Landfall . . .

So, as the story of my life continues in an awkwardly adequate way, I find myself back to my roots in the uncharacteristically icy world of Kennewick, WA (okay, that "uncharacteristically" bit was total crap). Why am I here? Well, in short, the past comes back to haunt us, and certain of my failures make me more a slave to authority figures than what I ought to be at this age. But, immaturity aside, it's good to be back home.

What struck me first was the cold. Yes, it's winter. Yes, I live in a cold place (Idaho Falls sunk down to the negative twenties the other night). But when you're on your way to anywhere but Idaho Falls, ID, you inexplicably expect it to bring warmth. Let me be the first to tell you all the truth about that idea - it is a lie. No truth to it at all. It may seem tough to grasp this concept (believe me, it threw me for a loop), but "south" in "elevation," for some reason unbeknownst to me, does not translate into "south" in "direction." What a cruel world we live in.

On a happier note, it is the Christmas season, and the Christmas season is a season I enjoy seasonally, as I could not live without my 100 + pairs of socks that will never - let me emphasize never - be kept in matching couples, and will therefore remain suitable to wear only in winter, when that wonderful Earth of ours is tilted in such a way as to produce as little light as possible. But, seasonally speaking, it is that time of year; the other seasons are dead and gone, and only one more remains before we see the New Year that all those love songs talk about.

In fact, seasonally speaking, I've often wondered why the birth of our Lord and Savior should be inconspicuously moved to late December. I think I have an answer, for the curious of the public. If you were a person in authority who handles such things as holidays, and you knew someone had been born to save you from sin and you wanted to celebrate the fact, why would you do so midyear? I mean, everyone claps, everyone gets jolly and sings a song, and then what happens? The year goes on.

December is the perfect set up. Right after we celebrate, what happens? The year ends.

It adds such a sense of finality. Without Christmas in December, would the year even renew? Would life go on? No one knows, as its never been done modernly. Therefore, we can assume it doesn't.

I like that setup. I can imagine St. Nick does, as well. Sure, the North Pole doesn't thaw out in Summer (my smirk to Mr. Al Gore), but the rest of the world does. And I can't imagine Reindeer enjoy pulling a sled over the raggedy weed-lands of Eastern Idaho (and Eastern WA) without a nice blanket of snow to grace their tread. Asphalt and dirty magazines in Las Vegas is a different story.

But, I digress. My task originally was to say "welcome home" to myself, and "Merry Christmas," "Happy Honica," "Quintessential Kwanzaa," and "Happy Winter Holidays" to the rest of ya'. So, now that that's done, I can go eat a cupcake.