Southern Germany's Top 8!

Rothenberg and Southern Germany

Fun Fact #1: The German Autobahn does have a speed limit…it’s just a recommended speed. Buses, trucks, etc. have a speed limit of 60; everyone else has a suggested speed of 120 km/hr. Also, Germany has a P.A. system that interrupts through your radio with any announcements about weather alerts, upcoming traffic jams, etc. Smart, if you ask me.

*Before departing Germany, we also visited Dachau (former concentration camp, now memorial site). Dachau was very difficult and emotional for me; the site’s presence is heavy. It weighed on my chest. Our guide did an excellent job explaining the camp’s operations and history, and though I’ve heard accounts from Holocaust survivors yearly at my middle and high school, it has an entire new meaning when you are in that place. So while it was far from a joyous highlight of my time in Germany, it was still a moving and important part of my trip. Certainly worth mentioning.

Now, for the happy stuff! Our stops include a few different towns in Southern Germany, so this list is in chronological order of the places we visited.

Presenting, Southern Germany’s Top 8!

Lake near the Castles

8. Walking in the medieval village of Rothenberg, most of the buildings and landscapes are over 800 years old.  Colette and I strolled down the wall of the city, looking out at the rooftops and church steeple. We relaxed on the back porch of a café sampling wine and cheese, gazing at the nearby St. Jacob’s church. We explored the Castle Gardens and wandered up and down the cobbled streets and small shops. Even though this was the most tourist-filled of our stops, it was still peaceful in the (finally) sunny weather and cool breeze.

Walking the Wall of Rothenberg

7. For dinner, Colette and I went outside the city gates to a nearby Bier Garten. We plopped down at a table next to large tree with colorful lights and listened to the songs of a daughter and father duo- singing and playing accordion at the front of the large yard to a raucous and cheerful crowd. Soon, our travel buddies for the trip strolled in and joined us. (We are assigned a 'travel buddy' we need to check in with at each of our meeting times. This way, we can notice if you're M.I.A. and running late.) Brad and Sherri are from Seattle and celebrating their 25^th wedding anniversary. They have two daughters a little younger than Colette and I, and they are by far our most favorite people on the trip. Not long after, Cindy and her son Derek happened to come in, so we had a full, happy table. The potatorolls I had were absolutely delicious (they’re like fancy hashbrowns), the hefewiesen beer was plentiful, and the company was perfect. We had a wonderful time enjoying the music, relaxed atmosphere, and steady supply of beer. Now, we had to meet at 8pm in the Market Square for the Night Watchman Tour (which I will delve into in another highlight), so we had left ourselves 1.5 hours for dinner, getting accustomed to the leisurely pace of dining in Europe. However, we found ourselves rushing to pay at 7:56pm, and we had about a 10 minute walk to get back to the square. We bolted back to that square; Sherri leading the way. It was certainly one way to jog off the potatoes and beer. We made it right in the nick of time, but I wouldn’t have changed that frantic scramble back into town, all of us laughing and huffing, for anything.

6. The Night Watchman Tour. This man is straight out of Monty Python—with his witty remarks, perfect comedic timing, and a drawling accent. Despite being in a massive tour of Americans and other English speakers who take over the streets as we tour Rothenberg and learn its medieval history, it felt like a personal performance. He was fabulous; words do not do the man justice. I hope the picture of him does some.

 5. Our Night Watchman made sure to point out a local bar in Rothenberg named "Hell." As anyone would suspect, Colette and I knew we would be returning to Hell at the duration of the tour. Yes, the puns are endless. A whole group of us decided to visit Hell for a few drinks. While we there, we saw the Night Watchman grabbing a glass of wine at the bar. Colette put on her best Southern charm and invited him to join us for a drink; how could he refuse? We learned how he applied to the job through a newspaper ad, and he has been a watchman for 21 years. A truly interesting man. Hell certainly provided great company, great drinks, and was quite comfy. 

