Warm Greetings and a Happy Holiday

That title salutation stolen verbatim from Leigh Kammon, a man to admire. I think that might be the recap of Christmas 2005 for me; what can a modern guy really look up to these days?

After we dropping off the family matriarch following Christmas on White Bear Lake, Mrs. Octane and I watched Donovan's Reef, which is a pretty good Christmas movie overall. Sure, it's wall-to-wall Polynesian stereotypes and woman-handling swagger from The Duke, but it's also one where the guy gets the girl, and everything works out in the end. Take that, Frank Capra.

It's been unseasonably warm on The Tundra this week of Festuvis, which made River Falls a bit less magical Christmas Eve, but I was able to usher out 12/25 out of doors accompanied by a fine Flor-Fina 858 and a double bird. I suppose Christmas was for me a bit of what everyone gets; some warmth, some relaxation, a chance to play Chinese Checkers with a 7-year old, and letting yourself get harpooned by those destined to betray your trust. It's a chance to see your NHL team put the hurt to a fancier outfit, and a chance to tie on the fish with friends; you know, all the traditional stuff.

I also was able to demonstrate I wasn't crazy to my domestic associate. In the bathroom this afternoon, I heard Christmas music, and asked aloud where it came from. Mrs. Octane suggested I might have a head full of bad wiring as the bathroom radio wasn't on, the bedroom clock radio wasn't on, the PC was off, the hi-fi in the living room was off, and nothing in the basement shop was fired up either. Look, I don't have 20/20 hearing, but I know I heard Christmas music. I was starting to think that the cast radiators and iron plumbing at Chateau Octane were pulling an orthodonture/receiver trick on me. Thankfully, I was redeemed later when we went outside, and she conceded that there was literally Christmas music in the air in our neighborhood. We never found the source, but that doesn't matter, as I was no longer on my way to the rubber room.

So I got some Nat King Cole, some Russel Stover, and a reprieves from both the polar ice cap and Nurse Ratched. I got a chat with my Canadian/Austrian grandma, got hugs from other people's kids, and got crapped upon right out in the open. Here's to a better 2006 for all of us.