Well, the swinging pendulum of time has continued down its path, and, here we are, at the footsteps of 2008. This means another storybook Christmas has passed. You, my faithful audience, of course know I’m not one to complain. If I had to though, I suppose I could slip back into nostalgia for a Dakota Christmas and present a petite critique of Christmas in Togo.
1) The snow. As I already mentioned, I usually bite the lip and take the pacifist approach when this or that proves bothersome to me. Pa always told me to choose my fights carefully. This, though, is one instance my conscience has a grip on me. I must take a stand. The snow is ghastly thin and dry here, rendering it nearly impossible to put my artistic talents to use and create a happy snowman and, time permitting, a happy snow-woman and snow children. I sat twiddling my thumbs after devouring my fourteenth ham sandwich and twice as many deviled eggs. What’s a poor lad to do when he can’t strap on the snow pants and craft a perfect snow family or whip a hearty snowball at a dear friend’s face? Needless to say, I was flabbergasted and heartbroken.
2) The cider here is just a wee bit too tart for my palate. Although I’m a cider man myself, I settled for eggnog. They sell it by the barrel here.
3) John Denver and the Muppets, having embarked on one of the most historic and ground-breaking Christmas collaborations since the drummer boy and his drum, do not get near the airtime they deserve on Togo radio. Not once did I hear Kermit, Piggy, and the rest join in a merry rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. A bitter, bitter disappointment.
4) Early Christmas Eve Mass doesn’t exist here. Thus, forced to attend Midnight Mass at midnight, I zonked somewhere in the first five minutes of the Homily. By the time I was nudged as the ending hymnal sounded, I was well into my second Santa dream. It’s a shame too. I was told the Homily was a real humdinger.
So, there she is. The proof of the pudding. Admittedly, I did have a fifth reservation. But you know me. The glass is always half full over here, even if it’s not cider. I have a lot to be thankful for. And this, I say, from the very center of my heart. Hoots, was it great to hear from everyone these past few days! The Big Man upstairs must have been enjoying the gaiety of the Christmas season as well and let my Homily debacle slide this time. Minus the phone dying before I had a chance to say goodbye to my dear brother, everything went by without a hitch. Whether Bill knew two minutes before he called, we were sulking about missing friends and family, I don’t know. Whether our aunts knew, perhaps by some kindred telepathy, that I had mentioned in passing to Katrina that I may head north to cross the greatest of deserts in search of my favorite Sour Patch Kids, I don’t know. Whether our parents knew how great it was to spend thirty minutes of Christmas together, I don’t know. But, from the bottom of our hearts, thanks to everyone! Which brings me to my next point.
As I am away from home, I have always grappled with how much I should be connected with everyone. I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, want to appear as “moving on” from my dearest. At the same time though, it’s certainly important to be fully engaged in one’s environment, right? At base, this has been a most frustrating conundrum for me. This past Christmas resolved the matter, however. I firmly believe contact with home only invigorates my enthusiasm for life here in Togo. I suppose, in a round about sort of way, this is call for increased and more fruitful dialogue between us. And please, don’t feel you have to write a novel, for Pete's sake. Drop a few lines, a short story, a link to something humorous or interesting. Anything and everything is wonderful! There has not been an instance when hearing from home didn’t brighten our day.
So, friends, family, weary internet surfers alike, we expect to hear from you soon! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
*Important note to the readers* Bullets one, two, and four may be partly or wholly fluff. So, take it for what it’s worth. However, bullet three I will stand next to until the bitter end. Also, a little side note: Has anyone heard that God-awful song that goes, “What about Africa, do they know it's Christmas time at all?” Worst Christmas song ever. We have come a long way since the eighties, I suppose. Gimminy Crickets, of course they know it’s Christmas here!
No comments:
Post a Comment