Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer (Randy Brooks)
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walkin’ home from our house Christmas Eve.
You can say there’s no such thing as Santa;
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.
She’d been drinkin’ too much eggnog
And we begged her not to go,
But she’d forgot her medication
And she staggered out the door into the snow.
When we found her Christmas mornin’
At the scene of the attack,
She had hoof prints on her forehead
And incriminatin’ Claus marks on her back.
Now we’re all so proud of Grandpa,
He’s been takin this so well.
See him in there watchin’ football,
Drinkin’ beer and playin’ cards with cousin Belle.
It’s not Christmas without Grandma,
All the family dressed in black.
And we just can’t help but wonder:
Should we open up her gifts or send them back?
Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of fig
And a blue and silver candle
That would just have matched the hair in Grandma’s wig.
I’ve warned all my friends and neighbors,
“Better watch out for yourselves.”
They should never give a license
To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walkin’ home from our house Christmas Eve.
You can say there’s no such thing as Santa;
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.
It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas. Isn’t it?
Tuesday, of course, is Donut Day around here. Went in to Dunkin’s to procure the usual and Nadine was wearing her reindeer headgear.
“Tryin’ to get in the spirit of the season,” she said
“You from up north, Nadine?”
“Yep, Massachusetts.”
“Me too….Lawrence,”
“Oxford,” she replied.
“I think it’s just harder in the south,” she lamented. “The weather and all.”
She’s right, of course. But it’s all been a long slide since childhood where “Christmas Spirit” is concerned. It’s all got to do with the mystery. Same as with new women and big cities. Once the mystery is gone, it’s just not the same. Let’s start with women. That’s always a good place.
Some Enchanted Evening
Okay, you’re out on the prowl. Maybe you’re at a party at Lenny’s house. You survey the place for talent. Eventually, you will see a stranger across the crowded room. You will. The song guarantees it. Anyway, this one has appeal….tall, poised, attractive, an air of mystery. You approach her, you dog, you. She is polite, but reserved. You retreat, temporarily. Considerably later, you advance a second time. You get a name. You do not ask for a phone number. Later, you get the hostess to put in a good word. You go home.
Time passes. You learn as much as you can about your quarry. Sooner or later, you will meet again. You will be prepared, but not anxious. If she is interested, she will leave an opening. If you are wise, you will suggest something you are absolutely positive she will like. You will know this because you have put in your work. If you are correct, she will accept your proffer.
Time passes. A relationship develops. The mystery of the woman, with familiarity, is peeled away one layer at a time, like an onion. You become close, perhaps decide to live together. Maybe you fall in love. You treasure this woman above all others. But the mystery is gone.
The Big City
Do you remember the first time you flew—or drove—into New York? Or San Francisco? Or Los Angeles? It was a great spectacle. And a puzzle. There were wonderful things to see around every corner but you constantly got lost. The city was an unfathomable mystery. You felt you would never figure it all out and that was okay. It was all very exciting.
Time passes. You have a regular route to work, so you have developed landmarks. You have learned to read the subway map. You have a general idea of where the main streets go even though you confine yourself largely to the area surrounding your home and workplace. The majority of the city is still an exciting mystery. An occasional taxi ride opens your eyes to new vistas.
Time passes. You have lived in the city for a year now. You have walked its streets, made friends in many neighborhoods, travelled far and wide. There is little of the city not known to you. You love your home, it is comfortable, it affords you pleasures. But it is not quite so exotic anymore. It has lost its mystery.
If It Doesn’t Snow On Christmas, How Is Santa Gonna Pull His Sleigh?
Some modern thinkers feel it is wrong to lie to children and tell them there is a Santa Claus. After all, this promises future disappointment and questioning by the child of his parents’ trustworthiness. This, of course, is a terrible idea. Because Santa Claus provides the great mystery of Christmas, its greatest attraction, the initiation of the Christmas Spirit. It’s only viable for a few years, or course, but those few years are thrilling. Santa Claus might bring you anything, or, if you’re not careful, nothing! WHOA! When I got to Santa Claus-doubting age (around 14), my mother put a lump of coal in my stocking as an admonition. It was pretty terrifying. I promised to mend my ways. When I started to fall off the wagon, my sister, Alice (not yet The Republican), straightened me out.
