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intrikate88It’s the Most Wonderful Tiiiiime…. Of The Yeeeeeeeear
by Katie Jonell
Now that Thanksgiving has been dragged, kicking and screaming, past our line of vision, now that the last of the leftover turkey has been surreptitiously hidden in the back of the fridge in desperate hopes of no more turkey sandwiches, we are officially In The Christmas Season, rushing towards another holiday where we can eat turkey, and, of course, go shopping manically in a mall full of people (all shopping manically as well) who, in an entirely startling coincidence, sound like our tasty fowls when clucking over the overpriced items or the absolute steals. Gobble gobble.
I swore to myself this year that I wouldn’t go shopping on what’s known as Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving, probably named for the dark despair of everyone who works retail that day) and this year, I kept that promise. I don’t know if I went shopping when I didn’t want to last year, or not. It’s all a bit hazy. I’m told this is a sign of repression and the memory might cause my brain to short circuit, causing me to fall and twitch amusingly in the middle of psychology class. So, I waited for the Saturday after Thanksgiving, because we all know that Barrett Parkway on a Saturday before Christmas does not resemble a parking lot in the least. And if you know that, clearly you don’t live in East Cobb.
I can confidently tell you that I am an amazing person because I am pretty much finished with my shopping already. I’ve already faced the horror of finding out that, after eighteen years of living with my mother (this is including those months in the womb) I do not know her in the least, and, more importantly, I have no clue what to get for her for Christmas. She showed me her bathroom closet full of lotion and bubble bath that people have given her for Christmas over the years, and said Absolutely No Lotion Or Bubble Bath. (I got some for her anyway.) I also bought her a worship CD, which I did last year, and the year before that, and, I’m reasonably certain, the year before that. I never know what to get her, so I always get pretty much the same thing. After all, why break with tradition? Traditions are what Christmas is all about, right?
It’s kind of disorienting to wander haplessly through all those stores and see the Christmas decorations, hear the Christmas music, and stand in lines that are not only long, but reach all the way to the food court upstairs. Sometimes I have to pinch myself and remember that November hasn’t vacated our calendars yet. The Christmas carols, though, are the most disorienting of everything. They make me think of pine trees and tea and long, snowbound, candlelit evenings, reading by the fire in coordinated red flannel pajamas. I think someone is screwing with my brain, though. This is Georgia; we may get icebound but never snowbound. And I don’t have red flannel pajamas, either. And if I ever get enough time to read by the fire I’ll have to wake myself up from that particular dream because I have homework to do or something and I shouldn’t be sleeping.
I’ve heard rumors that 104.7 The Fish is already playing Christmas carols, but so far I haven’t been brave enough to push the buttons on my car’s radio and find out. (I’m mainly listening to 105.3 The Buzz now because they play System of a Down and that makes me happy, for some mysterious reason.) I can’t listen to nonstop Christmas music this far in advance, because it’s repeated far too often for me not to get twitchy and want to throw things, preferably sharp things. Anything repeated too often, from good words to bad words, make me twitchy. This is why I despise the song “My Hump” by the Black Eyed Peas with a fiery passion unmatched by the heat of a thousand stars. So let’s play “Don’t Phunk With My Heart” instead. And hold off the carols until December 15th, at the very least, unless they’re sung by Bing Crosby, which is allowed up to four months in advance.
Something I do like about the Christmas season is that I can look forward to reading Hogfather, my favorite book of the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. It takes place during Hogswatch, the Discworld’s version of Christmas. When the Hogfather (just guess who that is) is murdered, Death (big bony guy, handy with a scythe… you know who I’m talking about) and his manservant, Albert, must deliver presents to restore belief in the Hogfather, because if no one believes in him terrible things will occur, such as the sun never rising again which could seriously put a curtail on little kids getting up at sunrise to shake wrapped boxes. Susan, Death’s granddaughter (it’s a long story), is trapped in the middle, having to take over the duty of collecting departed souls and also trying to find out who assassinated the Hogfather… and why. A resourceful governess who is accustomed to bashing bogeymen over the head, Susan isn’t very happy about her grandfather’s interference in her life but ends up solving the mystery anyway with the help of Bilious, the god of hangovers. You’ll never think about certain carols the same way again after you read about Death (wearing a red Santa robe) saying, “YOU’D BETTER WATCH OUT. YOU’D BETTER NOT CRY,” “I CHECKED THE LIST TWICE. DO YOU THINK THAT’S ENOUGH?” and, of course, “HO. HO. HO. IS THAT JOLLY?”
