Slightly Off the Mark

In the above photo you can see a Christmas decoration that depicts Emily and I kissing. This year we shared not a kiss, but coughing and hacking. (We're much better now, although there are other family members who would use good vibes.) Last year we shared Covid. Basically we didn't feel up to putting up the tree and decorations either time, so we didn't. However, I do have a Gilmore Girls "Luke's Diner" Christmas theme on the TV, so there's that.

Emily's birthday will be about the time you're reading this. She got her present early, but of course I wanted something to give her something that day, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I have reason to believe she's going to hate it. If I disappear, check in the big freezer in the garage.

She'll appreciate the effort, though. I hope.

Here's Emily with our house guest from earlier this year, Watson.

Between my Seasonal Affected Disorder and the way my brain naturally freezes when it comes to any kind of present shopping, added to the bronchitis/sinusitis thing, I have no confidence that I'll recover when it comes to the gift giving business, I'll try! Meanwhile, maybe I'll cook something for her. Or maybe that would just make things worse.

In any case, this will probably be the last blog from me until after Christmas, so I hope everyone has a great holiday. Our family get together might not come until after the New Year--but we'll still be together.

There's a nice Christmas tree at work, anyway!

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(Writer's note: I had a whole opening written out relating to the election, but things went in the entirely opposite direction from what I'd predicted. Just the same, a bunch of people are unhappy and the whole decade has still sucked so far, so I'm reposting this blog from last year, because the sentiments are still the same.)

So ... we need a little Christmas.

 Why? Because 2023 has been crap. (And now 2024. For instance, a month after I wrote this my wife and I came down with COVID, which we carried into the next year.) In fact, it's been the crappiest of the 2020s, which has been the crappiest decade of the century. I know we're not that far in, but let's face it: A stream of horrible years doesn't make the most horrible less horrible. Someone get me that on a t-shirt.

Deaths, health scares, politics, extremists, the Kardashians are still around ... our dog died and our car broke down. That's a country song, man.

So, as the song goes: We need a little Christmas, today. Get started. Brighten up everything--make those electric meters spin. We need the color, the lights, the cheer, even the songs. Yes, I know Christmas is too commercial these days.

We and our books can be found ... everywhere:

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In the dollar store

I don’t make this stuff up—

I ran into the Grinch,

And his reindeer, the pup.

“What brings you to town?” I asked, to be nice.

“The last time I heard you suffered the vice

Of hating all Christmas, the presents and lights;

Yet you stand in the isle of Yuletide delights.”

It’s true: We were right in the holiday lane,

The same place I cursed when Halloween came.

There were pine trees by pumpkins, costumes with wreaths.

You could get pumpkin spice with mint or with wraiths.

(See what I did, there?)

“I’ve joined the club”, he told me with a sneer.

“I’m going full out on Christmas this year.

I’m buying up lights and tinsel and stuff;

Don’t know what this is, but I can’t get enough.”

The thing he held up was a Thanksgiving display,

On clearance from last month, but I didn’t say.

“But I don’t understand,” I told the green guy.

“I thought you hate Christmas, and want it to die.”

“Oh, I do,” said the Grinch, with a Darth Vader like laugh.

(I don’t think Vader chortled, so that may be a gaff.)

“I’m joining the club; I’m going all in.

The result is a club they won’t want to be in!

“I’m putting up stockings, a tree in each room,

Outside speakers from which carols will boom.

Gaudy garland to drape all over my cave,

And starting that evening: all night holiday rave.

“I’ll not have tree skirts—oh no, tree gowns!

My garland will go wrapping around and around

Not just my home but the whole doggone mountain—

And a red, green, and yellow spice flavored fountain.

“Candles and pillows and shelves of snow globes,

Warm but so gaudy sweaters and robes,

Pillows and rugs and a gingerbread house—

And my wife will be decorated … if I find me a spouse.

“Decoration limits? We won’t have any lid.

My holiday lights will take down the whole grid!

I’ll blind passing planes, then I’ll darken the state.

And then I’ll light candles and start a clean slate.

