Welcome to the fallout

I guess now is as good as a time as any to get any of the Christmas-themed blogs out in the open, considering any festive idea I've come up with would have to be filed away for 365 days and saved for next year. Then again, who knows if YAB will be around next Christmas. (We're hoping to get bought out by Microsoft in 2005 for a fat merger check. THEN, I'll take said check and hire a writer (or 1000 monkeys on 1000 typewriters, whichever seems more fun) for my 2nd career blog, You're a Sequel.) Stay tuned.

So Christmas has happened. The Christ child has been born, and the kings are soon to arrive in Bethlehem (they won't stop 'til they get there, since they're weren't Holiday Inn Expresses back then.) Santa, too, has gone back to his workshop, and has switched the elves from toys to pastrami sandwiches (how else does he keep his svelt figure?) But the one thing that will stay with us long after: Christmas trees.

There's no written rule of when to begin the arboreal dismantling - it's in the eye of the beholder. I'm sure there are those who take it down the minute all of the Christmas cookieas are gone, while there are some who most likely wait for, well, Arbor Day. So while the events of Christmas have transpired, I am left with at least one blog topic to run with, post December 25th.

We're talking ornaments today, people. Specifically, the ornaments I have come to know over my quarter-century of Christmases. My family has a nice collection, and like anything else I write about on YAB, they've got their stories...

• That stupid pickle - I know there's some tradition in Germany about hanging a pickle on the tree, and I'm sure it does something magical like provide a source of good luck for the household for the coming year, but all it does for me is start an otherwise glorious Christmas day with a note of shame and tragedy. Legend or not, this is how my family treats it - my sister and I are to come downstairs on Christmas morning to a lit up a tree with a somewhat concealed pickle ornament. Then, we are to approach said tree to seek out ye holy gherkin, and this would determine who would open the first traditional gift. Well, the tradition has become a bit of a formality. Why, you ask? That's easy. I am awful at finding El Ornamente de Vlasic. I think we've been doing this for nine years. You want to guess how many times my cat-like reflexes have darted past the jawa to claim victory? Yep, you guessed it. Zippy. I have an 0-9 record. Even the Redskins have fared better. (Oh, snap!)
• Kid Things - When Christmas time rolled around back in the days of yore, pre-school teachers everywhere would add to thew giving spirit of the holidays, by having their students construct ornaments for Mom and Dad, while praying that the kids didn't eat so much paste that they'd not make it to Christmas Day. (That stuff's non-toxic, right?!?) Our tree is not exempt from such additions to the ornamental arsenal. Clothespin indians, picture-framed children faces, candy cane reindeer, felt santas. But as the years go by, I find these tree additions become harder and harder to find. Mom, what happened to the little Cub Scout I made when I was 7? Was it something he said? Looks like my parents have come to the stunning conclusion that my career won't be going in the direction of "arts and crafts" anytime soon.
• Alma Mater Hail - This is something that freaks me about my house. It appears that it didn't matter how many college applications I filled out in the December of 97, my path of higher education had a Calvinist filter to it. Even if that essay for (Insert College Here) rocked, my future college ticket had already been punched for William and Mary. Why is this? Oh, my house had already decided this for me. You see, I was helping garnish the tree with ornaments a few years back, and came across one of those thin, gold ornaments that seem unassuming, but upon furhter inspection, it unlocks worlds of prediction. The ornaments was the college seal of W&M, and I found out later that we'd had that ornament since about 1992. 1992? How the-? It is true we took a family vacation to Burg sometime around then, but how was I to know that my future alma mater would find its way to the tree when I was 12. When I was 12, all I knew was that the fastest way to get from Point A to Point B was my Huffy Death Trap of a bike.
  
  Strange. I was still riding that bike in college.