Every December 24 — while dad builds the fire, mom preps the salmon loaf, wifey makes the eggnog, and I “test” the brandy — a wail goes up from the Davis house. It’s Elvis Presley, crying: “O why can’t every day be like Christmas? Why can’t that feeling go on endlessly?” And we answer him, no less soulfully: “For if every day could be just like Christmas, what a wonderful world this would be!”
It’s a great song. But, hey, doesn’t the man deserve an answer? Why can’t every day be like Christmas?
Granted, we can’t all spend our days opening presents and eating sugar cookies. It might work for Tom Hanks, but some of us have work to do. And yet, whatever the cynics might say, I don’t think Christmas cheer has that much to do with presents.
[Read the rest at The Spectator World.]
North of Boston 