As soon as again, it really is that time of year, when we find ourselves barraged with the "Holiday Season". It appears to quietly stalk us, as September winds down, then all at once it pounces. As soon as the Halloween candy makes an appearance on the store shelves, you start off to determine little hints about the edges, that Christmas is just a blink away. (Thanksgiving, sadly, has turn out to be a mere "whistle stop", in the blur and flurry from the year's end.)
Inside the shops, the conventional colors of every single individual season, have grow to be like one of those wheel paintings, exactly where you drop different colors of paint onto a spinning piece of paper, developing unusual spatter patterns. As an alternative to progressing gradually, to reflect the diverse celebrations as they take place, the retail sector has "glumped" them all together, resulting in one giant, gaudy feast for the eyes (along with the pocketbook).
When I commence to really feel a bit overwhelmed by it all, I try to stop ... and don't forget simpler occasions, when all I could feel about was a new toy under the Christmas tree. Of course there were the years of bikes and sleds (the huge stuff), but my preferred toy was a blue dump truck I got when I was fairly small. All of the other children I played with, were getting some sort of construction vehicle that year, and I had asked for a truck I'd noticed at the neighborhood Ben Franklin's (the equivalent of a modern day Target store). It was a Structo Hydraulic Dumper (with white sidewalls), and I eyed it for months just before lastly requesting it from Santa.
Now, this can be 1 of those toys that you wouldn't see on the shelves as of late. It was made of heavy steel, with a lot of sharp edges, and places to pinch your fingers. (I learned that very first hand, ... pardon the pun). It would in no way pass the safety codes imposed on toys today. Nonetheless, I did manage to get through my childhood, with all of the appropriate digits intact.
I bear in mind how delighted I was when I spotted it amongst the presents under the tree, and I fairly glowed as I showed it off to my friends, when we got together to compare what Santa had brought.
Many's the time, I should have really irritated a neighbor of ours, who had pea gravel in his perfectly groomed garden. They had been just the correct sized rocks for my dump truck, and poured effortlessly out the back flap, as I systematically rearranged his flower beds for him. (His son was 1 of my playmates, so we did not get into an excessive amount of trouble.) Boy, I just loved that truck!
Years later, my mother and I had been getting our traditional "What do you would like for Christmas?" phone call. I had grown up, and moved on, to live my adulthood in one more portion in the country, but I was nonetheless expected to come home for the holidays. We had already finished the standard "How are you currently fixed for socks?" questioning, when I paused, ... and lastly stated, "I want a toy!". (Confident, there had been things that I probably required, but I suddenly missed the easy "fun" of it all.) Taken by surprise, she heartily laughed, then went back to her queries of significantly far more practical issues. I sighed and, deciding she was correct, resumed my headlong plunge into a hectic holiday schedule, which culminated in the prerequisite trip home.
That Christmas morning, however, she once again managed to surprise me, when all of us gathered inside the family members space to open presents. Under the tree, shining brightly in the pile of presents, was my dear, old dump truck. She had gone into the attic, discovered my old treasure, cleaned it up, and stuck a massive bow on it. Suddenly, I was transformed into somewhat child once again, and the joy of Christmas came flooding back to me. (I should have looked fairly silly, standing there using a giant grin, and tears streaming down my face.) That year, I can truthfully say, I got what I had asked for.
I still have that old, dump truck. It sits across the room, in a slightly askew wooden bookcase, exactly where my eyes occasionally fall upon it. I may not take it out to play with much these days, but it is magnetic power on me is nonetheless robust. It brings back fond memories, of when I got it originally, ... and when I got it for the second time. The thoughts often bring a soft smile to my face, that will forever remind me of my very wise mother. She actually was listening, and I know, somewhere, she's smiling too.
So this holiday season, please take the time to stop, and think about the correct meaning behind all of the commercial hype. Attempt to don't forget the easier aspects of why we undergo this turmoil every year, and take it back to fundamentals once you make out your Christmas list. Rather than submitting to all of the monetary shopping madness on the market, contemplate those priceless issues we really should all wish for. (Possibly you can ask for a shiny toy, ... preferably using a sweet memory attached.)
