Monday, December 29, 2014

Merry Christmas you filthy animal, and a happy new year

When I was a boy, my birthday and Christmas were occasions for indulging my youthful avarice: "I want rocket skates, and a laser rifle, and a breakdancing robot, and all of these video games I've written down here, and cookies, and candy…"

Now that I'm an adult, when my friends and family ask what I want for my birthday and Christmas, I reply, "Uhh… hell, I don't know. I could use some new socks, I guess. Maybe some whiskey. Somebody get me a pack of smokes too. I don't suppose anybody wants to pay one of my bills?"

My mother is the only immediate family I have left so Christmas has become a pretty sedate affair. We used to drive to Washington state to visit my maternal grandparents. I like Washington. It's rife with Godless heathens like California, but their political and cultural scene is much saner nonetheless. My grandparents lived way out in the sticks in the western half of the state. Green forests as far as the eye can see, cool climate, constant rain… I might retire there some day, assuming my generation ever can retire, heh.

Sometimes I describe myself as a "Christmas and Easter Trad." The FSSP parish in my diocese is a decent drive, so I go to the Novus Ordo on Sunday more often than not. But I always make the trip for Christmas and Easter Mass. I need the occasional homeopathic injection of Tradition in order to stay sane.

Today is the feast of St. Thomas Becket. If Holy Mother Church still did it like this, I imagine that Catholic politicians giving her the finger would occur much less often:


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