Here’s To Ya, Mr. Christmas!

Yes, it’s the Winter Solstice…the shortest, darkest day of the year, it’s also the day my Dad left this earthly plane 14 years ago.

One always assumes that when loved ones make their exit they head for heaven. I’m not so sure about my Dad. I’m pretty sure he headed Northward, but his idea of a really good time would have been the North Pole. He was a built it, fix it, tinker with it kind of guy.

And he loved Christmas. He was the uber orderly sort.

When I was a kid we would trek the mountains around our house in Colorado in search of the perfect tree. Snow up past my short ass, but off we went with saw in hand to find perfection in Pine.

Of course when we got it home, it was always taller than it looked in the woods and after very close inspection Dad would pronounce it needed a branch or two in selective places. So back into the cold night we went in search of the perfect branch which he would then drill the ends, place small metal rods and then drill the tree to accommodate the appropriate branches.

Once the tree met the Otis standard it was time to meticulously place lights and Christmas balls. Lights first. Balls second. Other ornaments third. Tinsel 4th. And tinsel placed strand by silver strand.

Year after year. The perfect tree. An Otis approved tree.

Then one year, my Mom, who by any standard is not organized, nor very traditional…decided that THE TREE should be flocked. I’m thinking in my 7 year old brain that this isn’t going to go well with the Otis organization, but I dutifully fetched her Lewett portable vacuum and as I was told reversed the hoses. One end in the ‘flocking goo’ – the other pointed at the tree. She came and got the hose, took aim at the tree and said to me to “flip the switch”

I looked at her. I looked at the Lewett. I looked at my Dad. I flipped the switch. What came next was nothing short of an incredible scene that should have taken place in a bad B Japanese Christmas movie. My mother giggling and shooting white goo all over the tree in not any kind of organized manner. My Dad yelling to not put so much there and Jesus Margie, don’t get it all over everything. Me, standing in awe of this woman who is filling the room with enough flock to do the tree at the Whitehouse. And a Whitehouse we had. The tree was flocked. The presents were flocked. Dad was flocked. I was flocked. The dog was flocked.

That was the last year there was any mention of flocking the tree. Ever.

But Mr. Christmas didn’t stop with the decorating of the tree. Nope. We moved right along into the proper way to wrap a package. How the paper was cut. How you made perfect corners. How the tape was placed and how much tape was placed. Yes, fold one end, then turn the open end away from you in order to have the right pressure in order to have perfect folds on the remaining end. And no raw edges should ever be taped. All must be folded with some sort of Christmas origami precision no matter the shape of the package.

I went through the lessons from Mr. Christmas from the time I was big enough to hold the tape dispenser until I left home. And even then, I was ‘graded’ when I shipped packages to him when he was not home for Christmas. These 57 years later, there is never a Christmas that I ever wrap a package without your words in my head.

Oh, and let’s not forget the big stone fireplace. It had to be lit, and on each rock ledge was a little elf with elf hat made from pine cones. Each placed with precision. And then stockings hung as to not detract from said elfs and lighting like a miniature Rockefeller Plaza

You would have thought that enough, but no…after the tree and packages, and fireplace he took over the kitchen. Mom was not allowed. Again, not nearly organized enough to do the “special fudge recipe” nor the white and milk chocolate covered pretzels and the other assortments of candies that were Otis-ized with perfection.

I was fine not being in the kitchen. I was exhausted. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around I was begging to go to bed as soon as it was dark. Sure, I was excited about Santa…but Lord almighty, I was one tired little Mr Christmas helper.

So after doing my Santa letter, leaving some cookies and milk for Santa and extra cookies for Rudolph and the other reindeer, I fell into bed and immediately into a Mr. Christmas coma.

Christmas morning was always a spectacular event as Santa had everything just so so. But it couldn’t have been anything but perfect with Otis sitting in his green leather chair and directing Old St Nick.

So is my Dad in heaven? Not likely with all the work to be done at the North Pole from year to year. Trains to build and fix. Bikes to assemble. And Otis was a techno junkie…way before his time. But rest assured he is dinking around with those new Iphones, Netbooks, Blu Rays and fine tuning those HDTV’s with all the correct cables.

And look out Mrs Claus. If you think you’re going to do the Christmas baking and candy making, step aside. Just take a break, hand him an apron and best to just leave him alone. He’s got it handled.

But Dad…just wanted you to know that your precision lives on in your grandson. OMG! I still get scolded on the correct way to pack and tape a box. He sounds like you. He has the same mannerisms as you. He’s a jokester and obsessed with the proper protocol. You’d be proud of him. He’s a fine man.

And thanks Dad. Through your teaching and your boot camp of sorts I am pretty handy at building, fixing and figuring out stuff. And the techno junkie lives on in me. I can take a pile of electronics, a mountain of wire and make it all work with Otis perfection. And yes, remotely if necessary.

So Mr Christmas, just handle what you need to with your well organized workshop and your little elves in that Northern run place. Santa can always use your expertise, knowledge and skills. And the Mrs in red up there probably enjoys the break too.

And Mom is ok. She’s not quite ready to join you yet. Yeah, I know…not orderly, organized and you know she’s always late. But she’s enjoying Christmas in her haphazard ways.

But if you get a minute in between building something or getting that train ready to roll, Alice is about ready to join you. She’s one tired ole pig and you always liked Alice. She’s routine and organized.

Merry Christmas Mr Christmas!

And yes, I will make those corners on the packages perfect….I promise.

PS 12/22/11 7am….Thanks Dad, As always, I could always depend on you, take care of Alice and she will take care of you. I can’t think of two more orderly, routine oriented angels to hang out together. Fly high Alice P. You and Mr Christmas have lots to do in the next couple of days. Many smiles and laughter to deliver.