“And, oh yes, I’ll put my own name up in a blaze,

In rich Christmas colors, to cut through the haze

So all the Who’s down in Whoville, that dump

Will know it is I who gave Christmas a bump.”

I have to admit, I was a bit mystified.

When it comes to the Grinch—well, this wasn’t the side

You think of when picturing this big green guy.

(Sure, he’s no Hulk, but still.)

So with great trepidation, I had to ask: “Why?”

“Why? You want to know why?”

(He sounded very much like Jack Nicholson at that point.)

“I’ll tell you why.

“My plan can’t be stopped, so I’ll tell you the reason:

By the time I’m done you’ll be sick of this season.

Everyone will hate Christmas: The music will grate,

The spice cinnamon stuff will make them hesitate

“To go out and carol, even if it's fat free!

Or at least that’s how I’d feel, if caroling me.

And when it’s all done, they’ll feel the same way

As they feel about me—the Grinch—every day.”

I have to admit, he’d made a good plan.

Immersion attack from a Christmas hit man.

And it would have worked too, except he didn’t see

It had already been done, with consumerist glee.

I began to explain, but we’d hit the checkout,

And I realized what he was about to find out.

The clerk rang it up, a green sounding ring,

The numbers kept rising with every new bling.

The Grinch stumbled back, his hand to his head.

“With that bill the reindeer dog won’t get fed,

The heat will go off, hot chocolate won’t trickle—

I’ll end up a homeless, frozen Grinch-cicle!”

And he left his load there: every last light and trinket.

“If I knew of the cost I never would think it!

I’m going old school, next year I’ll lay low

And steal all the stuff from the Who’s down below.”

It’s an odd way to save Christmas, I think you’ll agree.

But that’s just how it happened … take it from me.

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Remember, every time you buy a book the Grinch's small library grows three times.

 I went down a few rabbit holes while we were sick over the holidays, and found some examples of the Christmas decorations I grew up with.

I don't recall a lot of specialized or homemade tree ornaments. We had these shiny things, some of them globes and some bells, large and small. As a result, plain and simple ornaments can make me nostalgic.

I loved the color wheel! We had a black and white TV at the time, after all. My recollection is that ours had only three colors, green, blue, and red, but I might be wrong. After all, I also remember my very detailed and realistic toy Apollo Moon rocket with a capsule that actually shot into the air--and it turns out it wasn't very detailed or realistic.

(On the subject of toys, I did indeed get a bb gun, and I never shot my eye out.)

We had a green aluminum tree, which was all the rage in the 60s, and it looked just like the one on the left. After Christmas the branches went into paper sleeves, and it was all neatly boxed up. As I recall, my Grandma Nannie had a white one.

We also had the cardboard fireplace. In January one year, quaking with terror while doing a speech in front of the class, I related a tale of the cardboard chimney once falling on me, and got some laughs. It never happened. When my kids were little I bought another one, and it lasted several years.

Santa assembled our main toys for us, and left them in front of the tree. Once I got a model Starship Enterprise that lit up. Another time there was a train waiting, and once my brother and I awoke to find a Hot Wheels track winding its way through the living room. The best was probably when Santa dropped off two bicycles. Mine was a five speed with a banana seat.

Wait--maybe our tree is in a photo somewhere. And maybe you want to know what I looked like back then. I hope so, because it took me some digging to find this:

That's Jeff on the left, Delbert (Dad) on the right, and me in the middle. You want to know something odd? I remember those shirts.

And as usual, find all our books here:

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 This month's newsletter is out, and with it an excerpt from my newest NaNoWriMo novel, Christmas On Mist Creek! You can find it here:

 https://mailchi.mp/44770eabb377/a-free-read-from-nanowrimo?e=2b1e842057

  (By the way, if you sign up for the newsletter your e-mail address will NOT be sold or given to anyone else.)

I've completed the rough draft, and also won NaNoWriMo by going past the 50,000 word goal and hitting 59,296 words. The novel itself is actually about 56,500 words: The extra is the word count from other writing I did during the month, including writing a blog and the newsletter itself.

