Who’s Holding the Bag?

Clump #118:  Try to finish Christmas shopping.

I’ve got a secret for the men reading this post.  Right now at this time of year, everywhere they go, women are performing the verbal equivalent of a secret handshake.  It’s a simple: “Are you finished?”  No other details need to be stated.  The question is usually answered with a heavy sigh, maybe even a roll of very tired eyes, and then an assessment of how far she is from the holiday-shopping-finish line.  I thought I would reach it today, but no such luck.  I feel like that rabbit running along with a carrot dangling from a stick attached to its head.  Just one more thing, and I’ll be finishedwait, one more thing, and then … oh, but don’t forget …

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Added to the mix, I’ve been thinking about the kerfuffle over Megyn Kelly’s assertion on Fox News that Santa is white, and for that matter so is Jesus ( here  is Jon Stewart’s hilarious and thought-provoking treatment of it on Comedy Central’s The Daily Show with Jon Stewart).

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And I was listening to this holiday classic, The Man With the Bag:

Old Mr. Kringle
is soon gonna jingle
The bells that’ll tingle
all your troubles away
Everybody’s
waiting for the man
with the bag
Cause Christmas
is coming again

It occurred to me that, not only is our symbol for all this magic white, he is also a man.  Ahem.  And I do mean magic.

One year our son was old enough to doubt, but young enough to want to still believe.  He tested the magic by asking for a pumpkin for Christmas.  Kind of a mixture of Charlie Brown Christmas and It’s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.  Let me tell you, I summoned all the magic I could conjure.  Looking at our sinking pumpkin outside the other day (a little behind in my holiday transitioning, perchance?), I must have had angels working for me to deliver the goods in good condition.

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Last night I had a valuable coupon that was about to expire, so I trudged to our local mall to “finish up” … HA!  And guess who I saw leaving the building as I was entering?   Ho-ho!    He agreed to a photo and, rather than asking whether I’d been bad or good, he asked whether I was going to send it to anyone.  I told him I would put it on my blog, but he wasn’t interested in the specifics.  (My hands shook like a bowl full of jelly!)

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Mr. Kringle said he was feeling hot and tired.  So … I guess maybe a patriarchal figure can relate to a woman’s plight, after all.

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