One of the views from the bus

4. To get to and from our towns, we spend a decent amount of time on our coach bus. And the view out the window is simply incredible. Lisa, our tour guide, informed me that people pay expensive train rides to get the views we have, and I absolutely believe it. The German landscape is nothing but what I have found in every town- peace, serenity, and beauty. Whether it's the glacial water of the rivers, forested mountains at the edge of the snow-covered Alps, or the vast, vibrant green farmlands and barns, every glance is stunning. Breathtaking.

Hohenschwangau Castle

Neuschwanstein Castle (Cinderella's Castle)

3. A trip to Germany wouldn't be complete without visiting castles (you know- my summer homes). The Hohenschwangau castle was "Mad" King Ludwig's childhood home. Steeped in the beauty of the 'Romantik' era, almost every wall is painted with elaborate religious and historical scenes in pastels and gold. The furniture and pieces are ivory and gold, elaborate and ornate. While most say this castle paled in comparison to King Ludwig's last creation, the Neuschwanstein, I'd find it quite suitable for my next residence. 

The Neuschwanstein castle, which means 'New Swan Stone', is the inspiration for Cinderella's castle. So naturally, I felt right at home. Ludwig was never able to finish the castle, being declared 'mentally insane and incapable of ruling' his country. 3 out of the 4 floors were finished, and masterfully so. The Romantik style wall paintings were everywhere, as were gold decorations, intricately carved wood, an abundance of swan paintings, sculptures, and faucets, and even a mosaic-tiled ballroom (where I will hold my House Warming party). The icing on the cake is the view out of every window- the alps, the forests, the quaint nearby towns.

2. The Luge Ride! At the mountain across from the castles was a smaller hillside, where we all experienced our first luge ride. A luge ride consists of the following: sitting with your legs out straight in front of you on a leg-length long board, your hands hold onto the lever between your legs, you push the lever forward to go faster and pull back to slow down, then you are taken up a slight slope to the top of the hill, from there you take off down a winding, metal, curved track. (I have included a picture of David enjoying himself while luging, because my description is completely insubstantial.) More or less, however, it is a roller coaster with self-controlled speed. Unsurprisingly, I spent most of my time pushing down on the lever and speeding my way down the track. Exhilarating.

Looking out at Rothenberg

1. I couldn't end a Highlight list of Germany without proper attribution to the food! Whether I was scarfing down potatorolls, eating baguette sandwiches, savoring warm & fluffy pastries, relishing the in-season asparagus soup, tasting fresh salads, sampling sweet white wines or gulping hefeweisen, I haven't had a meal I didn't enjoy. I thought Germany was just pretzels, beer and sausages, but it is truly a fully-rounded hearty cuisine. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.

 

Northern Germany's Top 5!

Bacharach, Germany

Fun Fact #1: Our hotel is a small tower. Colette and I got the room, actually suite, at the top. We’re like princesses, and naturally enjoying every minute of it. As Colette put it, “If I had long billowy hair, I’d totally throw it out our window right now just like Rapunzel.”

 Presenting...Bacharach's Top 5!

Bacharach

5. In a place that has such a war-filled history, I have found serenity and peacefulness. Sitting in the nook of my hotel room, I can look out the window and sigh contently. Even with the steady buzz of traffic from a busy street directly underneath and the whizzing of passing trains and boats, the birds seem to overpower them; all I notice is the calm currents of the Rhine River and the tree-covered mountains behind them. The kitschy décor of our 700-year-old hotel building seems to blend perfectly with the medieval and classical architecture of the town, nestled into the hillside. 

