Do you remember childhood Christmas Eves? Maybe you went to mass, there might have been a party, possibly a big dinner with cousins you saw but once a year (and never liked anyway). But after all the ceremony, once dishes were dried and put up, when the lights were doused and you were tucked into bed with sugar plums dancing in your head, anticipation became the only feeling in your young and impressionable mind. The endless night dragged on as you waited for morning and the joyful chaos.
You know, that can’t-get-to-sleep, did I leave Santa enough cookies and milk? will it be under the tree? potential for unbridled joy coupled with a tinge of looming disappointment.
I’m there. Smack dab in the center, the nexus of fun and wariness. Earlier than most years, I’m eagerly anticipating the upcoming season. Soon, Manny, Buddy and I head north and east.
Maybe because last night I was subjected to old home movies of my first couple Christmases, that’s the metaphor that best describes the weeks before embarking on a full season on the road.
Do you ever get that feeling? Maybe as opening weekend approaches? Or as you set out to pick up a new pup? Maybe as your annual trip to (fill in the blank: Wisconsin/ruffs; Texas/bobs; South Dakota/ringnecks) comes nigh?
Rub your hands – sleep in your clothes – check the alarm clock every hour – get up early (earlier) than planned – the sweet taste of impending fun and new country. It’s almost Christmas and soon I’ll see you on the road.
(Scott’s new book would make a great Christmas gift. Learn more here.)