The 12 Essays of Christmas, Day 9: The music

"Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything."
                                                                                  - Plato

AUBURN, Maine — It happens every holiday season. We finish eating our turkey dinners and watching morning high school football games when radio stations across the nation begin blasting away with holiday music.

The airwaves are saturated with several versions of "White Christmas" and "I'll be Home for Christmas" playing on hundreds of stations across America.

There is no holding back and it continues until New Year's Day.

I get to the point where I could listen to rap music after nearly a month of "Grandma got Run over by a Reindeer."

Serves her right for assaulting our senses.

Black Friday is usually seen as the green light for the deluge of holiday music to begin pummeling our senses with 800 versions of "Silent Night." Sometimes, I believe radio is a co-conspirator that helps trigger the nation's buying spree during the Christmas rush.

This endless holiday music makes us all yearn for Bruce Springsteen or "The Lumineers" on the FM dial.

I enjoy Christmas music but listening to it 24-7 for nearly month can be strain on my ears. The music acts like a drug as you drift in and out of stores looking for gifts.

The hardest emotion I have to confront during the most wonderful time of year is the holiday music that dredges up memories of Christmas past, and that stings, especially without our mothers and a father battling a disease.

Look, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis are crooners who can turn a bad holiday song into gold. But when I try to listen to Neil Diamond sing the "Little Drummer Boy" song, I reach for the dial. Neil should have stepped aside and let the Harry Simeon Choir take sole possession of that piece because nobody does that sweet holiday tune justice than the choirs' angelic voices.

If you had enough of Bing, Bennett and The Carpenters, pick up a copy of "The Snowman." It is 1982 animated cartoon featuring music by English composer Howard Blake. This 26-minute gem, which was nominated for an Academy Award in 1982, features choirboy Peter Auty performing "Walking on Air." 

You like Christmas music?

Charlie Brown and the Peanuts are tough acts to follow when they sing "Hark the Herald" at the end of their Christmas special. What makes this holiday TV special delightful is jazz musician Vince Guaraldi's music.

But their is nothing like the old favorites that never get old.

Look, Christmas music can be inspiring even if you are a nonbeliever like me.

The 12 Essays of Christmas, Day 7: Shopping

 "The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree:  the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other."                                                                                   ~Burton Hillis

AUBURN, Maine — I like Christmas shopping as much as I like having my teeth cleaned or receiving dozens of robo calls from politicians during an election year.

It's not the money. It is the time spent in a mall with a crowd of desperate people searching for that perfect give. Along the way, you become annoyed with the masses, the traffic, the winter weather and relatives. The Christmas music starts to sound like heavy metal as you look for an exit.

It's not fun. One year, I went off the deep end and yelled from my car window after spending an hour inside a crowded story on Black Friday in Portland.  I sped away screaming, "You are all nuts!"

My wife thought I needed help.

Never again!

When I find the courage to venture into a store during the holiday rush, I go in like the Marines — get in and get out! I can last an hour before suffering a mental break from a deluge of Christmas tunes and long lines at the checkout counter.

There is a thin veneer to my patience when it comes to holiday shopping.

And it's not like I go around shouting "bah humbug" in the store isles. It would attract too much attention and those guys in white suits would cart me off to the nearest funny farm.

I try to be pleasant.

Buying for my wife is easy. I don't ever, ever, ever, consider giving her a kitchen appliance for Christmas gift. Who the hell wants a blender for Christmas, and nothing says I don't love you more than brand new dishwasher.

If you go that route, you do so at your own peril. I don't want to be around when some poor bastard buys the little woman an iron.

There will be blood.

For me, clothes, books, gift cards and the occasional string of pearls are all wonderful gifts for a wife who tolerates me. I am a guy on a budget and I don't have wealth, like say, a conniving congressman or an overpaid CEO. But if I could, I would lasso the moon for Terri (See George Baile) and splurge on my son.

Clothes shopping for Terri is a cinch. She tells me the sizes and I plead for help from customer service reps who get a kick out of a husband with taste.

I need a women's touch when making delicate and important clothes purchases for my wife.

Shopping for my son is a different can of tuna. Toys are no longer a priority for him, and sometimes that breaks my heart. He is nearing adulthood, and I lost that little boy who would play with Hot Wheels for hours.

For Christmas, it will be skis, a class ring and unnamed gifts because I don't want to ruin his surprise on Christmas morning.

Gifts for me? I could care less.

When I reach for the coffee on Christmas morning and turn to see Anthony and Terri unwrapping gifts under the tree, I received everything I wanted on my holiday wish list this season. 

A festival that never gets old

“Life is a festival only to the wise.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson quotes (American Poet, Lecturer and Essayist, 1803-1882)

Port of call

PORTLAND,  Maine - When I told friends I was heading out to the Old Port Festival with my family on Sunday, a few complained that it was too crowded and there are no places to park.