4. Stumbling into a small shop in a nearby town (Obersteefels…I think), Colette and I found true German hospitality and friendliness. Little did we know when we walked into Stefan’s Christmas and Wine Paradise to take a few snapshots of the Nutcrackers in the windows, that Rosi would immediately come up to us with small shot glasses of fresh peach brandy for us to try. After our first tasting, they didn’t seem to stop. She asked us to browse the wall of wine and brandy and pick as many flavors as we wanted to try. We sampled blackberry and chocolate brandy (of which, I had to purchase), and then moved onto wines. Bacharach is very particular and proud of the wines they make. Much sweeter than American and other wines, they specialize in white wines, especially the Eiswine. Then, Stefan, the owner of the store came over to chat with us as we were encouraged to taste away. (We found out he is pretty close with our tour founder, Rick Steves!) He even let us try a very rare red Eiswine; it’s about $300 a bottle because it takes 65 pounds of grapes to make one bottle, and each grape’s skin has to be peeled off by hand. If that wasn’t enough, he gave us a free bottle of blackberry brandy, since it was our favorite, to enjoy, “this evening, back at the hotel, when [we were] just sitting around.” Needless to say, Colette and I enjoyed our discovery of the shop and the hospitable employees that run it!

3. Herr Jung (pronounced “Young”) is the sweetest 81 year old German man in the entire world. The local guide for our Walking Tour through Bacharach, Herr Joung weaved his own childhood memories into the history of the town and its role in the various wars throughout the decades. He took us through vineyards, where the native sweet white wines originate (and are sold almost exclusively throughout the area); we climbed one of the guard towers to look out at the village nestled on the bank of the Rhine River. He told us about losing his brother, discovering, when he was a boy no more than 10, the destroyed body of an American soldier in the nearby woods, and of the American family that sent packages of food and saved his life at the end of World War II. He expressed genuine remorse at what had happened to the Jewish people in his town and a hint of shame for all of Germany’s wars. That such a sweet, kind man survived such tragedy in his life is remarkable. And, he is almost nothing but smiles and joy.

View of the Rhine River

Burg Rheinfels Ruins

2. Climbing through the mine tunnels of the Burg Rheinfels (Castle Rheinfels) ruins. It pretty much speaks for itself. Castle? Nice. Ruins? Sweet. Mine tunnels? That’s just fantastic. I had to bend over nearly 90 degrees to fit the tight confinements of the cobbled, stone walls as I crawled through. And since it had been raining all day, it was slick and muddy. Our guide, Gabby, gave directions to some of the younger boys leading the line (they were about 18, along with about 5 – 6 other boys on this trip who are also that same age), and then she sent us on our way. Winding and bending through the dark passages made my heart beat a little faster, but leaving my trust in the hands of a bunch of 18 year old boys? That was terrifying! We luckily made it out, and I felt a little more trusting as we went through a second, less confining and more easily navigable tunnel. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Burg Rheinfels Ruins

1. Colette and I joined the ‘young-ins’ after a full day of walking, hiking up to the Burg Rheinfels, and a Canal river cruise down the Rhine, to hike up to the castle at the top of a nearby hill. The castle now acts as a youth hostel. It was a bit of a hike, but we loved spending time with Derek, 18 and going to Illinois in the fall, Kaiah, the same age and from Colorado, and Alexi, an adorable about-to-be sophomore in high school. (We promised Derek’s mom and Alexi’s grandmother we would take good care of them!) While we were all surprised to see that it really was ‘youth’ running about the hostel—8 – 10 year olds shouting and playing everywhere, we had fun climbing up and down the castle and trying to sync our camera timers to get group shots of us and the view.

*There are some wonderful people on our tour, in a variety of ages. We’ve got some older married couples, a dad and his 10 year old son, a few mothers and their ‘just graduated high school’ sons, a grandmother and her 3 grandsons of various ages, a family with 2 boys about college age, a grandmother and granddaughter, a family of 3, and two girls traveling together from Colorado. While we're quite an eclectic group, we are all having fun together! It's becoming my family away from home. And this is probably the top highlight I’ve discovered in Northern Germany.

