Patrick Sparks

I do not have many Christmas traditions. I spent too much, bah humbug been too, too far from my early childhood to have a consistent traditions. But there is one thing I am always a pleasure to Christmas: Watching It’s a Wonderful Life.
It began in college. I had never seen before, much to the shock of most people I met. But one night I was snuggled in front of the television and he came on. I like the 1940s – culture, music, the beast turns of phrase and rising optimism. The film seduced me, and the following years I always tried to catch on TV. I do not always, and a few years, I forgot all together, but it has always been a comfortable way to get into the rental. I toyed with just bought the film shows whenever practical, but I think the charm of the film is that it is a tradition of watching television, and as Charlie Brown holiday shows that there is a kind of comfort watching each new generation to abandon their usual hi-tech, action-packed fare for something sentimental and transmitted. And part of me believes that the magic is watching with the rest of the country, not some pre-determined time at a convenience for my schedule. This kind of thing does not belong in the 60s or 40s and is very inappropriate for such software.
But this year I did not have to watch it. A terrible ice storm lying in the north-three inches of ice, and we lost power for three days including the day NBC broadcast it. I was saddened, but I had no worries. My house was hovering around 38 degrees, putting my water pipes at risk. We had to eat every meal, but our return to the cold cave to ensure that the dogs were good. I had to do everything within a few hours of sunlight, most of which included preparing for a long time, cold night. By the third day, when veri-husband and I went to breakfast – the novelty of the restoration of losing its appeal and quickly become a costly nuisance – I felt discouraged and disoriented, struggling to form words and trying to gather quite humorous to the figure walking where my laundry, and where would be the best place to spend a few hours of classifying documents.
I came home from breakfast, dogs market, and sat on the floor to read, trying not to wallow or live. Although the disadvantages, there were some benefits to any power. My house and neighborhood was calm enough to invoke a kind of gentle calm, the hum of appliances and rushing to and fro was stifled. Blatantly outside the area of discomfort, I no longer expected convenience. It is interesting to see how we come to depend on convenience and demand, because we are so used to it. When the concept of comfort is withdrawn, it is suddenly patience and the ability to be fair in the moment and know things will happen when they happen.
But I was still down, frazzled, distraught. As I cradled my book and tried to find a patch of sunlight in the room, there was suddenly a click. The fire, and I looked and saw the video of her flashing 12:00. I accelerated around the house, which confirms what I saw, and noticed a truck Comp in the street until the finish repairs.
I dashed around the house suddenly grateful, grateful, full of respect and cherish appliances. The stupid washing machine that is tearing my clothes? I love you. The refrigerator is concerned that too much energy and looking for dirt to cling to it? I’ve never been so happy to see you alive and singing. The stove with burnt bulb it is impossible to keep it clean? Your glowing clock is a comfort. I love and appreciate every little thing she does.
As I mirror the closing scenes of the film I could not help thinking: it’s a wonderful life.

When I was a child, the above question has never been a big problem. Mind you, I was not what you call greedy but I could find a thing or two or three. It lasted in fact, to some extent in early adulthood. Somewhere along the way, a wire must be broken or synapse misfired or failed connection. For now, such a question posed above is really traumatic.
If I am asked what I might want for Christmas, the answer is invariably something like uh, uh, I do not know. If this is relevant or not, but I CANNOT say I seem to recall a line with my father. To make matters worse, sometimes it does not seem to matter much if I am or not. I would probably rather something to give than to receive another. I hasten to add that I do not know if this is what I do for the right reason or not.
Perhaps the gift gving should be reserved for the youngest among us who generally can not give back equal to what they receive. Now, this raises a further point, did you ever ridden with anxiety over did I get so and so a donation equal to the dollar value of what they gave me? And perish the thought, if someone gives you a gift you have to give them a gift in return?
Maybe if I answered my own question of peace on earth, good will toward men, everything would be resolved. But we all or almost all of us want that. So I guess all that I have done is ask questions and provided no response. Not a first and certainly not a last.