Good Night

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair right next to the Christmas tree in our living room...and I keep wanting to jump up and down and open presents. As a Louie Louie Generation guy, jumping up and down isn't something I want to do all that often any more. And I know what's causing this. It's about what's left of the little kid inside me who doesn't care that the rest of me is getting a little wrinkled.

You probably have some of that little kid inside you too. The little kid who spends all year waiting for Christmas. Christmas is the center of that little kid's life. Go look for that kid...I'll wait. By the way, if you've forgotten how to find your kid inside, because that little kid has been asleep for a while, here's some help. If your kid has been asleep for too long, the first thing he or she will probably do when he or she wakes up is stretch and yawn. So check right now to see if you're feeling like stretching...and yawning.

That yawn is a sure signal that the Christmas kid is waking up. Feel like yawning? Yeah? See what I mean? The KID is there. In fact, no matter what kind of a grown up sour puss you might have been wearing, that kid is going to tug at one side of your mouth to make you start to smile. Which side...which side of your mouth is going to start to smile. Huh? It's going to happen. The Kid is still there, cause it's Christmas. And Christmas is about a kid's birthday. That's why there should always be some kind of toy under your tree. Toys are for kids. Next time you feel that yawn coming on...remember that.

I feel like I am now preparing for Santa's visit, by installing a parking meter on the roof by the chimney. I bought an artificial Christmas tree. The Fed Ex guy just brought it. It's not like the traditional aluminum tree. This one is genuine green plastic. With the lights already installed. I don't know if I should have done it. For the last couple of years, we bought small trees that were growing in little pots. We planted them outside after New Years, and they both promptly died. Not what we had in mind. As a perspective, I worked at NBC radio for years. The studios were in the RCA Building at Rock Center in NY...right behind the Rock Center Christmas tree. We used to walk right under the tree to go to work every night. My Lady Wonder Wench was in favor of having a tree roughly that size of our own each year. Needless to say, that didn't quite work out either. We cut down our own trees a couple of years. Those were the years that I lifted our daughter Kris up on my shoulders so she could put our special star on top. That was fun. But I always hated to see the tree die after a few weeks in our living room.

I think I'm making too much out of the fact that we have an artificial tree this year. I hope so. I'm a grandfather now and I remember my grandfather's Christmas trees. He had electric lights, but he also had some real candles on his tree. It was a Christmas tradition that we'd gather around the tree...the whole family. He lit the candles and we all sang Silent Night. One verse in English and the second verse in the original German. We called my grandfather Grosspop. He left his home in Germany when he saw Hitler coming. He wasn't having any part of that. He was proud to be an American citizen. And he was just as proud of his German traditions. So we sang Silent night, holy night and then Stille Nacht, heilige nacht while the candles burned. Then he'd count to three and everybody would blow out the candles and he'd turn on the electric lights.

Lots of Christmas stories coming in, and you'll find them either in the blog at www.dicksummer.com/dsblog or here on the podcasts.

Here's one from Proud Podcast Participant Becky:

Whenever I'm disappointed with my spot in life, I stop and think about little Jamie Scott. Jamie was trying out for a part in the school Christmas play. His mother told me that he'd set his heart on being in it, though she feared he would not be chosen. On the day the parts were awarded, I went with her to collect him after school. Jamie rushed up to her, eyes shining with pride and excitement.. 'Guess what, Mom,' he shouted, and then said those words that will remain a lesson to me....'I've been chosen to clap and cheer.'

Thanks Becky. Lots more in this podcast.

Time to collect your Christmas memories, and your Merry Intentions for this Christmas, and Christmases to come.. Some have come in already, and you'll find some of them in this podcast. I hope you'll send yours to [email protected].

Thanksgiving is an anniversary for me. It was on Thanksgiving night a lot of years ago that I started the "Men Are Saints" campaign on WNBC Radio. I called it the M. A. S. appeal—Men Are Saints. The idea came from remembering a special Thanksgiving while I was watching my Lady Wonder Wench and our daughter Kris, our daughter-in law Brenda, and our sister-in-law Beth scurrying around preparing dinner, while our Tall-Guy son Eric, my brother John and I were otherwise occupied, and I was struck with an actual thought. I realized that we men are seldom given credit for our sensitivity, our intelligence, and our selfless behavior. For example, here in the Northeast, Thanksgiving is usually celebrated on a cold day. So where do we men traditionally encourage our women to spend the day? Right. In the warmest room in the house—the kitchen. While we, on the other hand, in a manly display of selfless courage, throw ourselves in front of the TV screen to protect our loved ones from the terrible effects of the cathode rays that squirt out of the picture tube. And how much credit do we men get for that traditional selfsacrifice? Right. None.