Me, Colette, Derek, Lexi, and Kaiah

Haarlem's Top 5

In my past travel postings, I have learned that people don't want to read epically long writings about a million different things. So despite all of my angst as a writer that longs to write about the beauty of each moment I have spent in my travels, and for the sake of my readers (should I hopefully have any), I have decided that my Europe Trip escapades shall be broken into the "Top 5 (or 10) Highlights," and a few fun facts for each pit stop.


Fun Fact #1: The people here have impeccable genes. Tall, blond, thin and polite. What's not to like?
Fun Fact #2: Colette and my catch-phrase for Haarlem is, "Am I in the street?" The sidewalks and roads are both the same brick, and there is no clear distinction between the two.

I present...

De Adriaan Windmill

Haarlem, Holland's Top 5:

5.  Harleem is everything that's beautiful and quaint. Its cobbled streets that wind down the canal are equally matched by the long, thin legs that ride bikes along it. There is a harmony in its 18th and 19th century architecture that house modern, posh clothing stores and quaint eateries. The Grote Kerk (Great Church) that is at its center is large and glorious, and its bells that chime every hour are simply melodious.

4.  Visiting the de Adriaan Windmill. Is it the most stereotypical object that Holland has to offer? Yes. Well, windmills and tulips and little dutch clogs. Is it any less exciting? No. Even better is sitting beneath it, sipping on a cappuccino while looking at a duck family swimming in the canal surrounding it.

3.   The Grote Markt. (Great Market) It's open on Monday for clothing and Saturday for food. (While it's only 3 - 4 rows of stalls, it certainly feels great.) Luckily, we experienced a Saturday at the Grote Markt. In the center of Harleem, in the courtyard of the Church, the Dutch meander the crowded stalls of fresh fruits, cheeses, meats, and dog treats. A few jewelry and clothing stalls sneak their way in, but the aroma of a freshly baked spinach & feta baked pie is intoxicating (and equally delicious, I might add). Colette sipped on freshly squeezed orange juice (verse jus de orange), and I downed a strawberry-rasberry-banana type smoothie. The flower stalls are packed with brightly colored tulips and roses, which also manage to climb up the walls of the buildings on the streets. The cherry on the sundae? There is a group of men and women dressed in clown wigs and capes that play traditional European music that serenade you as you wander up and down the aisles.

2.  The Dutch are polite. The Dutch are nice. The Dutch are unobtrusive. They make the bitter, chilly wind bearable. They leave you be but do not ever make you feel unwelcome. Maybe it's all of the Vitamin D they get from the 19 hours or so of daylight they get every day, but I have certainly enjoyed it. Case in point- Colette ordered a vodka with soda water and lemon. Despite being out of lemon, the waiter walked down the street to another bar to get her one. Case #2: Even though I feel like a dumb American when I have to ask, "Do you speak English?" to every person I encounter, their response is always, "Of course. How can I help you?" Not a single undertone of annoyance, and always make sure we feel comfortable. Dutch = Hospitality to a T. 

1.  Just walking around Haarlem. I feel comfortable here. I love walking up and down the brick streets. I love looking at the architecture and flowers. I love the people. No wonder my parents lived here for a year. If I ever live abroad, this will be a strong contender in the fight. They wouldn't muscle their way to first place with punches and snipes; they'd complacently wait for me to come to them. 

...Perhaps, someday, I will again.

