Goodbye, Santa

The silliest day of the season comes to a merciful end, though the lights on our tree flicker, and the inflatable Santa in the front yard stands at attention, as proud as he was on Christmas Eve. The recycle bin is full of flattened cartons and crumpled wrapping paper; the care that goes into selecting gifts, hiding them from the kids, and then wrapping them far exceeds the minute or so it takes to open them.

Hours of preparation for a minute of glory.

I haven’t kept up with the news of late, opting instead for a collection of essays by Gore Vidal, so I can only assume the nation remains poised to tumble over the fiscal cliff, and that president Obama will find a way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. When it comes to dealing with a dysfunctional and dim-witted congress, our president lacks killer instinct; the minute he puts his opponent on the canvas, cut, bleeding and dazed, he loses his nerve and stops attacking. Obama’s mercy is misplaced; if the tables were turned, John Boehner and his GOP cronies would pulverize Obama’s skull with a claw hammer. 

I wonder if the United States, France and England will become entangled in Syria in 2013. That report a few weeks back about Syria’s biological weapons seemed a harbinger of major power involvement, a convenient pretext to gin up the NATO war machine. Global powers need enemies, and though that report hit the news media and vanished, like the trial balloon I suspect that it was, I wonder if Syria will be transformed into a significant threat to its neighbors. Although the ruling regime has its hands full on its home turf, I’m sure Turkey can be convinced to quake in its sandals in exchange for US, French and British military hardware.

But what do I know of geopolitical scheming and intrigue, the calculations taking place in foreign capitols? I’m just an average guy, father of two, husband of one, trying to make ends meet, do as little harm to myself and others as possible, watch my favorite soccer clubs (Chelsea and Liverpool) when I can, and spend more time reading than staring at the drivel that spills from the TV. Admittedly, I’m mired in the mundane, pedestrian, unexciting grind of a middle-aged existence.

Youth is fleeting, my friends.

Some nitwits here on the fruited plain believe that placing loaded firearms in the hands of schoolteachers is a brilliant idea and defense against future mass shootings. Outside this violent nation I’m sure this notion is greeted with derision. I admire public school teachers – the ones I know personally are dedicated, concerned for and committed to the wellbeing of children -- but I do not want them anywhere near loaded firearms. The public stance of the NRA is shameful, yet typical; when criticized, launch an all-out PR campaign attacking one’s attackers. Call into question their love of freedom and devotion to the spirit of the constitution; assert from the rooftops that the solution to America’s gun problem is not fewer guns in fewer hands, but more guns in more hands. Arm everyone! Doctors, lawyers, nurses, bus drivers, plumbers, cooks, maids, babysitters and Wal-Mart greeters! 

What the NRA is doing is like the GOP calling for deeper tax cuts and harsher austerity as a way of jump-starting the economy, even though this formula has failed miserably for all but the super wealthy.

What’s the old saying? – the thinking that landed us in the grip of these problems cannot get us out of them, or something to that effect. 

The wind has picked up, agitating the chimes on our deck. Out the front window I see the inflatable Santa, listing to one side like an inebriated sailor on his final night in port.