It’s that time of year again when gallivanting about the cold December wind bring a flurry of wafting wood smoke, jingling sleigh bells, and ongoing yuletide bliss.  Every house is bejeweled with twinkling lights and funky reindeer, and as they navigate Saint Nick’s route to the firesides of suburbia… we wait in hopeful anticipation. 

A nostalgic character of the bustling downtown city streets lends an air of Norman Rockwell.  And deposited safely beneath a trim of Christmas greenery, shimmering snowman wrapping paper commingles a number of mounting presents as we celebrate the entrance of yet another year.   

Wishing you and yours a joyful holiday season…

It’s beginning to look a lot like some random version of my favorite holiday season.  But as the dynamics of nostalgia and annual traditions aide the recovery of food comas everywhere, it’s coming on that time of year when so-called private lives become public record to every relative in tow.  Let’s be honest, society begins to experience a gamut of emotions, and unexpectedly this quasi-arousing bedlam transforms into psychotic yuletide bliss, depression, or face it… they just don’t give a crap because they stopped believing in Santa Claus 20 years ago.   

The universal rift, otherwise known as the holidays, sparks an extravagant bankrupting forte while jingles bells merrily cheers each credit card (debt) swipe.  Seriously, every cart pusher, window peeker, road rager, and zany bargain seeker apparently conforms to the same spending Christmas rules.

So while a mass of strangers nearly pulverized one another over ‘it’ items, I couldn’t help wondering when giant conglomerates replaced the spirit of Christmas.

I couldn’t resist these images…