Columns

It’s Christmas. I wanted to write something holly and jolly and fun. I really did. I love Christmas—everything about it.

But alas, I find myself beating the same old drum I’m always beating. Someone has to beat that drum. I can’t even imagine what would happen otherwise. Even the little drummer boy has nothing on me and my open meetings and public records drum.

Pa rum pum pum pum.

I couldn’t help it; I just love that song.

Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year. The smell of pine in my nose and the dazzle of Christmas lights twinkling in my eye make my soul jump.

I have always been enamored by decadent holiday light displays. They beckon many fond memories of my childhood.

Over the years, my father toyed with outdoor lights from the multicolored to the classic white, but nothing says home for the holidays like the candles in the window and the spotlighted wreath on the front door of my parents’ home.

In light of this year’s horrendous shopping incidents, Black Friday ought to be re-christened “Wacky Friday.”

But what do we expect, when the lure of after-Thanksgiving bargains has people rising at ridiculous hours—or not even going to bed at all?

Sleep deprivation could have been a culprit when one California woman, hell-bent on getting her hands on a bargain Xbox before anyone else, got a bright idea to clear the decks to the deal by pepper-spraying competing shoppers.

Or maybe she was just plain crazy.

It is so easy to look around and find things in my life I wish were different. There could always be a little more money, a little more food in the pantry, a little more gas in the truck, a little more time off work, a little more time to write, five more minutes to sleep.

I could make a list a mile long of all the things I want.

This week as I attempted to write my column I thought a lot about what I am thankful for and the list ranges from my health, a roof over my head, family and friends to the sand in my bed and the meowing of my cats.