All of that is true, but there are many excuses to justify staying at home and decaying in front of a television set or a computer, broadcasting useless Twitter messages or Facebook posts.

But I don't understand that kind of negative sentiment and sometimes I feel the human race is slipping when I hear such comments.

The Old Port Festival is celebration of summer, a chance to mingle with humanity, sample good food, listen to soothing music and take the opportunity to spoil yourself with the purchase of a trinket or two from the numerous vendors lining the streets of this great little city.

If I was a single male or female in the state of Maine, I would have the date of the Old Port Festival stamped on my forehead and sticky notes placed all over my house. I would pay to have a wake-up call for that Sunday morning in June. Good looking people abound at this celebration. It just might be the place to bump into a significant other and a shot a long-term relationship.

Who knows!

But you really don't need a festival to celebrate the Old Port's beauty and uniqueness. The architecture and spectacular views of the ocean make the Old Port a delight for pedestrians to wonder the narrow streets and visit the specialty stores. And it doesn't matter if you pay the Old Port a visit during the summer or winter because this is a city of all seasons.

The Old Port put on its Sunday Best as thousands of people strolled up and down the crowded streets checking out vendors and pausing to listen to live performers.

After six days of rain, Mainers embraced the warm sun and refreshing sea breezes to meander along the packed avenues.

We stopped to look at some of the crafts, but what kept me moving through the crowd was the music. There were new age artists and an Irish band playing to a grateful crowd.

Terri and Anthony decided to grab a pizza before moving on to the wharf to see how the other half lives. There are expensive yachts and million-dollar-a-month condominiums that sit just across the street from the Old Port. A handful of seafood restaurants offer exquisite dining, but we are on a budget and settled on a pizza.

After nearly three hours, it was time to move on to the Eastern Prom - another gem in Portland - to get up close and personal with the Atlantic Ocean. For the next two hours, Anthony and I stared out at the harbor and talked about anything while Terri stayed back and absorbed the sun on the sand.

Returning to Auburn was not an option for next two hours. Spending those wonderful moments with my son and wife on the warm, white sand was all that mattered.

John F. Kennedy said we are all drawn to the sea, and that probably explains why I am a frequent visitor to the Old Port.

Music to our ears

My son, Anthony, checks out Portland's history.

Merrill Auditorium's lavish hallways. 

Downtown Portland, Maine on a Sunday afternoon.

PORTLAND, Maine - For two glorious hours, I forgot about my bills, winter’s cold touch and mankind’s stupidity as a chorus of angelic voices drifted over me.

I had found serenity inside the lavish halls of palatial Merrill Auditorium. My heart rate slowed, my breathing was calm and any trace of apprehension had disappeared as the Vancouver Chamber Choir’s soothing music lulled a couple of hundred patrons into a dream-like state.

There is no question about it — these guys and gals have got some game.

If classical music is the big leagues, then this choir would be one of Major League baseball’s dominant teams. All their powerful voices are home runs.

I won a pair of tickets, which are steep but well worth the price of admission for $44.00 apiece, at work. My son accompanied me to the concert. Terri was nursing an ear infection and elected to remain behind even though I would have gladly purchased a third ticket.

My son and I sat in total silence as the show went on. We didn’t dare speak to each other for fear missing one note of Vancouver’s mesmerizing chorals. Nobody spoke. Not one cell phone interrupted the silence of Merrill Auditorium, which was quieter than a library.

I didn’t give a damn about mankind’s ugliness or politicians’ empty promises. All I could do was just float in and out this brief state of tranquility.

Conductor and Artistic Director Jon Washburn’s gentle demeanor and reassuring voice was a crowd pleaser. He had this adept way of introducing and explaining each musical piece to his audience. I appreciated his knowledge of music, which I am sure is vast.

In the dead of winter, I found myself totally relaxed as Vancouver opened its “A Choral Panorama” with heavy-hitting composer Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Komm, Jesu, Komm."

I had found nirvana as the choir’s interpretation of Bach’s timeless piece emptied my mind of trepidation and melancholy.

The Choir moved on to perform Sir John Tavener’s “The Lamb” and Canadian composer R. Murray Schaler’s “A Medieval Bestiary.”

These are great works performed by a world-class choir, which is also capable of bringing to life English folk songs. My favorite, "Early One Morning," was done masterfully. I have heard this piece in movies and on PBS.

I had the privilege of listening to a select group of mankind's finest voices brighten the lives of an appreciative audience on a Sunday afternoon.

The only problem I had with this outstanding performance is it lasted for only two hours, and all this serenity disappeared after the last round of applause gave way to silence.