Standard disclaimer applies    

We're having a heat wave and I'm thinking of snow. Standard disclaimer
applies. Benton Fraser and Diefenbaker are the property of the geniuses
who created them. Rated G for nothing, no death, no four letter words, no
sex of any kind, but hopefully it's not boring.  

This story is intended for the personal enjoyment of readers. No profit is
made or expected. Please do not reprint without permission. If you can't
hear me begging for feedback you're not listening hard enough.   So This
is Christmas By Shirley Russell robsure@earthlink.net 

The musings of Benton Fraser at the 'happiest time of the year':  

People ask me why I dislike Christmas. 

I believe in God and believe that a man once walked the earth named Jesus
of Nazareth. Whether or not that man was the Son of God is a point of some
conjecture with me. I do not, however begrudge anyone the right to
celebrate the man's birth if they so choose. It's how that birthday is
celebrated that I tend to fault. 

For most of my life I have been alone. Not that being alone is necessarily
unwelcome. It is all I have ever known, so what possible harm could there
be in being alone on Christmas? My mother died when I was very young so
memories of Christmases with her are vague at best. After her death my
father was absent most all of the time and always at Christmas. He sent me
gifts of course. But what with distances and the Canadian Postal System
being what it is these gifts often arrived days or weeks after the 25th of
December. I am told the US Postal Service is much more dependable, which
would be of interest to me, I suppose, if there was someone who might want
to mail me something. There is not.  

My grandparents, with whom I lived as a child, always gave me a book as a
Christmas gift. In my younger days I might have preferred a wagon or a
sled, but they were librarians and books were their lives. It was also
what they could afford. I am certainly not complaining mind you, as it is
from books that I have learned most everything I know about life, and
human nature. 

I have no family left, and few friends outside Chicago. This is the fourth
Christmas I have spent here, and the third I have spent by myself. My
first year here I spent Christmas with the Vecchio family, at Ray's, the
first Ray's, insistence. It was what one might call a disaster. Large
groups of people have always made me uncomfortable, and as I discovered
large families such as the Vecchios can be intimidating. I also found the
boisterousness and constant bickering disconcerting. Ray must have noted
my discomfort because after that incident he avoided inviting me again. 

We do, did, exchange gifts of course. If I remember correctly the year I
gave him a tie he gave me a harmonica. And interesting choice of gifts for
me as I have always equated harmonica music with loneliness. This year I
exchanged gifts with Ray, the new Ray, and Diefenbaker. Or more correctly
I gave Diefenbaker a gift and he took it. These gifts were exchanged last
night, Christmas Eve, as Ray was leaving town to spend the holiday with
his family. Ray gave me a flannel shirt, saying he was sick of looking at
the same two I always wear. I gave him a Swiss Army knife with
instructions that he carry it with him at all times. I have become
discouraged of late that I am the only one of our "team" that is always
prepared for any potentiality. This year I also purchased remembrances for
several people at the 27th Precinct, Inspector Thatcher and Constable
Turnbull. The few gifts I received in return are sitting on my desk
waiting to be opened. 

I have long since given up on the custom of a Christmas tree. There is no
room for one in this office anyway. My grandparents never allowed a tree
in the house. I remember my grandmother often wondering aloud why she
would want pine needles all over her rugs when there were perfectly good
trees to look at right outside the window. 

I decided to bend to tradition my first Christmas here however, and being
unable to find a location where I could cut one down, bought a small tree
on December 21st. I found however that the evergreen smell permeating my
apartment made me homesick. I discarded the tree on December 22nd, and
have since adhered to the Fraser 'family' tradition of observing Christmas
without pine needles on the rugs. Or in my case the linoleum.  

I took Diefenbaker for a walk earlier today. Several people we passed
smiled and wished us a 'Merry Christmas'. These same people have neither
spoken to me nor acknowledged my presence at any other time. Why is it so
easy for people to smile and greet their neighbors from December 12th
through December 25th and impossible for them to do so the other 50 weeks
of the year?  

As I look out on the street that runs by the Consulate I can see what
appears to be a father and son throwing snowballs. What is it about the
cold and snow that makes people grumble all winter and sigh in wonderment
when it snows on Christmas day?  

The afore mentioned US Postal Service is delivering a package to an
apartment across the street. The driver is wearing a red Santa Claus hat.
I wonder if the recipient appreciates the fact that the driver has had to
leave his Christmas dinner to bring them a parcel that in all probability
will contain a gift that either doesn't fit or is the wrong color?  

As I study the man delivering the parcel I wonder how is it possible for a
person to mail 100 greeting cards that wish 'Peace on Earth, Good Will to
Men' once a year and then immediately forget the sentiment on December
26th? More than likely they see many of these same people in their daily
lives. What would be the harm in wishing them 'Peace on Earth, Good Will
to Men' on the 13th of August or the 15th of March? 

I am alone by design and by choice. Being alone gives me time to ponder
these things. For the majority of the year if someone were to ask me if I
was lonely I would have to take a moment to consider my response. If
someone were to ask me if I was lonely today time to consider would not be
necessary. Am I lonely today? Yes.  

And people ask me why I dislike Christmas. 

The End