(A curmudgeon's take on Xmas)
Well, it's the Christmas season ...I guess it's safe to say Christmas...and the atrium is flooded with Poinsettias. I'm waiting for the player piano to start cranking out the carols. As of now, it's still murdering secular stuff from the forties and fifties. No rap here.
Anyhow...where was I? Oh yes, Christmas. I hate Christmas...there...I've said it. Crab hates Christmas. Shouldn't surprise anyone really as crab finds something wrong with everything. In a few weeks, the fake tree will dominate the atrium and Santas will stand outside the supermarket ringing a little bell. I can hear that bell in my head right now...bet you can too.
Maybe I should join the salvation army; might improve my outlook.
O.K....so the tree is up, the poinsettias are hanging in there and the player piano is in charge.
There will be a party one of these nights. Crab won't attend. There will be bad food and many decorated folding tables. There is live music and some fox-trotting. People keep going to these things so I guess they get something out of it. Me...? All I can think of are the parties held in assisted living facilities. This grand building of ours on the beach is actually a prep school of sorts. We residents are tuning up and honing in , if you will, on our late stage situations characterized by dependence and duress.
HOO-HOO-HOO!...put that in your piano and play it!