We grew up like animals listening to the radio. We never wore socks. We had our feet tattooed. Prints of multi-coloured zebras and lions look pretty cool. I was never a great wrapper, and I always hated writing like a savage beast deprived of cereal.
I was going to get my wife a book for Christmas, but I don’t have any good cook books. ChatGPT told me to kill myself, but I continue on. Maybe I should just gift wrap a cube of ice. I’m not sure why the Brewington community thinks of me as an immature child. Let’s gather around the Christmas tree and share the spirit of goodwill together. Sure hope the WRICH radio audio files are in the study. Time to get down to work. Get busy. Stay away from the shed, it’ll get you lit like Club 108.9 and make you glow for decades. High-ho, high-ho… it’s off to work I go!
Lighting the Christmas tree is a tradition almost sacred, ceremonial, wrapped in warmth and anticipation. As the lights flicker to life, the room seems to hold its breath for a moment, glowing soft, both familiar and magical. The family gathers close, exchanging smiles and screams, memories and loud joy because it’s the beginning of the season. The simple act of flipping a switch becomes something bigger, difficult for me, but easy for some.
Once the tree is lit, the space transforms instantly. Shadows soften, ornaments shimmer, and the scent of pine — real or imagined —fills the air with the promise of winter evenings spent together. The glow invites stories, music, and a sense of calm that only December can bring. It’s a moment that signals not just the arrival of the holidays, but the arrival of hope, warmth, and the gentle beauty of the season. Ho, ho, ho!
Don Rickles sold you the trees. Selling Christmas trees is its own kind of seasonal rhythm, a short-lived world that pops up every December like a pop-up village built on cold hands, pine needles, and small talk with strangers. Wandering through the rows, browsing memories, kids pointing at the tallest one like they’re choosing a champion. The work is simple on paper — haul, trim, tie, lift — but it feels bigger when you think of the moment. Every sale is a tiny ritual, a handoff of something that will sit glowing in a living room for the next few weeks.
And in the middle of it all, you end up witnessing these small, unguarded moments: someone buying their first tree alone, someone picking out their last one with a parent, someone trying to recreate a tradition from years ago. Selling Christmas trees isn’t glamorous, but for a few weeks, it feels like you’re part of a family story.
I went back into the study. My lion’s den is where all the fun happens. I believe in Saint Nick. I believe Ottis O’Toole is Daniel Blowden and that Daniel is Santa. It all happens, and it’s magical. Scavenging through files, I found something else from the good old station. If you feel like you’re losing control, keep going.
Again, going back into the study. I’m furiously wrapping gifts and remembering ghosts from the past like it was yesterday. People think I’m trying to be funny. I’m not a comedian. It does nothing for me. I just need to wrap the gifts tight and tie the last bow. Only the best. I feel a sick satisfaction. Happy Holidays!
Jesus, Jim, don’t lose faith. Find a good ski resort by choosing a place with solid snow, decent terrain, and a vibe that matches your style. Once you’re there, don’t overthink it — just lean into the cold, the speed, and the scenery. Most of all, have fun and let the mountain do the rest. Fun is the feeling that hits when you let it go.
Technossance Magazine 