I'm desperately trying to get into the Christmas spirit.
It's not working.
When I was a wee lad, the season seemed to glow with magical possibilities.
My mother would give me a little advent calendar, so that I could reveal each day as December 25 drew near. The smell of sugar cookies, Russian tea cakes and other festive goodies wafted through the house. A towering tree sent its twinkling glow throughout the house. Family warmed our doorway with regular visits.
Sure, it was fun to wrap, give and receive presents, but that's not what made the season come alive. There was a feeling of togetherness and everything being just the way it should be.
As the years passed, that feeling dwindled. Family gatherings grew scarcer and scarcer. I felt it again when my own children were little, but again the spirit faded as they grew.
Now each Christmas season comes and goes, leaving me empty and disappointed. I always expect the once-magical feeling to sweep me up, sparking my joy again. Never happens.
I look around Lodi and I see glimpses of it in other people. They carry the glow with them, yet it eludes me.
I try my best not to let it get to the point where I become Scroogey, but it's hard to shrug off the bah-humbugitis that comes from a Christmas deficiency.
However, it could be that I'm trying too hard. This could be one of those “true love” situations. If I stop worrying about it, stop trying to seek it out, it will come to me when I least expect it.
… Or I'll get mowed down by stampeding reindeer pulling a sugar-loaded fat man in a sleigh.