Last night we watched Mr. Magoo’s version of A Christmas Carol. I kept nodding off while I watched the 1962 cartoon (Deb and the girls disappeared upstairs for bath time). Each time I fell asleep I had these weird visions of what my subconscious thinks a late 60’s early 70’s Christmas was all about (men dressed in sharkskin suits attached to women with bouffant hairdos all prancing around aluminum trees and fake snow).
While Mr. Magoo was a decent catalyst for holiday nostalgia, I find that smells are what really start Christmas memories churning in my brain. It’s not the scent of gingerbread or a roast turkey that starts the flood. Pine needles have some effect but we usually had a fake tree when I was little so that’s a more of a recent addition to the vault. I’m thinking more along the lines of Scotch Tape.
I’m not saying I’m writing 3M with recommendations for Scotch Tape scented potpourri. But their tape does have an unmistakable aroma. And the smell of that tape makes me think of wrapping presents. And Christmas is, if we are able to move beyond the well intentioned propaganda, all about the presents.
Sure I have a warm feeling toward my fellow man this time of year. But that’s mainly due to the fact that I’m happy because I know I’m going to get presents. Yes, the joy of giving is wonderful but we’ve spent far too long pretending that the thrill of getting pales all that much in comparison.
My gift to you this holiday season is to let you know that you no longer have to feel guilty about visions of plasma screens and ant farms (or whatever you’re into) dancing in your head. It’s okay. You’re not greedy. You’re simply coming to terms with the fact that the anticipation of benefiting from the fruits of someone’s thoughtfulness and generosity is FUN. After all, one can’t really exist without the other. The giving yin would wither without someone else’s getting yang.
All I’m saying is that I have a fairly large yang and that you should never be timid about telling everyone about the size of your yang.