All in all, it’s a pretty good book. And very profound, too, about the nature of faith and belief. But funny, above all. I’ll wish everyone a Happy Hogswatch here, because if I wait until the end, nobody will remember what I’m talking about and might accuse me of celebrating a pagan holiday or something.
Speaking of which, I’ve come across some references in all my reading to a god called Mithra or Mithras. His religion was around for a hundred years or so before Christ, he was killed on a tree, his followers had a sort of communion-type ritual, and they celebrated his birthday… on December 25th. I’ve also found in some of my reading that the star that the Bible mentions as lighting up when Jesus was born would have been two planets that, because of the earth’s rotation and retrograde motion (it’s all very complicated. I’d need ball bearings, kickballs, an elastic sheet and a rubber duck to explain it. The duck isn’t necessary, but it is amusing to look at), would have seemed to be a bright star, hovering at the same point in the sky for approximately two years. In an entirely meaningless coincidence, this “star” would have appeared somewhere around September 11th, 3 B.C.
But back to the Mithras thing. I find it heartening that so many elements of the grand epic of a fallen creation, the love of God, redemption through his death, and resurrection come through in the myths and religions of ancient tribes and cultures. The humanistic approach to history, of course, would be to explain that Christianity synthesized a number of religions and cultures to make its own religion. But I choose to believe that, in the eyes of eternity to which the heart is connected, some events are so large they cast their shadows before them. The Bible says that anyone who seeks after God will find him, and so, perhaps, he has shown himself to people who might never hear of Jesus in other ways. I hope that when I get to heaven, I’ll meet someone who was saved a thousand years before Jesus was born, through believing a story that mirrors the true Story.
And that, not the tradition of buying my mother bubble bath and a worship CD, is the true reason for Christmas. After the perfection has been ruined, after the heroes have fallen, after it seems that there is nothing left but the enemy defeating the protagonists- the Story comes to a turning point. Now, the Hero shows up to save those that are suffering. Horribly, he is defeated, and there seems no hope; but then, in an Astonishing Twist of Plot™ the ending turns out to be false and the Hero, though he seemed defeated, actually used that seeming defeat to win and rescue everyone. I can’t imagine a better story, and believe me, I’ve read more than a few.
So Merry Christmas, everyone. Happy Hogswatch. Don’t get mauled at the mall… unless you really want to. And I hope everyone truly understands and celebrates the meaning of the season: the moment in history and eternity when the Story, finally, was revealed to not be over quite yet.
by Katie Jonell
Now that Thanksgiving has been dragged, kicking and screaming, past our line of vision, now that the last of the leftover turkey has been surreptitiously hidden in the back of the fridge in desperate hopes of no more turkey sandwiches, we are officially In The Christmas Season, rushing towards another holiday where we can eat turkey, and, of course, go shopping manically in a mall full of people (all shopping manically as well) who, in an entirely startling coincidence, sound like our tasty fowls when clucking over the overpriced items or the absolute steals. Gobble gobble.
I swore to myself this year that I wouldn’t go shopping on what’s known as Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving, probably named for the dark despair of everyone who works retail that day) and this year, I kept that promise. I don’t know if I went shopping when I didn’t want to last year, or not. It’s all a bit hazy. I’m told this is a sign of repression and the memory might cause my brain to short circuit, causing me to fall and twitch amusingly in the middle of psychology class. So, I waited for the Saturday after Thanksgiving, because we all know that Barrett Parkway on a Saturday before Christmas does not resemble a parking lot in the least. And if you know that, clearly you don’t live in East Cobb.
I can confidently tell you that I am an amazing person because I am pretty much finished with my shopping already. I’ve already faced the horror of finding out that, after eighteen years of living with my mother (this is including those months in the womb) I do not know her in the least, and, more importantly, I have no clue what to get for her for Christmas. She showed me her bathroom closet full of lotion and bubble bath that people have given her for Christmas over the years, and said Absolutely No Lotion Or Bubble Bath. (I got some for her anyway.) I also bought her a worship CD, which I did last year, and the year before that, and, I’m reasonably certain, the year before that. I never know what to get her, so I always get pretty much the same thing. After all, why break with tradition? Traditions are what Christmas is all about, right?
It’s kind of disorienting to wander haplessly through all those stores and see the Christmas decorations, hear the Christmas music, and stand in lines that are not only long, but reach all the way to the food court upstairs. Sometimes I have to pinch myself and remember that November hasn’t vacated our calendars yet. The Christmas carols, though, are the most disorienting of everything. They make me think of pine trees and tea and long, snowbound, candlelit evenings, reading by the fire in coordinated red flannel pajamas. I think someone is screwing with my brain, though. This is Georgia; we may get icebound but never snowbound. And I don’t have red flannel pajamas, either. And if I ever get enough time to read by the fire I’ll have to wake myself up from that particular dream because I have homework to do or something and I shouldn’t be sleeping.
