The little radio in my kitchen has been turned to 93.9 since Thanksgiving.
I have three lines on the dial that I drew with a Sharpie. One is at DCB, the next one is at XRT and the final mark is at WFMT.
But, from Thanksgiving until about 4:30 this morning it has been turned to the Christmas music station. This station has a host on the evening shift, Delilah. She is a soft spoken woman who often takes calls from sad people during her broadcast. I won’t hear her voice until November of 2025.
I left 93.9 on overnight as they played commercial free for thirty-six hours.
I am officially warn out on Christmas songs. It happened at 4:30 when I heard Wham crying about Christmas from last year. It was the eleventh time I heard George Michael crying about lost love since dinner time last night.
No more Mariah Carey, no more Burl Ives, no more Carpenters and no more José Feliciano.
I can only handle so much Mannheim Steamroller and I hit that limit back on December sixth.
Christmas morning has arrived as promised. I enjoy waking up and seeing the glow of the Christmas tree. I put mine up late this year. I’m probably going to take it down Saturday.
I’ve never been patient when it comes to anticlimactic events. I’ve gotten worse as I’ve gotten older.
The unemployment number at the first of the month was always a big event. The trading floor would nervously wait for the numbers to be released and then suddenly at 7:30 in the morning…
…the cacophony of buying and selling, shouting and screaming, losses and gains occurred.
When it was over, it was over and we moved on.
Christmas is similar, at least to me.
We build it up, we prepare and we anxiously await the moment when it comes to a momentous end.
Dishes piled in the sink. Garbage bags filled with wrapping paper that we hurriedly taped on boxes and the relief that follows when everyone is satisfied.
When I typed out that last word, “satisfied,” I was a little set back with selecting it.
Christmas is about giving and receiving, not satisfying.
I’m satisfied with the birth of Christ, but the tie that Aunt Harriet gave me is hideous. The glow of the Christmas tree is glorious, but Uncle Max overcooked the beef tenderloin.
Christmas for this year ends at the opening bell tomorrow morning, but the Christmas spirit should last up to when I turn the dial back to 93.9fm next November.
The anticipation may be over, but the love for the season will always glow.
Have yourself a merry and astonishingly beautiful Christmas.