“Oh Alice, there’s no Santa Claus,” I told her one Christmas Eve. We were sleeping in the same room due to a guest overload and I was peeking out the door at the party.
“Oh yeah—well, I just heard a noise on the roof!”
I was in bed with the covers over my head instantaneously. I mean, there’s no sense in taking any chances, right?
The very beginnings of the loss of Christmas Spirit originate with the dissipation of faith in Santa Claus, it’s never really the same after that. Not to say things are not still pretty good. The toys keep coming, the Christmas trees keep going up, the landscape is still beautifully lighted, snow often covers the ground. The North, and particularly New England, celebrates Christmas more aggressively. In our house and in our neighborhood, you would be hard put to find a single window that did not have a lit candle in it. Nobody was so calloused as to not have a tree. It was all very nice. But once Santa was removed from the equation, slippage began.
Time passed. We all grew older. Kids started moving away. An occasional cherished friend or relative died. The gatherings at homes diminished in size and frequency. And, while midnight mass was still glorious, with its clanking of incense dispensers and unparalleled choir music, while frequent Christmas snowfalls still set the scene, the further from childhood—the further from Santa Claus—we advanced, the more that old Christmas Spirit faded. It was all so inevitable but we didn’t seem to be able to figure it out—why doesn’t it feel like Christmas anymore? Ah, me hearties, ‘tis the death of the mystery!
Second Chances
F. Scott Fitzgerald said there are no second acts in American lives and that’s partly true. It’s not going to be the same Santa Claus mystery as when you were young but you do get a second chance to live it vicariously through children and grandchildren. Take full advantage. Enjoy it for as long as you can. And stretch that mystery out to the maximum for the young believers. For once Santa Claus is gone, so is innocence, so is mystery, so is the beating heart of Christmas.
Racing Report
Cosmic Crown (aka Juno) is running tomorrow in the first race at Gulfstream after a significant layoff. She is 8-1 in the morning line and the odds at post time may be greater than that. An across-the-board bet may be in order if you’re looking for an early Christmas present but don’t bet the kids’ Barbie-Doll money on it. We’re optimistic.
Belated Birthdays
We finally went to Cedar Key for Siobhan’s overdue Birthday dinner. It was miserable and cloudy in Fairfield and environs, but by the time we got to the Gulf just before sunset, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining. We found a couple of passing artists to take our photos as Old Sol sank in the golden west and we moved along to the Island Hotel for dinner, which was sumptuous. Most of the time when we go to Cedar Key, we enjoy eating at a pierside restaurant with a view of the water but these places largely provide fried dinners and little intimacy. The Island Hotel has a nice quiet dining room, great food and prompt service. The lights are generally low, enhancing the atmosphere.
If, on the other hand, you prefer rowdier company, there is a boisterous bar in the back where the locals hang out. Meals are also served there and you have the exciting opportunity of discovering just exactly what everybody in Cedar Key is up to.
We would be remiss in our Cedar Key review if we did not mention that Tony’s Restaurant is still dishing out its Champion clam chowder. Three years ago, Tony took his recipe up to Newport, R.I., where the annual chowder cook-off is held—and always won by New Englanders. Wonder of wonders, he won. And repeated again the following year and also the next. Tony has parlayed his feat into a nice little business at his 12-or-so table restaurant so if you’re in the mood to assimilate several thousand calories into your body, give him a try. They won’t let Tony compete any more using the same recipe (it has been “retired” and hopefully delivered to the Clam Chowder Hall Of Fame) but he seems to be bearing up.
From Our Family To Yours
Greeting of the season. We’ve lost a couple of friends over the past 12 months but that just makes us appreciate the remaining ones all the more. Enjoy your Christmas. Appreciate your companions. Promise yourselves you will do better. And revel in the Mysteries.
That’s all, folks…..
