Hunting Season

It's that time of the year when the politicians ram through as much legislation as they can get away with, the television is showing re-runs of the most awful programmes, the weather is hot and humid, the shops are brimming with people and the mailbox is stuff full of junk mail. Ah, Christmas time, ya gotta love it!

The shop decorations have been out since the first of November with advertisements cajoling that if you don't buy this three hundred dollar present for your precious child, you're the worst parent in the world. Let's not forget the whining of children singing in your ears as you drag them from shop to shop searching for that elusive and perfect gift. Give it up. It won't happen. No matter how hard you try, you will never get the perfect anything for anyone. Close, maybe, but unless they ask specifically for something - and where's the surprise in that - it's a lost cause.

Bah, Humbug!

Yeah, but I'm dripping in smug at the moment because all my hunter/gathering is done. I can sit back and watch everyone else extend their elbows in a blocking move, lower the eyebrows in a threatening manner, growl and snarl as they reach out claw-like fingers for that last Barbie/Bratz/RoboRaptor/whatever before the other man/woman/demon gets it.

I've seen shelves denuded like the Amazon basin, trolleys smash like the Indy 500, weeping, squealing, screaming red-faced children, angry, frustrated, sweating parents and fear-struck, trembling clerks. I've seen catepillar lines of customers at checkouts with over worked and smoking tills. I've heard the tinny Christmas music repeated over speakers adding to the sense of quiet panic and the tantrums thrown by children as an anxious parent tries to put him/her on a red-clad, white bearded, obese stranger.

And there is still two weeks to go. The worst is yet to come, people. It's too late to be reasonable, to be organised, and you only have two options left: leave the children at home and go early or shop online and hope the stuff arrives on time.

Me, I'm one of those horrible, evil, self-satisfied planners. I have to be. I have five siblings, each of whom is married with two children. That's a lot of gifts. If I don't start early, I'm doomed to be inflicted with temper, with the urge to overspend, with the urge to just buy book/store/mall tokens. Can't... let... that... happen! People, I think, like to open presents, not envelopes.

I started early, had my list and began the hunt. Surprisingly, it only took me two days and every store had what I wanted. It doesn't always work out that way, but beginning early so you can relax at Christmas is, for me, the only way to go.

Sure, it upsets my weekend writing schedules, but some things are worth it. Nothing I've bought is the perfect gift, but that's not what matters. What matters is that I took the time to listen throughout the year to my relatives and their wishes, that I wrote it down, that I went out six, eight, ten months later and got what they wanted. The 'oh, how did you know I wanted this?' just adds to the sense of well being. I love my family and it is no big deal to remember what they've said throughout various conversations. It's the giving, not the receiving, that gives us that special feeling of love; that look on a child/teenager/adults face when they unwrap your gift and gasp in astonishment, surprise or wicked glee.

Selfish of me to enjoy all that; in fact billions of people around the world are doomed to suffer the same fate. Under all that sparkle, glitz and glamour of tinsel, baubles and Christmas lights, there is nothing more special than seeing a person glow, and yes, gloat, over a gift you've bought for them.

Remember that as you go out on the hunt and remember the same effort someone else has endured to achieve the same expression you're expecting. It makes it all worth while.