How long it will take to edit and polish the work, I don't know. I already saw some spots in the scene I posted that I'd like to change, including an opening that's a bit too stereotypical romance novel. But hey--that's what editing is for.

Remember, every time you sign up for a newsletter, Benjamin Franklin's ghost gets another beer. Ben loved beer--that's why he hung around Sam Adams.

(Also, don't forget: Buy books for Christmas!)

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I’ve always related to the cartoon character Charlie Brown.

I was the odd shaped kid, naïve, a little strange, unpopular. If I’d dared to manage a baseball team, it would have been the worst team on the planet. The little red haired girl was very nice, but clearly had no interest in me. I even had a white dog, although he slept inside the dog house. 

 Last year I was inspired to write a parody holiday season song, and this year it appears I still haven't learned my lesson. Here's last year's effort:

https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2020/12/tis-911-season.html  

Again, I can't imagine anyone who's not in the emergency services will fully appreciate this, but that never stopped me before. I wrote new lyrics to the Christmas song "Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season”, dedicated to emergency telecommunicators out there--including those who, like me, still call themselves 911 dispatchers.

I'm 30 years on the job, so it's possible it's starting to get to me.

I am, too: see?

Crappy Holiday/The Dispatcher Season

(Sung to the tune of “Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season” … in Andy Williams’ voice.)

Crappy holiday,

crappy holiday

As the relatives keep drinking

Crappy holiday to you

It’s the family fight season

And Uncle Ted is coming ‘round

He gets so drunk that he falls to the ground

When old Teddy gets into town

He’ll be going to the jailhouse now

(He’ll be going to the jailhouse now)

It’s the drunken fight season

Your cousin Roy got into the booze

Wonder  how many fights he will lose

He may show up on the evening news

He’ll be sleeping in the jailhouse now

(He’ll be sleeping in the jailhouse now)

Your nephew Jack is flat on his back

The football game didn’t go quite his way

So your old gram, a big Bears fan

put him underneath the Christmas tree

It’s the drunk driving season

An SUV, instead of a sleigh

Is hung up on your outside display

The guy inside thinks he’s in his driveway

He’ll be going to the jailhouse now

(He’ll be going to the jailhouse now)

Crappy holiday

(drunken holiday) Crappy holiday

Till the hangover takes over

Crappy holiday … to you!

Remember, every time you don't buy a book, the Grinch steals a tree.

 Her name was Virginia O’Hanlon. She graduated from Hunter College (gotta love that name) with a Bachelor of Arts degree, and a year later received her Master’s from Columbia. In 1912 she began teaching for the New York City school system, and 47 years later, after reaching the position of principal, she retired. It was a full and good life, one in which she had an impact on many children.

But throughout her life, until she died in 1971, she received letters, questions and interviews about something she, herself, did as a child -- something that has become immortal.

She wrote a letter.

“Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus,” Virginia said years later, “for he had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn’t any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.”

All we fathers have been there.

“It was a habit in our family,” Virginia continued, “that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word, or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, ‘If you see it in the Sun, it’s so’, and that settled the matter.”

This was in 1897. Anyone who said “If you see it in the newspaper, it’s so” these days would be laughed right out of the room, but we were a more faithful society then. So, Virginia wrote this letter:


“I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ‘if you see it in The Sun, it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?”

Virginia O’Hanlon


Those of you who no longer trust the newspapers would not be surprised if an editor quickly jotted down “Of course there is!” to satisfy the youngster, and leave it at that. But the letter found its way to Editor Francis P. Church, the son of a Baptist minister, who had two decades experience in the newspaper business.

Church was habitually given the controversial subjects to editorialize on, especially those involving religion. His motto was, “Clear your mind of can’t”. In other words, don’t try -- do. He felt he had to find an answer, and he had to answer truthfully. But if he said no, he would devastate the 8 year olds of New York City. If he said yes, how could he face his church, and all those adult readers who believed in his honesty?

It must have been terribly difficult, but he sat down to work on what would become the most famous editorial in history. It was reprinted annually, until the newspaper went out of business in 1949, and has become legend since.

