There’s an awful lot of pressure this time of year. The gauntlet of good cheer can be overwhelming for those with a balanced temperament.
I count my blessings and consider myself contented, but keep merriment within reason. No skipping, no cartwheels, no bursting into song. Bluebirds do not flitter around me when my mood rises. At Hampton Beach a seagull once pooped on my foot — otherwise birds let me be.
So it’s all things in moderation: My daily happiness scale ranges from “not bad” to “pretty good.” When something bad actually happens I often say, “Well, it could be worse.”
I suppose there’s a meteor with my name on it out there somewhere.
Hah-hah, missed me so far!
Lately people have been ordering me to have a merry Christmas, a happy birthday and a happy New Year. This comes on top of the grandly aspirational “Have a great rest of your day” at checkouts. It’s a lot to accomplish in less than 10 days. There is scant time for restorative meditation — or recuperative sulking.
New Year’s Eve is easily dispatched with, since staying up until midnight is no longer on the table. It’s been some time since I had a beer, and decades since I’ve had a hangover, not because of morals or willpower. I simply lost interest.
But the holidays march on.
Our Christmas North Star was, of course, our granddaughter. I shouldn’t bore you with all the details, but I just might do that.
On top of thinking about her daily, sometimes on the hour, I watched Vivi’s development race through the fall. At 2 and ½, a new world opened up to her, some of which must have seemed fairly weird.
At first she was uncertain about Halloween, which appeared out of nowhere with gravestones, ghosts and witches popping up on neighborhood lawns. She kept a wary eye on a door around the corner. It was festooned with a full-sized, realistic looking Hollywood movie serial killer. She learned the word “creepy,’’ cutely pronouncing it “keepy.” I didn’t detect fear in her voice, but I could tell she was turning things over in her mind. What did it all portend?
She got fully on board when she was drafted into a costume parade and paid off in candy. I suppose she would have been happy to remain in Halloween World, but alas, it came and went like Hershey’s Minis.
Then came Thanksgiving (she’s kind of young for Pilgrims and football) and the Yuletide express. She posed for a picture with Santa, but nothing too chummy. She sat on a little bench in his general vicinity. She had done the same with the Easter Bunny, so it was nothing personal.
Anyway, her house suddenly had a tree and lights and trimming and much ado about everything. One December evening her parents brought out a Christmas stocking, which she called a sock. A sock! And what a sock!
It was big, embroidered, and according to her parents, it had her name on it.
Her face was shiny and bright with all the happy spirit of the season. She raised it up with both hands and proclaimed, “Trick or Treat!”
Even Tiny Tim, God bless him, couldn’t beat that.
Neither could I, of course.
My birthday came soon. It turned from uneventful to something more when my son and daughter surprised us by driving a couple of hours and knocking on our door in the late afternoon with a Carvel cake, a birthday dessert considered both traditional and ironic by our family.
Fortunately, we hadn’t jetted off to Aspen or Paris and were home. And so the birthday was happy as I merited, and I had my annual encounter with the mysterious blue frosting on those remarkable cakes. I believe it is banned in Europe and California, and is used to stabilize antifreeze in several Baltic nations. But what the heck — you only live once.
They say that age is just a number, but now that it’s 73 I am starting to have some doubts. Sure, it’s just a number but so are the ones on tests at the doctor’s office. We often get electronic medical records online before we even hear from the doctor, so we play a quick, exciting game of What’s My Malady?
Still, though I am indeed 73 I feel more like 55, which proves what liars feelings can be.
And now, after so much glitter and jitter and more, we’re settling into 2026. I think I will approach it in much the way Vivi handled Halloween and other momentous shifts.
What’s next? Might be dicey. Not sure I like it. But candy? Let’s go!
Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.