Bumble.
It had to be Bumble, the abominable
monster in the 1964 Rankin/Bass animated show Rudolph the
Red-Nosed Reindeer, that topped the first Christmas tree in my
home in 11 years.
The blue, toothy creature that
terrorized Rudolph, Yukon and Hermey, but who actually had a heart of
gold, is perched atop the branches of our small tree, replacing the
angel, star or snowflake that most use to adorn their displays.
A tree had always been a festive part
of my holiday fare as a youth and it became a tradition when I got
married years ago. In fact, there was a time when I was as
enthusiastic about Christmas as the Clark Griswold character from the
movie “National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.” I'd go to a
nearby farm a cold day each year and cut down a nice fir tree while
snow flurries fluttered and then haul it home and set it up.
I'd string lights galore from the
house, around bushes and along the driveway. If something was
stationary in the yard, it got bedecked with strings of thousands of
blinking lights. It was Christmas, the most manic time of the year!
But that ended when my wife got sick
with kidney failure. It's a debilitating disease and Christmas cheer
was not on the forefront during the last of her life. We moved to a
small house in 2005 and hastily put up an artificial tree in
December, more for appearance than for tradition.
She died seven months later and her
relatives, as relatives always do after a death, swooped in and
picked over my stuff. They took clothes and shoes and books. Someone
got my nice carpet steam cleaner. Her aunt took the Christmas tree. I
was in the mourning stage at that time and was not really aware of
all that was cleared from my home.
That year, the editors at the newspaper
where I work had me come to Little Rock during the holidays, fearing
my first Christmas alone would be rough. I usually work in a
one-person bureau, covering northeast Arkansas. But that year, I
worked in the newsroom for eight days, some 125 miles from my home,
and lived in a hotel. I spent Christmas eve in a U.S. 167 convenience
store, trying to convince a drunk couple not to continue driving
because I'd have to write about their fatalities if they crashed.
Since then, I've worked four or five
times on Christmas day. Last year, I wrote about an arson fire at the
boyhood home of Bill Clinton in Hope, Ark. A year earlier, I covered
a community dinner for a rural town where more than 300 showed up. In
2009, I did a story about people who had to work on the holiday and
then followed that with an article about an evening snowstorm.
I lost the Christmas spirit. The
holidays were depressing; I'd leave the my bureau office in the
evening of Dec. 24 and sulk back to my house, watching others scamper
to their homes full of family and cheer.
But then, this year. Those who've read
Love, Life and APBA know about the Illinois girl and my changes.
After I became smitten and drove to northern Illinois 17 times this
year to see her, Holly moved here. And, because she is one of the
most positive, spirited persons I've known, she decided we needed a
Christmas tree.
We opted for a small 6-foot fake tree
with colored lights and set it up a week before Christmas. It sits in
the corner of our living room. There's some gaps in it; we've not
manipulated the folding branches properly yet to cover the spaces. We
also put on ornaments that she brought down with her during the move.
She got a wreath made of real fir branches. The thick scent of pine
permeates the living room and it makes an even more ambient season.
The tree looks great. It wouldn't have
been there if not for her. And, hence, this is the “love” part of
Love, Life and APBA. (There is APBA still: The first time I ever saw
an APBA game — the 1976 football season — was underneath my
parents' Christmas tree.)
In fact, Holly has been a great
influence on a lot of things. I couldn't stand the classic movie
“It's a Wonderful Life” because of its smarmy, warm felt message
that, despite not having money, we are all wonderful. It went against
my grain because I measured worth based upon my financial status. We
watched the movie together the other day and for the first time ever,
I liked it.
 |
| Bumble atop our Christmas tree |
And Bumble.
I enjoyed the Rankin/Bass production of
Rudolph as a child. I'd watch it each year and, full
disclosure here, I'd tear up as an adult watching it because of the
innocence of the show, the meaning behind it and the nostalgia it
brought. But like all else that was Christmas, I stopped viewing it
after 2006.
Holly and I watched it the other day
for the first time in a decade and I loved it. And, yes, I teared up.
She knew of my fondness for the
creature and when we saw a version of Bumble in a Christmas stocking
at the store, she picked it up. It was the obvious tree topper. And
for those who remembered the show, you'll get the symbolism. Far be
it from me to overanalyze anything (I say sarcastically), but there
is a deeper meaning to Bumble in our home.
Toward the end of Rudolph, prospector
Yukon Cornelius sacrificed himself to save the reindeer and Hermey.
He pushed Bumble toward the edge of a chasm and then, when Bumble
fell, Yukon went with him.
“He's gone. Oh, he's gone,” Rudolph
said as he looked over the cliff's edge.
But later, when Rudolph returned to
Santa's place, there came a knock at the door. Yukon burst in with
Bumble. The abominable monster fell, but didn't perish because, Yukon
said, “Bumbles bounce.”
After more than a decade of dreading
the Christmas holiday, I'm looking forward to this Christmas.
Maybe we all bounce, if you think about
it.