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room, and I like having your company. I mean I like having your company in the personal sense, I'm not into taking over companies...corporate takeovers...because I don't like vicious things.

I don't like big vicious things like bad guys doing awful things in the middle east, trying to stretch a pay check that isn't big enough to cover everything, and maybe the bad medical test results lots of people have to deal with. I don't like little vicious things either...like Mondays...What a vicious way to spend 1/7th of your life, trying to cut a bagel in half without cutting your hand, figuring out who's supposed to go first at a 4 way stop sign...it's usually the guy with the most dents in his fenders...and don't you hate the damn mosquito that sneaks into your bedroom and buzzes your ear all night...why didn't Noah swat those two original mosquitoes when he had the chance.

And speaking of small vicious things, there's always contacting the "system administrator" for permission to do something on my home computer. My computer knows that I have no idea who my system administrator is. And it's bad enough when my home computer makes fun of me like that...the computer in my airplane did it to me last week. All of a sudden the airplane computer blew out the GPS map WHILE I WAS using it to FLY HOME. It put up a screen that said, "Do not turn off your computer. We are updating your data base..." Then the map went blank. Vicious. I was not only going to turn it off, I was going to toss it out the window, and I was at about 7000 feet...trying to fly home but it didn't care. It was going to up-date itself even if that meant I was going to fly around in circles.

They say computers can answer in a few seconds math questions that would take humans millions of years to figure out. BS. You know how I think computers do that? They just make the answers up.

When is the last time you had fun? I mean flat out falling down laughing till the milk comes squirting out of your nose, jumping on the bed fun. And why has it been that long. I think one of the things you can do when things get grim is make faces at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Sooner or later that will make you grin. And when you've been in the bathroom for a while someone will pound on the door and ask if you're in there. Tell them no. A good surprise never hurt anybody.

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I enjoy having your company. Daylight saving time is gone. That means the dark ages is upon us...until sometime in the spring. And I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room soaking it in. I love the night. It's a time full of heroes and villains, perfume traces, quick smiles that leave lipstick traces, black lace falling slowly to the carpet...soft, quick personal sounds... a lover's key in your front door...someone's breath close to your face, a stealthy thump you can't identify...maybe it's in the attic...a kitten crying somewhere outside...it's probably a kitten...probably. Fantasy faces sometimes look out of the dark...strangers sometimes...sometimes faces from your past...and sometimes...maybe...from your future. The night is a thick, moonlit fantasy forest.

We now have a lumpy mailbox, I've thought for a while that catalouges and junk mail must fight their way into my mailbox to spawn. But no. It's Bill our mail guy who's causing the problem. I caught him this morning...stuffing stuff including jumk mail from my blinking congressman into my mailbox.

Jane Doe and I were both naked, standing there looking at each other, separated only by a window. I'm not sure Jane was her real name, and I didn't know why she was standing there naked, looking through the window at me. She was barefoot, but her legs looked like high heels make a woman's legs taper up to a perfect curve at her hips. She had lovely big brown eyes, and a body that would turn any male into an animal. She was breathing heavily... watching me ...so carefully... waiting for me to make a move toward her. My Lady Wonder Wench wouldn't know, and wouldn't care. I knew she was naked in the bedroom with Bob. And I knew Bill would be in there with her in a few minutes. Bill was missing an eye, but for some reason she liked him better than Bob.

Ha. Got your attention didn't I? Painted some pictures for you didn't I. That's called "Theater of the mind." What I was just telling you really happened. And some of those pictures probably connected you with parts of your body considerably south of your mind. Maybe all the way down there deep inside. But if you were taking pictures of what happened with your smart phone to send to a friend...or a lawyer...they wouldn't produce the slightest virtual viagral effect.

Jane Doe was a doe. A deer. A female deer. She was eating acorns on our front porch and she really was lovely in the very early morning light. I was on my way to a potty break, when I happened to look out the window just as she was looking in. My Lady Wonder Wench was still in bed. Bob is what our digital alarm clock says when it's 8:08. Bill without the eye is what it says at 8:11...just three minutes after Bob. My Lady likes Bill better than Bob, because she gets three minutes more sleep if she waits for Bill...without the eye...at 8:11.

There's a point to this, and a big part of it is in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot in the chapter called Louie Louie Lovin.