Promoting Silence

Should Freedom of Speech allow something like this to be published? Yes, but does that make it morally acceptable? Absolutely not.
There has been quite an influx of fashion articles promoting slavery and abuse, but this one particularly outrages me, partially because of the writer's opinion and because of the responses I read about this article.
I found this picture in an article from Yahoo's Shine. I completely agree with the author who feels this promotes domestic violence but differ in how it promotes abuse.
In the comments section, one user responded to the article as follows: "Back to whether or not it promotes and/or glamorize domestic violence. I'm personally don't see it. offensive how? I think see people are that stupid to look at the pictures and go "wow i wanna be her, all beat up". who's going to go around sporting a black eye. maybe so dumb celeb always trying to set trends or blind to style like Lilo?" And this is where I think both the author and commentator got it wrong. (Wrong even beyond the outrageous number of grammatical errors and very likelihood that this person is no Einstein.)
No, most people are not that stupid to say, "I want to be like her, bruised and beat up." But what it does say is that it is acceptable, it is ok, to be beat up like that. It likely won't encourage younger girls, boys, and teenagers to want to be injured by family, friends, or boy/girlfriends. It tells them it's ok if you are. It promotes the idea that many people are hurt or injured in this way. And by doing so, it promotes silence. Silence from the young women and men subject to this type of behavior. Because if this is something that is "ok" or "common" in occurrence, why would someone speak up against it?
One of the biggest hurdles in domestic violence and abuse is the victim's silence. Their unwillingness, embarrassment, inability, and/or fear to speak up against what is done to them. And who blames them? In a society where victims cannot always be promised protection and face the disgusting potential to be called a liar for 'falsely' accusing their predators, why would a victim-especially younger adults and children-ever feel comfortable telling someone?
Most anti-abuse campaigns harp, and rightly so, about coming forward, speaking up-not ignoring, not silencing- the abuse they see/feel/hear. It is only through their ability to acknowledge and call out the abuse that it can be righted.
This picture doesn't invoke people to want to be abused, it rather hints that one should not say anything about abuse if they are subject to it or know of someone who is...because, "hey, it's ok. A lot of people are abused. It's no big deal. You can make it look cool."

This picture and photo-shoot promote the two biggest adversaries to abuse, silence and acceptance. And the fact that not enough people are acknowledging this is the problem with these photos, well, that is truly heart-breaking.

Poetry: A Bouquet

I read a poem.

"A Bouquet" by Bei Dao

(1) Between me and the world
You are a bay, a sail
The faithful ends of a rope
You are a fountain, a wind
A shrill childhood cry

(2) Between me and the world
You are a picture frame, a window
A field covered with wild flowers
You are a breath, a bed
A night that keeps the stars company

(3) Between me and the world
You are a calendar, a compass
A ray of light that slips through the gloom
You are a biographical sketch, a bookmark
A preface that comes at the end

(4) Between me and the world
You are a gauze curtain, a mist
A lamp shining into my dreams
You are a bamboo flute, a song without words
A closed eyelid carved in stone

(5) Between me and the world
You are a chasm, a pool
An abyss plunging down
You are a balustrade, a wall
A shield's eternal pattern

Now, my copy of this poem is filled with musings, wanderings and mark-ups that I made after and while reading this. Like, the first stanza- to be a sail, it is something that leads you and guides in the right direction. It is a slave to the wind, a roamer, traveler, yet is it forced and pushed to lead? Is it not put up by someone to help them on their right path?
In the 2nd stanza, the person is a picture frame, a window. This hints that there is something deeper, more meaningful even within. What picture does it frame? Is the poet attempting to find out?
Like these first two observations, there is so much in this poem that so ineptly hints at the darker mysteries, intricacies, insecurities, fears, worries, and unbeknownst qualities of a relationship. Though its hints do not detract from the positive, appreciative, and hopeful feelings the poet has towards its recipient. While each stanza may refer to a "gauze curtain," "chasm," "abyss plunging down," "a mist," each stanza ends with admiration and hope. I think this so truly portrays a relationship of love. Love is a plunge into another person's chasm; you cannot know the true depths of that person, cannot fathom how deep it truly is. You cannot know where all the cracks and crevices lie. You cannot know what secrets, treasures, or surprises you will find within them. But, you were not pushed begrudgingly into this unknowing abyss of another person- you plunged into it. There is both lightness and darkness in this person. You searched out the ray of light that dispels your gloom. You know, or at least hope, they are not only the fall but the faithful rope, sail, compass that guides you through it. You travel together; at times the leader and at times the follower.
Dao so cleverly implies the duality, complexity, jigsaw puzzle realities of love. And something that speaks the loudest to me are the last two lines: "You are a balustrade, a wall/A shield's eternal pattern." A wall has such double meanings. A wall must be climbed. It not only blocks out others, protects those behind it, but it needs, calls, to be climbed. It is intimidating, it hides something, it must be conquered. It was so strongly built with time and care, but there must be something on the other side. And if a person really loves someone, they should take the time and care to climb out and find out what is hidden behind.

