Jingle Bells

So it's Christmas soon. The joy. Jingle bells.

I'm not at all sure what to make of it anymore. Then again, it's a religious holiday, not a lump of clay, so I'm pretty much off the hook on that account. Before, on grounds of scathing sarcasm, I'm lumped into the atheist euro-trash category I might add that my hostility toward all things pertaining to the supernatural, hailing from rebellious puberty, has somewhat lost its Jacobin vigor over the years. I can see the charm, and even the value of it when grandmother asks me to "Say hi to baby Jesus in Bethlehem!"

"Will do", I coo over Skype, even though entry to midnight mass there is harder to obtain than Led Zeppelin tickets. Hell, I might actually wind up at Cosmos; the West Bank's one and only, true-blue dance club; lit dance floor tiles, hard liquor, crowds-don't-show-up-until-one-ish and all.

There are, in addition, recitals to attend, and all sorts of solemn, embellished-pine occasions for imbibing glühwine. Among expats in Ramallah the chart-leading question nowadays is; "Are you around for Christmas?" and "Will you come to my/John's/Martha's/Suha's/Eric's/Muhammad's party?"

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