I’ve heard rumors that 104.7 The Fish is already playing Christmas carols, but so far I haven’t been brave enough to push the buttons on my car’s radio and find out. (I’m mainly listening to 105.3 The Buzz now because they play System of a Down and that makes me happy, for some mysterious reason.) I can’t listen to nonstop Christmas music this far in advance, because it’s repeated far too often for me not to get twitchy and want to throw things, preferably sharp things. Anything repeated too often, from good words to bad words, make me twitchy. This is why I despise the song “My Hump” by the Black Eyed Peas with a fiery passion unmatched by the heat of a thousand stars. So let’s play “Don’t Phunk With My Heart” instead. And hold off the carols until December 15th, at the very least, unless they’re sung by Bing Crosby, which is allowed up to four months in advance.
Something I do like about the Christmas season is that I can look forward to reading Hogfather, my favorite book of the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. It takes place during Hogswatch, the Discworld’s version of Christmas. When the Hogfather (just guess who that is) is murdered, Death (big bony guy, handy with a scythe… you know who I’m talking about) and his manservant, Albert, must deliver presents to restore belief in the Hogfather, because if no one believes in him terrible things will occur, such as the sun never rising again which could seriously put a curtail on little kids getting up at sunrise to shake wrapped boxes. Susan, Death’s granddaughter (it’s a long story), is trapped in the middle, having to take over the duty of collecting departed souls and also trying to find out who assassinated the Hogfather… and why. A resourceful governess who is accustomed to bashing bogeymen over the head, Susan isn’t very happy about her grandfather’s interference in her life but ends up solving the mystery anyway with the help of Bilious, the god of hangovers. You’ll never think about certain carols the same way again after you read about Death (wearing a red Santa robe) saying, “YOU’D BETTER WATCH OUT. YOU’D BETTER NOT CRY,” “I CHECKED THE LIST TWICE. DO YOU THINK THAT’S ENOUGH?” and, of course, “HO. HO. HO. IS THAT JOLLY?”
All in all, it’s a pretty good book. And very profound, too, about the nature of faith and belief. But funny, above all. I’ll wish everyone a Happy Hogswatch here, because if I wait until the end, nobody will remember what I’m talking about and might accuse me of celebrating a pagan holiday or something.
Speaking of which, I’ve come across some references in all my reading to a god called Mithra or Mithras. His religion was around for a hundred years or so before Christ, he was killed on a tree, his followers had a sort of communion-type ritual, and they celebrated his birthday… on December 25th. I’ve also found in some of my reading that the star that the Bible mentions as lighting up when Jesus was born would have been two planets that, because of the earth’s rotation and retrograde motion (it’s all very complicated. I’d need ball bearings, kickballs, an elastic sheet and a rubber duck to explain it. The duck isn’t necessary, but it is amusing to look at), would have seemed to be a bright star, hovering at the same point in the sky for approximately two years. In an entirely meaningless coincidence, this “star” would have appeared somewhere around September 11th, 3 B.C.
But back to the Mithras thing. I find it heartening that so many elements of the grand epic of a fallen creation, the love of God, redemption through his death, and resurrection come through in the myths and religions of ancient tribes and cultures. The humanistic approach to history, of course, would be to explain that Christianity synthesized a number of religions and cultures to make its own religion. But I choose to believe that, in the eyes of eternity to which the heart is connected, some events are so large they cast their shadows before them. The Bible says that anyone who seeks after God will find him, and so, perhaps, he has shown himself to people who might never hear of Jesus in other ways. I hope that when I get to heaven, I’ll meet someone who was saved a thousand years before Jesus was born, through believing a story that mirrors the true Story.
And that, not the tradition of buying my mother bubble bath and a worship CD, is the true reason for Christmas. After the perfection has been ruined, after the heroes have fallen, after it seems that there is nothing left but the enemy defeating the protagonists- the Story comes to a turning point. Now, the Hero shows up to save those that are suffering. Horribly, he is defeated, and there seems no hope; but then, in an Astonishing Twist of Plot™ the ending turns out to be false and the Hero, though he seemed defeated, actually used that seeming defeat to win and rescue everyone. I can’t imagine a better story, and believe me, I’ve read more than a few.
So Merry Christmas, everyone. Happy Hogswatch. Don’t get mauled at the mall… unless you really want to. And I hope everyone truly understands and celebrates the meaning of the season: the moment in history and eternity when the Story, finally, was revealed to not be over quite yet.