Now, all of my musings are just that- my musings. This poem originally being written in Chinese further clouds my findings, because who knows what was lost in translation? What words are not exactly what the author really meant?
And what used to bother me, drive me crazy, about poetry I am now actually finding to be poetry's true beauty. I used to think that poetry was bull. Everything and every word was over analyzed, construed to be something not originally intended by the poet- because how can we know what the poet actually meant by their specific word choice and imagery?
So why did I have to waste so many hours analyzing its meaning which was so clouded in personification or vague language? There are so many countless, potential meanings of a poem. It could mean anything, everything, or nothing, all of which depended on the reader. The reader, an ever-changing human being whose thoughts and feelings and knowledge are so constantly changing and evolving, that how could a poem ever ALWAYS mean one, same thing to such an inconstant being?

And now, I think I am realizing that that is the true beauty of good poetry. When a poem can speak to so many different people, on so many different levels and meanings, and show such breadth and universality and timelessness, when a poem can change its meaning to the same person depending on the time of day and year that it is read, when a poem helps someone discover something about themselves or the world- THAT is great poetry.
And maybe it's not what the poet had intended its meaning to be, but that's the point. If the poet wanted the readers to only feel one way about his subject, if he wanted the readers to know certain things- he would not be a poet. He would be a lawyer or judge. He would write HOW-TO books or write philosophy. He would come right out and say it!
The poet does not. The poet takes the reader through a maze of words and lines, a jigsaw puzzle of images, a smattering of pictures to create a piece of work that is blissfully vague, peacefully puzzling. It is not math where there is one correct answer; there isn't a right or wrong way to read it. It is supposed to be analyzed a million different ways, and it supposed to have a million right answers, and it is supposed to be analyzed uniquely to the reader.
Between me and the world, poetry is a bouquet. It is a mix of emotions, feelings, meanings, analyses, words, images, puzzles, pictures, metaphors, similes, cloudy mists, colors, languages, snapshots, and mysteries. Between me and the world, poetry is an abyss plunging down- I don't know where it will take me, what lies within, or how long I will fall, but I will plunge into it.

"Okay," Cameron sighed.

So, I had one of those awesome-I-feel-like-a-making-a-small-difference teacher moments today.

To practice accurate dialogue punctuation, I had my students write a fictional conversation that they had with me in their Writer's Notebooks.

One of my students, Cameron, was having a particularly bad day. He had just broken down in tears moments before because he didn't earn his day. He is on RISE, our in-school disciplinary system, where students must earn their days by getting high scores from their teachers in all of their classes for their participation, staying on task, remaining focused, and coming to class prepared.
He has ADD, and so it's very easy for Cameron to get off-task, or start humming/drumming his fingers too loudly, get a little too distracted maybe, but he's ultimately a really great kid.

He wrote in his notebook:
"You're going to be ok," said Ms. Haseltine.
"But it's so hard when something completely destroys your self-esteem like this does," Cameron said.

...He then sat there for a while, not knowing what to write next. I was standing next to him, reading his paper over his shoulder. So, I grabbed my pen and wrote in his book:
"Cameron, you're awesome. And I know you can overcome anything!" exclaimed Ms. Haseltine.

...He wrote back in his book:
"Okay."

...Then I heard a sigh, and he gave me the tiniest smile.

