Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Who's that knockin' at my door?

Et laudate simul
Before the holidays progress much further,
I must share a deep secret with all of you.
My sordid confession is that I hate, loathe,
and detest Christmas Carolers. The idea
that at any moment I might be attacked
at home by a group of musical meddlers
does NOT ring my bell. Even worse, their
pseudo merrie olde English ensembles are
beyond embarassing at best. Honestly, as
fully grown adults they should know better!

Who knows when, where or how this
worrisome phenomena started. One
might assume that before the advent
of twentieth century electronics it was
considered quite delightful to have a
group of neighbors cackling at your
front door. Frankly I prefer to sit in
the quiet of my home and revel to the
beat of my own drummer (boy that is).
Who wants to bother their neighbors?

As a young tot, one of our required
annual holiday activities was a trip
down to the nursing home. There
we sang our guts out and tried to
spread some holiday cheer. What
I recall most is trying to survive the
heat, smell, and aged accoutrements.
What I don't recall is getting any
sense of recognition from our elders.
In hindsight, could it be possible
that they simply loathed listening
to a posse of pubescent carolers?
Time for an intermission!

Before you think I'm some soft of horrific
Scrooge, I confess that I adore Christmas
carols. Nothing brings the true meaning
of the holidays to life for me more than
those treasured tunes. I'm a sucker for
those ditties and find I can barely get
through mass without sobbing as I sing.
My issue outside of church is not these
songs themselves, rather it's how they're
transmitted via fools in top hats and capes!

Nisi baritono
What bothers me the most is a group
of adults making fools of themselves.
Whereas nothing charms me as much
as a bevy of tiny tots struggling to hit
the high notes of Jingle Bells. While I
find their cacophony celebratory, I do
not find a strange baritone bellowing
on my doorstep anything more than
creepy. Can't they stay home and drink
some spiked eggnog like the rest of us?

Cesses et desistes
I prefer to not spend my holidays hiding
in a darkened house in order to avoid
being assaulted by musical marauders.
If it's money you singing fools want,
I will gladly pay quite a bit to keep you
at bay. My request is that rather than
serenade me from my sidewalk, simply
slip an envelope under the door. Feel
free to treat my home like an ATM. All
I ask is that you be quiet while doing so.