I have a funny relationship with Christmas.  It’s been over two decades since I stopped being exclusively a Christian. 

When I was growing up, we had a tradition of playing certain music when decorating the Christmas tree.  There was a reel-to-reel tape that we always listened to and it became the soundtrack to our tree decorating efforts.  The tape started with four songs that  my parents recorded in 1969 off “The Midnight Special,” a folk music show on WFMT, the classical music station in Chicago.   These four songs are very much etched in my memory and inseparable from the experience of Christmas itself.  

I’m a sentimental fool that still gets misty-eyed over chestnuts roasting over an open fire and who lets his head resemble that of a bobble-head doll when hearing the tune to “Carol of the Bells.”  The smell of fireplaces and burning wood in the cold night and the moonlight over the snow covered hills of Wisconsin, and the Christmas displays in Olin Park. I just want to roll around in it all of it like a dog rolling in…um…holly berries.  Yeah, holly berries.

I can imagine my fellow Wisconsinites reading about the bluegill debacle in the paper, thinking, "Those darn Illinoisians, they're at it again." 

I think being at least somewhat unhinged is a necessity in order for me to have the fortitude to continue posting on my blog each day for the month of November.

I think my posts for this month have been of pretty high quality.  Of course, it helps to have major life changes while doing this exercise.  I think it’s safe to say that this revolution has been televised.  Perhaps well-televised.  Perhaps to a nauseating level.

They ordered beers, and I ordered a club soda with a lime.  I was shocked to discover that there was no charge for the club soda.  I realized that I could get used to this lifestyle.

I remember that in 1986 and 1987, people were introducing the Cocteau Twins to friends in college dorm rooms across the country. Frequently, it would involve someone encouraging a friend to put on headphones, lie down, close their eyes, and just listen to and absorb the music.  People frequently had the same reactions I did--they were completely blown away by a sound completely different from anything they'd previously heard. 

My stomach was going, "no, no, no," but my taste buds were being gleefully transported back to 1972 and were not going to miss this opportunity at nostalgia no matter how much my stomach protested.

With its 2 a.m. bar time, no one would accuse Madison of being “the city that never sleeps.”  However, given the amount of partying that goes on downtown on most Saturday nights, it might be accurate to describe Madison as the “the city that sleeps in”—particularly on Sunday mornings.  But now that I’ve started going to Sunday devotionals at the Baha'i Center here in Madison, my routine for that morning is changing.