Leave It To Jimmy Stewart
To add to that, some personal issues, which I can't really discuss because there are people involved who did not sign up for having their dirty laundry aired on the internet...have been making me particularly melancholy of late.
I've been doing a lot of pissing and moaning. Maybe not so much here (does one post about how much I hate Christmas count as pissing and moaning?) but my poor husband has had to bear the brunt of my irascibility. And, as he does every year, he endures it with remarkable equanimity.
To be quite honest, he is the harbinger of Christmas cheer in our household. Without judgement or criticism, he somehow manages to facilitate an enormous amount of guilt on my part. He does this by simply possessing a hell of a lot of Christmas Spirit.
His love and enjoyment of Christmas shames me. This of course, is the catalyst for the great yuletide charade that is perpetrated by me each and every year in the name of love.
Anyway...despite being a self confessed humbug, I possess a ridiculous and dichotomous fondess for Christmas movies and programming.
My indisputable favorite is "The Year Without A Santa Clause". You know...the one with the Miser Brothers?
Sing it with me...
"He's Mister Green Christmas, He's Mister Sun. Christmas, He's Mister Heat Blister, He's Mister One Hundred and One." la la la la la la la la "Starts to melt in my clutch. I'm too much!"
I can't help myself. My husband laughs to see me..,green with Grinchitude...tapping my toes and singing "I'm too Much!" at the top of my lungs.
It's a little discomfitting, to tell the truth. But I can't seem to help myself.
I suppose it's the same phenomena that is responsible for the fact that despite being an avowed agnostic with strong anti-theist tendencies, not to mention the aformentioned Grinchitude, I go all moist in the ocular area when I hear this song...
(And what happened then? Well...in Who-ville they say, that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!)
Anyway, The Miser Brothers are in very close competition with Jimmy Stewart for my heart.
Yes, I am one of those schlubs who actually watches "It's A Wonderful Life". All the way through. Every year. And likes it.
The very first scene makes me cry. You know, where all the characters are praying for George, because he's in trouble and he never has a thought for himself?
From there it's just non-stop sniveling.
This movie is old. Sappy. Sentimental. But you know...the message never gets old. It never becomes obsolete or outdated. It still prompts people to realize that...
George Bailey isn't the only one with a wondeful life, populated by wonderful people.
I've been privileged to know a few pretty wonderful folks over the years. They touch me, bouy me, give me hope.
The Lesbian Moms
An Old Acquaintance
A New Acquaintance
A Lost Soul
A Woman Of Faith
Unfortunately, sometimes, when I'm immersed in self-pity and if only's, I forget them, and I forget my own good fortune.
Shame on me.
That's why I write. So I don't forget them, and I don't forget the moments of humble perfection in my own life. So I don't forget all the many ways in which I am truly, sincerely, profoundly fortunate. I want to write about them with all the vividness they possessed in that moment. I want to make pictures with my words and then store them away in the gallery of my mind.
I write to remind myself that it really is a wonderful life.
But occasionally, I need reminding to remind myself. Sometimes, I forget to visit the gallery. Sometimes I forget to read my own story.
And that is where Jimmy comes in.