In a probably misguided attempt to make Church’s reply clear to modern children, I’m going to try to update the editorial in today’s much poorer English. It’s probably a huge mistake, and I’m quite sure I’m not going to do justice to it. But the 8 year old Virginia’s of today are growing up too fast, and those of us with young hearts also need to remember Church’s conclusion:


Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They live at a time when they think no one believes in anything, and they believe only what they see. They think nothing is real if they can’t picture it in their little minds.

But all minds are little, Virginia, whether they belong to adults or children. In this huge universe man is very small, and his mind can’t truly understand all the things that are real and true in it.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

He’s real, as real as love, and kindness, and the spirit of giving, and all those things that bring beauty and joy to the world. How terrible this world would be without Santa Claus! It would be as dull and sad as if there were no Virginia's. There would be no childlike faith then, no imagination, no love that makes this life worth living. We would be unable to enjoy anything we couldn’t see or touch. There would be no childhood -- and the light of childhood fills the world.

Not believe in Santa Claus! Why, you might as well not believe in angels. You could get your father to hire people to watch all the chimneys on Christmas Eve, but even if none of them saw Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus then, but that doesn’t mean he’s not real. The most real things in the world are the things children and adults can’t see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s not proof they aren’t there. No one can imagine all the wonderful things that nobody can see in the world.

You can tear apart a toy to see what makes it work inside, but there’s a covering over those unseen things that not even the strongest man, not even all the strongest men together, could ever tear apart. Only faith, and imagination, and love, can push aside that covering and show all the wonderful things that are there. Are they all real? Oh, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else as real and long lasting.

No Santa Claus? Thank God he lives, and lives forever. A thousand years from now -- a million years from now -- he will still be real, and make glad the hearts of every Virginia, and everyone who stays young at heart.

 I don't know if anyone who's not in the emergency services will fully appreciate this, but what the heck. I wrote some new lyrics to the Christmas song "Deck the Halls", and it's dedicated to all the emergency telecommunicators out there--including those who, like me, still call themselves 911 dispatchers.

I just hit my 29th anniversary on the job, so don't mess with me: I'm legally insane:

TIS THE 911 SEASON

Tis the season for the fighting,

Fa la la la la, la la la

Kicking, screaming and the biting

Fa la la la la, la la la

Barroom fights and family squabbles

Fa la la la la, la la la

Louder than a turkey gobbles

Fa la la la la, la la la

Frequent flier, 911

Fa la la la la, la la la

Claiming that his meds are gone

Fa la la la la, la la la

Overdose is never fun

Fa la la la la, la la la

Especially at half past one

Fa la la la la, la la la

Traffic stop, to be proactive

Fa la la la la, la la la

Sure enough a warrant active

Fa la la la la, la la la

It won't get that cop promoted

Fa la la la la, la la la

When they find out he has COVID

Fa la la la la, la la la

Working all night, on through Christmas

Fa la la la la, la la la

Sure do hope the family missed us

Fa la la la la, la la la

We won't join in with the choir

Fa la la la la, la la la

Unless they catch their tree on fire

Fa la la la la, la la la

Fa la la la la, la la la

Can't sleep because we're still wired

Fa la la la la, la la la

Family members give you some cheer

Fa la la la la, la la la

Save your stress until the New Year

Fa la la la la, la la laaaaaa........

Remember, every time you don't buy a book, the Grinch steals a tree.

This was first published in my weekly column, way back in 2011. And yet, the songs remain the same.

I was going to do something serious for my Christmas writing this year. It’s a serious time; besides, as I write this there’s a special on Discovery about various disasters that could destroy the world.

Way to get into the holiday spirit, Discovery!

The Wreath of KHAAAANNNNNN!!!!

But serious times are when we need to lighten up the most. That’s why all those great movie musicals were popular during the Great Depression; it might also explain the popularity of the TV show Glee, one of the most profoundly unserious shows since Gilligan’s Island, even when it’s dealing with real issues. And that’s a great segue, because Glee does more song and dance numbers than a Congressional hearing, and as it happens I want to talk about Christmas songs.

