December 10-18, 2011: Happy Holidays!

Normally I’m too wrapped up in my daily life to do anything more than go through the motions during the holidays. And while some might claim I’m doing the same thing this year—especially Cassie, who, as usual, has handled most of the preparations—that’s really not the case. I’m all about the holidays in 2011. There’s nothing like a little adversity to help one strip away the bullshit and see everything for what it is.

I’m thankful for much this year—and in true holiday spirit, sentimentally so—including:

Christmas Music

Most years I cringe when Cassie breaks out her wholly uncool Christmas playlist, but not in 2011. In fact, I add to it. The emotions of the season overcome me, and I download some music by Canadian singer/songwriter Justin Hines, including “Say What You Will,” whose opening verse goes like this:

If I were to die today

My life would be more than okay

For the time I’ve spent you

Is like a dream come true

Nauseatingly schmaltzy? You bet…until you learn Hines’ backstory. His body bent up and broken by a genetic joint condition called Larsen’s syndrome, Hines has spent his life confined to a wheelchair. But he never let his disability destroy his spirit. He just kept moving forward—propelled, in part, by his passion for music—and in 2009, “Say What You Will” went to No. 1 in Canada and South Africa. In this context, not even the Grinch could hate Hines' music.

Friday, December 16, 2011

The Men and Women Serving Our Country

It might seem like a cliché, but let’s raise a glass to the troops. Lord knows, they deserve it. While the rest of us are at home debating whether we should max out our credit cards on Xboxes or PlayStation 3s, many of them are just trying to get by in some off-the-map hellhole.

I have a friend—we’ll call him the Colonel—who spent most of 2011 stationed in Iraq. When he was home on leave for a couple weeks over the summer, we met up for a beer. The Colonel didn’t look so good, and who could blame him? He told me about rockets flying into his camp and desert heat so intense that he could literally feel his eyeballs burning whenever he stepped outside. With the thought of having to return to Iraq bouncing around inside his head, the Colonel didn’t smile much that night.

Now, though, he’s home permanently, and when we meet up for a beer on this December evening, the Colonel is all smiles. Why wouldn’t he be? He made it back in one piece. As he and his wife are getting ready to leave at the end of the night, I give him a hug. I’m just so proud of the guy. And I’m grateful for the holiday reminder that there’s more to the word “sacrifice” than canceling HBO because you were recently been laid off from your job.

Saturday, December 17, 2011:

The Youth of America

These are troubled times, and a lot of people fear for the future of our country. Me? I’m not worried. I look around at Cole, Liv and their friends, and I see a nation that will be in capable hands. The fact is, these kids are much brighter and more accomplished than we ever were at their ages.

Take one of Cole’s classmates from grade school. We’ll call her Jane. During a local 5K race about five years ago, when Jane was all of nine, her dad tried his best to keep pace with her. Eventually, she moved so far ahead of him that he could no longer see her, and he wound up neck and neck with me. Suffice it to say, Jane crushed us by about five minutes. As her dad and I neared the finish line—sweating and panting and battling every step of the way—she was waiting there looking fresh as a daisy, like she had done nothing more strenuous that morning than brush her teeth. I vowed I’d outrun Jane the next year, but it didn’t happen. After that, I quit entering the race.

On this December evening, Jane is over at our house watching Will Ferrell movies with Cole and a bunch of his other friends. I remember Jane’s dad telling me that she had been taking guitar lessons, so when he picks her up at the end of the night, I offer to let her take my sacred Gibson SG for a test spin. I figure I’ll give her a few pointers once she’s done trying to play it.

 “It can be a tough guitar to play,” I tell her dad as we look on. “Pretty rugged.”

Moments after those words come out of my mouth, Jane whales out Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” My SG rings as it has never rung—perhaps I should be asking her for the pointers.

I clear my throat and say as nonchalantly as possible, “That was…um…good.”

Yep, don’t count out America just yet. We still have plenty of fight left in us.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

And the Fam, of Course

Fluffy overseeing Christmas/Chanukah.

There’s nothing traditional about the Wagner Christmas. First, it doesn’t take place on Christmas. (Since we spend Christmas proper with Cassie’s family, we always carve out a day at our house beforehand with my parents and my sister.) Second, it’s not really even a celebration of Christmas. (My mom is Jewish, but Christmas was the holiday we marked growing up. Lately, however, she’s become wistful about her Jewish roots.) Our annual get-together is a Christmas/Chanukah hodgepodge—a lighted tree here, a lighted menorah there. (Strange, yes, but it works for us.)

We open presents. (Not as many this year due to economic circumstances, but the kids don’t seem to mind.) I complement the gift opening by playing “Greensleeves” on my acoustic guitar. (Everyone tries hard to ignore it.) We recite Jewish prayers before eating a feast. (My mom becomes wistful.) We all cram onto a couch in the basement and watch Love Actually. (It’s a touching movie about the many manifestations of love.)

By the end of Christmas/Chanukah 2011, I feel pretty damn lucky. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it’s a wonderful life—sometimes it kind of sucks—but it’s a life nonetheless. I’m still here, and where there’s life, there’s hope.