Happy Holidaze from Homesick Blues

This is the time of year where I watch Armed Forces Network (AFN) television just to see the holiday greeting announcements from the commanding officers. Typically, this consists of one of the Army, Navy, Air Force or Marine Chiefs of Staff and his respective wife seated in a cozy Christmas scene, complete with tree and presents, as the Chief passes on an intimate holiday greeting:

“Hello, Mrs. General Admiral and I would like to extend our sincerest holiday greetings to all our brave men and women fighting overseas. We know you’d rather be home enjoying the season with your loved ones but, well, YOU CAN’T! There’s a war going on! You trying to get us ALL killed? Quit whining you little pansies! You’re all worthless and weak! Now DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!!!!”

Or something like that.

Let’s face it, holidays are not as much fun for those who have to spend them away from our families, but we’ve kind of come to accept it and make the most of it. To their credit, the ship’s staff does their best to spread the holiday cheer. Their hard work and consideration helps ease the pain somewhat, that and prodigious amounts of alcohol.

Speaking of alcohol, New Year’s Eve is almost upon us. I myself generally make it a practice to stay home on Amateur Night, though I’ve been known to raise a glass to the New Year now and then, but usually around 7pm. At my age, I find it more convenient and less sleep-debilitating to celebrate the coming of the New Year with Europe.

As you can guess, I am not the young hard-charging frat-boy wannabe partier I used to be. Having approached almost fifty years of age and possessing the staying power of a Middle Eastern cease-fire agreement, I have developed an aversion to loud, rowdy, drunken revelers and mammoth orgies awash in alcohol and other various and sundry celebratory substances. One of my recurring nightmares is ending up in a nursing home and being introduced to my new roommate, Keith Richards. Shudder.

For Christmas, I celebrated this year’s holiday the same way I always have. I worked. In the communications business, one is on call 24/7, 365 – this being a leap year, 366 – days a year. But it’s what I do, and I’ve been doing it for over 20 years. I’m not qualified to do anything else. So it is either this or selling microwave burritos and cleaning the slushy machine at the Quik-E-Mart, and they work 24/7 year-round also. What is this 9-to-5 life that everyone talks about?

Of course, perhaps I could pursue my dream of being a professional writer, but after 30 years of unceasing labor, my income from my writing amounts to a grand total of about $300, plus the modern-day cash equivalent of a case of Michelob that I received from a songwriter friend back in 1980 after I published an article in a local newspaper plugging his album. Accepting the beer was probably not very ethical. That’s probably why the New York Times won’t even look at my resume. That’s what I like to tell myself, anyway.

But I digress. The point I am trying to make – that would be a first for me – is that the holidays are only what you make of them. You can spend them either in quiet meditation or a drunken stupor. Actually, you can probably at least give the appearance of doing both, especially if you pass out. But one way or another, you will meditate, even if all it amounts to is holding onto your pounding, aching head the next morning and moaning that oft-used mantra, “Why? WHY?” It still counts.

My wife, Pamela, made the most of my absence by inviting a few likewise unattached friends over for a holiday repast. I was pleased that she was able to celebrate with good friends and lively conversation. I hope there’s some liquor left.