If you can’t make fun of Christmas songs, what can you make fun of? So let’s take a look at some popular ones:

“Santa Claus is Coming to Town”: I’ve mentioned this song before – I call it “Santa Stalker”. He sees you when you’re sleeping … he knows when you’re awake … he knows when you’ve been bad or good … and he’s coming to town. No doubt he’ll be bringing his equally scary pals, the Boogeyman and the IRS Agent.

“I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”: Well. At least now we know why he’s coming to town. This is on that unique list of Christmas songs that, when you really pay attention, are the equivalent of an AMC Original Series: suitable for adults only.

“Jingle Bell Rock”: I included this out of historical interest, because it’s one of the first rock and roll Christmas songs. It seems quaint now, but at the time it was probably scandalous to the more traditional fans. If someone’s idea of a modern Christmas song was “The Hallelujah Chorus”, that guitar opening must have been a shock.

“Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow”: See above about adult Christmas songs; this one is basically the story of a guy who’s using bad weather as an excuse to make some time with his stranded companion. Also, it doesn’t actually mention Christmas in any way, which puts it into another category: songs about Christmas that – aren’t.

But at least it’s better than “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, in which the guy bypasses trying to talk his girl into the sack and spikes her drink, instead. Listen to those lyrics and you’ll get never let someone else mix your drink again.

“This Christmas”: Last Christmas she gave him her heart, and the very next day he gave it away. Wait. He gave her heart away? So … he made her fall in love with someone else? Well, you can understand the singer being a little mixed up, considering she’s spending her Christmas as a heartbroken mess.

“The Twelve Days of Christmas”: This is one of those songs that are so old people don’t really understand what they mean anymore. (See: figgy puddings.) Your true love gave you … maids milking? French hens? Where do you even get lords leaping? Do they have to have union cards?

But of course, the big problem with this one is that it’s twelve days long.

“Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”: Let me break this song down for you: It’s about a bullied kid with a serious birth defect whose haters decide to like him after it turns out he has a superpower that saves the day. Okay. Why did Stan Lee never turn this into a Marvel comic? Or was Spider-Man enough?

“Blue Christmas”: Only Elvis Presley really pulled off this iconic story of a depressed man who’s miserable all through the holidays. Probably the most down Christmas song ever, with the possible exception of “Christmas Shoes”, a song I can’t listen to all the way through to this day.

“Christmas Dragnet”: Funniest Christmas song ever – at least, if you’re familiar with Jack Webb’s old “Dragnet” TV series. I steal the funniest line of that song for my own purposes whenever I can get away with it … and no, I’m not going to tell you what it is. If you don’t listen to the song, you’ll still believe I thought it up myself.

" "We'll find that Grinch, ma'am."

“Little St. Nick.” It’s actually not a bad song, but the very idea of The Beach Boys singing about a winter holiday … you have to picture them belting it out on a beach, wearing shorts with red and green Hawaiian shirts, surrounded by bikini ladies in Santa hats. Which … now that I think on it, that’s not a bad way to spend Christmas.

“Jingle Bells”: A nice, traditional Christmas song … except when done by the Singing Dogs. Whose bright idea was that, and what’s next? Cats screeching out “Feliz Navidad”?

“Snoopy’s Christmas”: A flying dog engaged in a bloody fight to the death with a vicious World War 1 German ace. Merry Christmas, my friend!

“The Chipmunk Song”: Again, whose bright idea was that? ‘Cause the guy should’ve gotten a medal for spawning an empire that’s cranking out cash to this day. I’m thinking about doing a version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” – with helium.

“White Christmas” and “Silent Night”: They tie for being close to the perfect Christmas songs. If you can listen to them without getting teared up and – at least inwardly – singing along, you have no heart. Maybe you gave it away Last Christmas.

“Santa Baby”: Top on the list of inappropriate Christmas songs. To this day, Santa can’t hear any version without having to take a cold shower.

And finally, the single most ridiculous Christmas song ever can only be:

“Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”.

Nothing says Christmas like a hit and run sleigh driver smearing an elderly lady across the sidewalk. Maybe Snoopy should be hired to bring Santa down?

Makes me wish I hadn’t forgot my medication.

"We're just standing by in case Grandma goes out again this year."