Inside the shops, the conventional colors of every single individual season, have grow to be like one of those wheel paintings, exactly where you drop different colors of paint onto a spinning piece of paper, developing unusual spatter patterns. As an alternative to progressing gradually, to reflect the diverse celebrations as they take place, the retail sector has "glumped" them all together, resulting in one giant, gaudy feast for the eyes (along with the pocketbook).
When I commence to really feel a bit overwhelmed by it all, I try to stop ... and don't forget simpler occasions, when all I could feel about was a new toy under the Christmas tree. Of course there were the years of bikes and sleds (the huge stuff), but my preferred toy was a blue dump truck I got when I was fairly small. All of the other children I played with, were getting some sort of construction vehicle that year, and I had asked for a truck I'd noticed at the neighborhood Ben Franklin's (the equivalent of a modern day Target store). It was a Structo Hydraulic Dumper (with white sidewalls), and I eyed it for months just before lastly requesting it from Santa.
Now, this can be 1 of those toys that you wouldn't see on the shelves as of late. It was made of heavy steel, with a lot of sharp edges, and places to pinch your fingers. (I learned that very first hand, ... pardon the pun). It would in no way pass the safety codes imposed on toys today. Nonetheless, I did manage to get through my childhood, with all of the appropriate digits intact.
I bear in mind how delighted I was when I spotted it amongst the presents under the tree, and I fairly glowed as I showed it off to my friends, when we got together to compare what Santa had brought.
Many's the time, I should have really irritated a neighbor of ours, who had pea gravel in his perfectly groomed garden. They had been just the correct sized rocks for my dump truck, and poured effortlessly out the back flap, as I systematically rearranged his flower beds for him. (His son was 1 of my playmates, so we did not get into an excessive amount of trouble.) Boy, I just loved that truck!
Years later, my mother and I had been getting our traditional "What do you would like for Christmas?" phone call. I had grown up, and moved on, to live my adulthood in one more portion in the country, but I was nonetheless expected to come home for the holidays. We had already finished the standard "How are you currently fixed for socks?" questioning, when I paused, ... and lastly stated, "I want a toy!". (Confident, there had been things that I probably required, but I suddenly missed the easy "fun" of it all.) Taken by surprise, she heartily laughed, then went back to her queries of significantly far more practical issues. I sighed and, deciding she was correct, resumed my headlong plunge into a hectic holiday schedule, which culminated in the prerequisite trip home.
That Christmas morning, however, she once again managed to surprise me, when all of us gathered inside the family members space to open presents. Under the tree, shining brightly in the pile of presents, was my dear, old dump truck. She had gone into the attic, discovered my old treasure, cleaned it up, and stuck a massive bow on it. Suddenly, I was transformed into somewhat child once again, and the joy of Christmas came flooding back to me. (I should have looked fairly silly, standing there using a giant grin, and tears streaming down my face.) That year, I can truthfully say, I got what I had asked for.
I still have that old, dump truck. It sits across the room, in a slightly askew wooden bookcase, exactly where my eyes occasionally fall upon it. I may not take it out to play with much these days, but it is magnetic power on me is nonetheless robust. It brings back fond memories, of when I got it originally, ... and when I got it for the second time. The thoughts often bring a soft smile to my face, that will forever remind me of my very wise mother. She actually was listening, and I know, somewhere, she's smiling too.
So this holiday season, please take the time to stop, and think about the correct meaning behind all of the commercial hype. Attempt to don't forget the easier aspects of why we undergo this turmoil every year, and take it back to fundamentals once you make out your Christmas list. Rather than submitting to all of the monetary shopping madness on the market, contemplate those priceless issues we really should all wish for. (Possibly you can ask for a shiny toy, ... preferably using a sweet memory attached.)
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