A Lump of Coal
'Tis the season of good fellowship, of embracing one's fellow man, of shared joy in the recognition that December 25 represents for the larger Christian community, an advent of historically amazing and life-succouring proportions; the salvation of those who believe.
It's a time of bright, shining riotous colour slapped over the prevailing winter white of these northern climes. When even we appreciate no end the classical seasonal hymns. (Handel's Messiah would melt anyone's resolve to remain without.) When jingly music meant to gladden the hearts of children, along with the promises of new playthings entrances them and gladdens their parents.
Well, for those in any population who represent a minority, an ethnic or religious group not sharing the customs, traditions and hysteria of the prevailing majority it's a time to observe and to draw back slightly, ensuring that one does not intrude on the celebrations of others, but to proffer respect for other traditions.
For those who remain in the general population as indigenous but irreligious, the fun and folly can be accepted as a seasonal holiday, colouring everyone's world. And just kind of lay low. The inconvenience of battling intrepid holiday shoppers, anxious to round out their gift-giving is better left to the shoppers, and we stay clear of shopping malls.
Thus it is, as secular Jews that we have absorbed a lesson in cultural and traditional acceptance. That we will be surrounded by the sounds and lights and frenetic scrambling that represent the Christmas festival.
In keeping of which, we too surrender to the mores of the time by extending appropriate and very particular greetings, and offering gifts to those whose service to us increases the quality of our lives in some significant ways.
For us, it is to offer cash gifts to the mailman who daily deposits our mail in a group mailbox down our street, and to do the same with the individual who delivers our two daily newspapers, early every morning, well before the sun rises. The days when we sent our children to school with little gifts for their teachers is long passed.
Not so long ago, when we heartfully gave gifts to the school bus driver who picked up and deposited our granddaughter on our street when we acted as her daily caregiver through the working week. And gratefully, admiringly, accepted the little handmade gifts that our child crafted in school to celebrate Christmas.
Most often, when we renew our newspaper subscription, we also include a modest sum as a 'tip' for the paper delivery person at year-end. We didn't this year. Why? Who knows? Perhaps fed up with the nuisance that occurred too often of not receiving both papers and having to call about it.
I happen to be a newshound. My morning isn't a relaxed nor completely satisfying one without the prospect of our two newspapers to read at leisure. One in the morning, the other in the late afternoon. My husband is more interested in the financial news portion of the papers, but he's also keen on knowing the latest news.
In any event, late last night, my husband hung a piece of cardboard from the hooks where our newspapers are deposited, with the legend "for the paper delivery person" writ in block letters, appended to which was an envelope containing a card and a $20 bill.
On scrutiny the next morning, the card was gone, and in its place was one, single newspaper. Third time in a week and a half that this has occurred, occasioning our having to contact the newspaper to ensure we'd receive a tardily-delivered paper.
It's a time of bright, shining riotous colour slapped over the prevailing winter white of these northern climes. When even we appreciate no end the classical seasonal hymns. (Handel's Messiah would melt anyone's resolve to remain without.) When jingly music meant to gladden the hearts of children, along with the promises of new playthings entrances them and gladdens their parents.
Well, for those in any population who represent a minority, an ethnic or religious group not sharing the customs, traditions and hysteria of the prevailing majority it's a time to observe and to draw back slightly, ensuring that one does not intrude on the celebrations of others, but to proffer respect for other traditions.
For those who remain in the general population as indigenous but irreligious, the fun and folly can be accepted as a seasonal holiday, colouring everyone's world. And just kind of lay low. The inconvenience of battling intrepid holiday shoppers, anxious to round out their gift-giving is better left to the shoppers, and we stay clear of shopping malls.
Thus it is, as secular Jews that we have absorbed a lesson in cultural and traditional acceptance. That we will be surrounded by the sounds and lights and frenetic scrambling that represent the Christmas festival.
In keeping of which, we too surrender to the mores of the time by extending appropriate and very particular greetings, and offering gifts to those whose service to us increases the quality of our lives in some significant ways.
For us, it is to offer cash gifts to the mailman who daily deposits our mail in a group mailbox down our street, and to do the same with the individual who delivers our two daily newspapers, early every morning, well before the sun rises. The days when we sent our children to school with little gifts for their teachers is long passed.
Not so long ago, when we heartfully gave gifts to the school bus driver who picked up and deposited our granddaughter on our street when we acted as her daily caregiver through the working week. And gratefully, admiringly, accepted the little handmade gifts that our child crafted in school to celebrate Christmas.
Most often, when we renew our newspaper subscription, we also include a modest sum as a 'tip' for the paper delivery person at year-end. We didn't this year. Why? Who knows? Perhaps fed up with the nuisance that occurred too often of not receiving both papers and having to call about it.
I happen to be a newshound. My morning isn't a relaxed nor completely satisfying one without the prospect of our two newspapers to read at leisure. One in the morning, the other in the late afternoon. My husband is more interested in the financial news portion of the papers, but he's also keen on knowing the latest news.
In any event, late last night, my husband hung a piece of cardboard from the hooks where our newspapers are deposited, with the legend "for the paper delivery person" writ in block letters, appended to which was an envelope containing a card and a $20 bill.
On scrutiny the next morning, the card was gone, and in its place was one, single newspaper. Third time in a week and a half that this has occurred, occasioning our having to contact the newspaper to ensure we'd receive a tardily-delivered paper.
Labels: Human Relations, Whoops
posted by Pieface @ 5:52 PM
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