It's that time of year again. Thankfully, there are six fewer days between Thanksgiving and Xmas this year. That means six fewer days to endure insipid "holiday" music permeating every facet of our lives. It's there in the grocery store and it grabs you by the raw nerve endings in the local Wally World. You can't go to a doctor's office without needing a prescription for nausea brought on my the piped-in crooning of some fool expecting a "White Christmas" in the southern United States. I don't want a white ANY day. I have shoveled snow and I don't like being miserably cold and exhausted all at the same time.

While I will admit that last Xmas was a pleasant day spent with someone special to me, I cannot really remember a great, truly remarkable Xmas except for three or four. One came in 1977 and was repeated in 1978 and 1979. That's the time when a little boy's eyes and glee made the celebration truly meaningful for his old man. Other hurts endured during those all too few years took a back seat to seeing the eyes of my son on Xmas morning as he saw the results of a full night of fitting tab A into slot B while tightening Retainer Nut and Washer H onto bolt Q. I had always heard that Xmas was a magic time, though, until then, I didn't believe that. It was only a mythology for me until those small child years came to visit me through the heart and eyes of a child.

The other memorable Xmas was in a time and place where no one in his or her right mind could find any "holiday spirit" to "celebrate." I had lost three good men that Xmas Eve morning in a Hellhole half a world away from everything that used to make sense in my life. I spent Xmas Eve writing three more of those damnedable "letters home" that I hated so. In order to provide a Xmas break for the chopper pilots, we were forced to sit on the boxes containing the personal effects of those three young men with whom we had laughed, sweated, fought and shed blood for many months. Their things would not be picked up until the next morning, so we had to sit there with those unwanted "presents" under our "tree."

That tree was nothing more than a tent pole stuck into the mud that was a part of our daily lives in those days long away and far ago. Some of the guys had used "cammo" makeup to decorate a few beer cans and a number of C-rats containers. They hung there, making a God-awful racket. I mentioned that their noise was still preferable to me over the Muzak world of false cheer back in the real world. About 15-20 of us sat back and shared a long time of silence. Finally one of the guys looked up and noticed that the ever present clouds and mist had suddenly made way for every star in the universe to peek down on us.

Somehow that beauty served to reinforce our own loneliness and misery. I had salted away a quart of some really special Kaintuck Sippin' Whiskey and it seemed like an appropriate occasion, so I hauled it out and we shared a toast to each other and to our fallen comrades. One of the guys, a somewhat smaller guy than the others, but a tough-as-shoe-leather Marine to the marrow of his bones took his turn at the communal bottle. Before he could pour the soul-warming liquid down his throat, he stopped. He raised the bottle in salute toward the three crates destined to be returned to greiving families sometime in the New Year without their sons, husbands, fathers and brothers and said, "I'm Jewish, but I hope I don't offend any of you guys or get in trouble with my rabbi. Merry Xmas, guys. We will miss you, but we also thank you for the gift you gave us in knowing each of you and serving with you."

No one complained. We just quietly went our separate ways justthen to fall exhausted in a sleep marked by nightmares nowhere as horrible as were those we lived in our waking moments. Yet, somehow, that was one of the most peaceful and touching Xmases I ever knew. Just as I was about to doze off, I heard those wind chimes from that temple on the mountainside across the way begin to sing their song of celebration, peace and tranquility.

If only Muzak could find a way to duplicate that sound. I got up, took my bedroll with me and laid back, taking in the stars above, quietly telling me that we were but mere specks of dust in the winds of life. I turned to grab some rest and I realized that every man in the unit had done the same thing I had done. All were on bedrolls where they could watch the stars and listen to the carol of those chimes across that valley. Not a word was said, but we shared a quiet Xmas with others who knew without saying a word what every other man felt that night. We were spending Xmas with our special family.

Xmas of 2000 was one of my worst Xmases ever. I sat alone in my two-by-twice hovel and allowed any hope of a good Xmas for me that year be stolen by a grinch. I'm still unsure why that grinch wanted me to feel that low, and perhaps I will never know. I just know that I won't let that happen ever again. I spent the next Xmas with someone who made the time special for me. I will do so again this year and, despite financial burdens and health problems, I expect it to be a special time again for many more years.

Z-dr, Draggie and I have shared our nightmare tales of Thanksgiving woes, mishaps and foolishness. Perhaps each of you would care to contribute to this thread. What were you best and worst Xmases? What made them that way for you?