World changing? No. Life changing? No. Day changing? Probably not.
Nonetheless, it was a small victory. Because for that 2 or 3 minutes, (I can hope a lot more) he knew someone believed in him. His Writing teacher knew he could overcome anything, and by his sigh and smile, I know we both believe it.

If I were to create a fictional dialogue from this, it'd go something like this:

Cameron's pencil stopped. He looked up, not knowing what to say next.
As I read the words over his shoulder, I frowned to see such sadness from a usually chipper author.

"But it's so hard when something completely destroys your self-esteem like this does," Cameron said. His words loomed on the page. Completely destroys.
I hesitated. How do I let him know that it really will be ok? He's just having a bad day. It'll get better, I promise.

I grabbed my pen from the stand, swiveled his notebook and furiously began to write my response.
"Cameron, you're awesome. And I know you can overcome anything!" exclaimed Ms. Haseltine.

Cameron re-read the new words placed before him.
"Okay," Cameron sighed. And a smile. The tiniest, little smile creeped up from the corners of his mouth. He did not look up, but only picked up his pencil and kept writing his new story.

The feeling may not have stuck, but for a short moment, Cameron could sigh with relief that his teacher believed in him. Really, truly did. And that made his day just a teeny bit more livable.

Dear Santa

I submitted this to a friend's "Dear Santa Letter Contest" for her blog last year. Being the season for it, I thought i'd re-post it. ps. It didn't win.

Dear Santa,

Please don’t take this to offence, but don’t you find it odd how much faith and hope people put into you for not only toys, computer games, and puppies but also for happiness, love, and world peace?

Let’s face it, your sugar filled diet of milk and cookies and more than jolly, rotund waistline don’t exactly make you the role model for our nation’s troublingly obese McDonalds-craving children. And these so called “elves” of yours, these implausibly cheery little people who work year long around-the-clock to hand-craft billions of toys and games in a large factory in freezing North Polar temperatures; how are we not so sure they are in fact enslaved children you have renamed to avoid increasing child labor laws?

I won’t even delve into the connotations your cheery cries of “Ho, ho, ho” imply. I’ll suffice with the wonder one has when a disadvantaged child or family doesn’t receive their Christmas presents and dreams; maybe you dallied a little too long at your stop in Vegas. No wonder you’re so jolly. Poor Mrs. Clause, left alone, hidden in the arctic tundra, only a small house, no friends or family within a thousand-mile radius while you frolic the globe singing (with) your “Ho’s” and spending obscene amounts of money on the rich and spoiled children to have outlandish, unneeded horses, jet skis, and flat-screen TVs while the poor depend on the charity of the Red Cross’s and Children’s Hospitals’ donations.

Finally, you take all the credit for the cheeriness of Christmas morning away from the hard-working parents, grandparents, and loving family members who spent countless early morning hours waiting in lines—shoving, kicking, screaming, crying, pleading, stealing, begging, lying to get their child’s #1 gift on their Christmas list.

Does little Sally or Jimmy say, “Thanks, Mom and Dad, for the awesome Wii!” No, they give all their thanks, love and cookies to the man in the big red suit.

(And why red? Isn’t yellow supposed to be a happy color? Or how about something calming, like blue? Red implies STOP not Go, violence, blood, and cheap red lipstick. Is that supposed to be a hint into your less-than-exemplary lifestyle?)

I think we all need to put a little more faith and hope in each other for the things we really want for Christmas. Look to friends and family for comfort and love. Even if you’re afraid to ask for it—it might be difficult, it might taint your pride, expose your pain, or touch on a deeply rooted family rift—but I think you’ll have more luck from your family than this Santa fellow. World peace would be nice, but I think everyone needs to achieve that inner-peace, Buddha-like happiness first. When you find yours, or if you’re having trouble, help a friend find theirs, because you never know, helping others usually helps yourself.

Isn’t that the spirit of Christmas? Let’s leave this old, jolly guy to his “ho, ho, ho’s” and look a little closer to home for peace and joy this year.

Love,

Allyson