Feliz Navidad. While I would like to wish you a Merry Christmas “from the bottom of my heart,” I have to report that I cannot. The fact is that I’ve again lost the battle of attempting complete avoidance of the song “Feliz Navidad.” I try to quarantine myself from this 17-word song, and I fail every year. When I hear those first few dreaded notes, I leap towards the computer to stop it, but by then enough notes have implanted themselves in my brain and I’m lost. For the rest of the day, I’m strutting around the town like Tiny Tim, adjusting the cadence of my steps to the words of the song in my tortured head. I have 42 years of enjoying the Christmas season and its music, but I can’t hear this song again. The only solution may be to come down on all holiday music next year with an iron fist. That means I’m coming for you next, chipmunks.
I’ve begun to grow breasts. I’d like to think it’s because I live with a wife and four daughters and have just inhaled too much “product.” Sadly, it’s probably that I’m well into my 40s and my riotous, destructive use of cold cereal in the evenings is finally catching up with me. I’m already getting dressed in the mornings and then asking Adriane how I look, so maybe there’s no re/capturing my true manhood at this point.
Cheap anatomical jokes aside, Adriane and I often talk about ways of being more refined and sophisticated. We devour Downton Abbey, admiring their manner of speaking and elegance, and we recently drooled all over the magnificence of the Nemours (Dupont) Mansion & Gardens in Wilmington, Delaware. I’m pretty sure I could live like the Crawleys or Duponts. I have to admit that I’m one of those people who actually regrets watching the breakdown of the snobbish class system on Downton Abbey. Sometimes, I think there should be a staff that irons my newspaper in the morning and brings it to me with my soft-boiled egg, and then quickly retreats so that I don’t have to see them anymore until I ring a bell. Not really, of course. That would be complete rubbish.
Adriane and I and a bunch of adult family members visited the Yucatan peninsula back in May. Hot, beautiful, exotic and utterly breathtaking are only a few of the words to describe Adriane and me in our swimsuits on the condo beach. At one point while sightseeing, we were stopped by a bloodshot, shifty-eyed guy with a rifle and “uniform” who stops tourist vehicles. And we were way out in Mayan country, learning all about hearts being ripped out of living people and ancient ball players being sacrificed for winning their match. So, as I sat in the unfortunate spot of “shotgun” in the 12-seater van during our interaction with Old Red Eyes With Pseudo Authority, my body was near to self-inflicting Montezuma’s revenge. He slowly glared at each of us with one of his eyes as he decided our futures. After an eternity, Maria Elena McRae, sweet-talked him into allowing us to keep our blood-pumping organs and, more importantly, our day’s itinerary, and on we merrily went. We visited viny, ancient ruins and swam in cool, deep cenote water holes. It’s amazing to visit a place with a bunch of outgoing Spanish speakers who ask more questions about the tour guides’ personal lives than the surrounding ruins. What a fun family and trip.
This year we bought passes to Silver Dollar City. It’s a huge Ozark and Hillbilly-themed amusement park up near Branson, Missouri. My favorite game while walking around is trying to figure out who the costumed theme park workers are and who the regular visitors are. Sometimes, that happens as I sit on a bench waiting for Adriane and the girls to come off a roller coaster. I don’t like constantly negotiating with my stomach on the likelihood of violently parting with my recently eaten sausage mash with onions. The theme park workers are extremely nice and it’s a fun place, especially around the holidays.
Adriane worked for a year as a full-time music teacher at an elementary school in a neighboring town, finishing up in June. I enjoyed calling and texting her often at her work when I knew she wasn’t able to talk. This had nothing to do with a backlog of years and years of her calling me in the middle of teaching university classes and sitting in meetings, then complain that I “never” answer the phone. And have you noticed that when you initiate a phone call to Adriane, she begins the conversation? That’s how happy she is to get a phone call. Every phone call she gets is a present. Even though she’s become much more interested in reading, she often says that her main hobby is people. In fact, it’s her genuine, Christlike love for everyone she meets that I love to watch. Even if she had a VERY hard time turning 40 this year, she’s still my eternally young love.
Amelia is 12 now. I don’t know about this whole thing. But she loves her dance class and loves to read and write. Adriane has to coerce her into having a friend come over to “hang out,” but she would just rather read. It’s hard for Adriane to understand that Frodo is every bit as real as the kids at school and that it’s OK for her to want to spend some time in the pages of a book. She’s getting so tall and ladylike, has become quite the Anglophile herself (Tolkien and Rowling), and we’re so proud of her.
Eliza, 9, is writing a comics series about gingerbread people in everyday situations that keep us laughing hysterically. Already, she loves and gets The Far Side comic. She was spinach in the school musical, and in the talent show this year got up on stage and sang and danced “a duck walked up to a lemonade stand.” Being the shy one, it was completely out of character for her. Always a nature lover, she stops to point out the unique color of the sky, and she insisted on a good burial spot after our three-day fish died. She is silly and precious.
Julia, 7, loves life and people. Every day is a gift, that contains indescribable possibilities of seeing people and being with people, hopefully with music and a party involved. We’re always trying to figure out where she gets all of this behavior. Biebs is still on her marriage radar, though I’m not sure how, and she wins the award for best big sister ever.
Olivia, 5, says most words well but has trouble with her Rs. Therefore, she can say “Amblyopia” with no troubles when asked why she wears glasses and a patch over one eye. Her favorite magazine seems to be “The Kid” (The LDS church magazine The Friend) and, though tiny, she scored anywhere from 5-10 goals in every soccer game last season, and yes that’s a humblebrag.
Especially towards the end of such a difficult year for so many, I’m so grateful for the true meaning of Christmas, being the birth and celebration of the life and sacrifice of our Savior Jesus Christ. It is the hope of a re-united family throughout eternity. I hope to emulate him more and more. Therefore, similar to Jose Feliciano, I wanna wish you a fine Yuletide and a joyous beginning of a new 365-day cycle from an undisclosed location in my chest.






































































