A Wondrous Little Woodstock

So, my lazy little low-life elf finally showed up. And I have to admit, it was one of the grumpiest old elves I have ever had to work with! Their hustle and bustle materialized more like a snarky snail slither. Either they just do not make elves like they used to or the EEU (Elfin Employment Union) has negotiated one sweet contract for those mischievous little imps!
 
Okay, so I was the grumpy old elf, and I am not under contract. I still have no clue why my holiday spirit is MIA this season, but decorating this year was as productive as catching tadpoles with a slotted spoon. I did manage to get the tree up, decorated, and lit with willful albeit scatterbrained care. My Charlie Brown and Peanuts Nativity set is adoringly posed on a bed of lighted snow. And all my favorite Grinch trinkets are polished and shining brightly.
 
Today, I braved the savage winter weather to hang icicle lights and a four-foot lighted wreath while turning my porch into a sparkly winter wonderland. Okay, so it was only a crisp 39 degrees outside, but my fingers still managed to freeze up like it was 40 below.
 
All lights are on dusk to dawn-timers, so I have yet to see if my efforts were up to par. As dusk approaches, I believe a bottle – uh, I mean a glass of wine is in order. Perhaps a little libation will keep me from scrutinizing the placement of every twinkling light. It is a curse, I tell you. If I’m going to decorate, it better be perfect.
 
All my silliness aside, there is truly something magical about a twinkling Christmas tree and the promise of hope symbolized by a beloved baby in a manger (or in my case, a wondrous little Woodstock in a manger). The hush of peace and goodwill it delivers puts it all in perspective for me. And, suddenly, my holiday spirit is restored without question or pause.
 
What kind of mystical shroud can smother an emotion into nothingness? It remains one of mankind’s greatest mysteries. Even those of us who believe we have some modicum of intelligence can fall prey to that kind of control.
 
However, my toes are finally tapping and I’m even humming along with Mariah’s version of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Is anyone ready to place odds on how long that will last? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
 

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