknowledged for one thing or another, especially when it’s by their peers. And it’s not sour grapes, either, since I’ve received one or three over the years.
As the first snowflakes flutter from the sky, the cavalcade of seasonal events begin anew, offering me the opportunity to re-think, re-do and renew. They say that with each passing year, the time flies more quickly and now that I’m over 40 (LOL) I can see what “they” mean.
Thanks to Mom and the ritual of bedtime storytelling, one of my earliest recollections is drifting off to sleep hearing “Charlotte’s Web” read aloud, chapter by chapter, and the building excitement anticipating how the story might unfold.
That question, famously asked in the 1975 Broadway musical “A Chorus Line” often haunts me. “Am I my resumé? That is a picture of a person I don’t know.” I think that most of us, from time to time, experience an identity crisis of one sort or another, often brought on by having to play a variety of roles in life.
Well, it was anyhow. At the moment, it’s raining cats and dogs and what’s left of fall foliage is, well… falling. I did, however, spend the last week meandering through the mountains in search of leaf-peeping photo-ops and scored big time, although the explosions of color were at times difficult to find.
Such simple words that cost us nothing to say, and yet, they seem to be vanishing from our collective vocabulary. It’s not often that I use this column to rant, but every once in a while I do take advantage of the space the fine folks at The River Reporter grant me to discuss something other than puppet shows and bake sales.