According to Awake magazine, Christmas joy is spreading even to non-Christian lands. “In Japan, most families now celebrate Christmas . . . In China, Santa’s cheery red face is plastered in shop windows in major cities . . . Christmas fever” is now used as an excuse to “shop, eat and party”.
Now, is this not a good thing? Businesses thriving, jobs for people, food on their tables, parties, work for caterers, farmers, entertainers . . .
Christmas is the feel-goodest time of year. Curvilinear young ladies who otherwise keep me at bay are suddenly moved to hug intimately. “I’m going to miss you guys”, whispered one a few nights ago as she pulled me close. Unfortunately, her rather formidable husband then arrived. But even he shook my hand warmly.
So why are the grumps against Christmas?
The Santa Claus legend in no way (for me, at least) detracts from the wonderful story of Jesus’ birth. And surely some Chinese and Japanese youths will eventually be moved to research Christmas and find the true meaning?
Anyhow, today we’re talking about gifts, a major problem in our affluent society. What do you give your lady if last year you bought her, say, a four million dollar yacht? A submarine? (Not a bad idea, actually. Stephen Williams asked me to get him one at Lantern’s Mall last Sunday.)
So fellows get desperate. Like that 12 days idiot who gave his chossel a partridge in a pear tree and then went wild with laying geese, calling birds, milking maids, leaping lords…at which point she no doubt blew up: “Okay, Harvey. E-nough! Those (sex word) leaping lords have trampled all the (sex word) goose eggs. There is bird poop everywhere. I’ve had it! And, no, you’re not going to get it. Just go!”
Contrast now my boy Wensus. Good King Wensus last looked out and saw an old geezer gath’ring winter fu-u-el. “Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither, on pork and beef we all will dine, and cutters made with liver.”
Or words to that effect. I back the Wensus style of giving. And I’ll tell you why: in my family nothing is thrown away. Every gift received, ornament, old table in pieces, Mrs Gomez’ chiming clock, a little chair from Codrington High, which I was to fix in the early 80s, toys from Paddy’s children when they were children in the ’70s, a lovely marble Blades sink, which will be installed some day . . . .
With the house under repair, we just stored away a container full of junk. You can’t miss it; there’s still no room to move.
Okay, this year is an exception. Merchants have brought in stock, the economy needs kick-starting. Don’t overdo it, but spread a bit around if you can.
From next year, however, to avoid everyone’s accumulation of trinkery, here are my Guidelines
For Good Giving:
One, no toys which make loud, incessant noises, to wit, talking trucks, whistles, recorded calls of 3 057 assorted birds, flashing swords which go “Chang!” and “Kazang!”
Two, gifts should self-destruct within three months. Diss the ornaments, vases, picture frames, kitchen sets. Stick to fruit, nuts, eggs, erotic massages, panties, vouchers for a Wednesday Tony Broomes superlative mutton soup (he also does ham-cutters and fixes cars; located not far from Apes Hill/ Westmoreland junction on 2A heading towards town.)
Finally, let me thank the Santas who have already delivered: Ann Smith for delicious Guyanese pepperpot; a Santa who brought a whole pig one night; another who brought a pork leg; mother-in-law mince pies; scrumptious Anna Went food at the Sambrano and Aubrey Choy parties; great singing from the Haynesley Benn/Ken Husbands corral; a grand evening at the MS Association dinner; those super Nation sub-eds who handle my articles discreetly.
Finally, thanks to my beloved wife and daughter who willingly do all the farm work while I’m out caterwauling with the Guataka fillies.
A blessed Christmas to all!
