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Do you find it harder and harder each year to get revâ€" . mas has become commercialized. But don‘t blame the merâ€" ved up for Christmas? You have company. chants. Blame ourselves. We can call this a plastic age, When the advertising begins right after Thanksgiving, but it is we who use the plastic, whether it be in the form and the Santa Clauses become ubiquitous by midâ€"Novemâ€" of goods, ideas or entertainment. ber, and the carols are mere cliches by midâ€"December, it‘s It is we who scurry madly through those overheated hard to reach that peak of emotion that combines Christian â€" stores, going slightly paranoid over the business of buying joy for the birth of Christ and pagan revelry to celebrate gifts for péople who don‘t need them. the equinox, by the time Christmas itself rolls around. ‘ It is we who eat and drink too much at Christmas, One of the trite remarks of modern life is that Christâ€" which, if the truth were told, should be a time of fasting and CBERLEKIRERLRLRLLLRLLLLLLLVCA: Z City of Waterioo YWe LKLRLKLUWRLLERLERLRRARRLRELLRLRLLLLLLLLTLLTME: At this Holiday Season I take pleasure on behaif of the Council and Staff of the City of Waterloo in wishing you a â€" Waterioo Chronicie, Wednesday, December 21, 1977 Happy Hew HHear F ‘f‘r ‘ _ ~MWah 2RAAA with a special thanks to those who write. God bless us, 0 and all. rpenerecconvoe0r000000000000000000000000 - * n‘ Je t e e d D * y > C GS * L PA Fav: k ‘ uc 4.#‘{4"&" e 3/X «ols 7 ‘w..:,_“_‘.;; « , l ar M i M ":‘ A *‘ ~ A W 4 ]. _r’fi;;' FEXECSY m C +4 e l G\\ . ( 4 $ \ To old c /. wind fij . Ni |â€" t & f friends and 4 /A ~~ amwue | 'ft , new go our wishes : _ah i tar ~ urarndortlul Chrisctmas season. we threw out that pagan image, the Christmas tree, ited _ turned off the lights, except for a candle or two, turned the jing furnace right off, and sat around in the cold and dark, transferring ourselves to a stable in Bethiechem on a winâ€" 1as, _ ter night? * and No? You don‘t think much of that idea? Neither do I. «c It‘s like saying that in the face of the coming energy , shortage we should all blow up our cars, stop using hot water and deodorants, grow our own food in the back yard, , and chop down all the trees in the park for firewood. ; Whether we like it or not, we are caught up in the headâ€" long race of the human species toward its goal, whether it be suicide or glory, and there‘s no turning back. So get that tree up, buy a fat turkey, spoil your chilâ€" dren rotten with an overwhelm of gifts, and stuff yourself silly as a Roman senator at an orgy. â€"_ This year it‘s the Mounties. Next year the government g may do away with Christmas altogether because it cuts too deeply into increasing our Gross National Product. My old lady and I almost gave up on Christmas this year. We thought of all the work to get ready and flinched. I suggested going south for a week to play some golf, letting S our daughter and her brood take over our house and have their Christmas here. She was all for it. Then we had The Boys for a week, and hastily revised our plans. We realized that if those two were %llowed to run unchecked for a week, we might as well put the g house up for sale when we got home, or set fire to it, if JÂ¥ â€" there was enough left standing to make a blaze. If it weren‘t for that mob, going away would have been â€"easy, both physically and emotionally. I could enjoy «Christmas dinner in a hotel in Texas just as much as I do at home, where I have to stuff the bird, mash the turnips and wash 8,000 dishes far into the night. ‘ purification, until our heads were as light as our hearts. Wouldn‘t it be muchâ€"more appropriate if, on Christmas Eve, instead of having people in for eggnog and goodies, It would be a wrench, but I might even be able to stand not watching my grandboys rip the paper off 48 gifts and go right back to beating each other on the head with a couple of drumsticks. Real ones, not the turkey kind. It‘s one of their favorite games. However. as the hired man said in Robert Frost‘s poem of that name, "Home is where, when you go there, they have to let you stay.‘" And it looks as though that‘s the way my daughter feels. I think I might just possibly be able to forego having to find a Christmas tree, dragging it in covered in snow, and spending four hours trying to get the dam‘ thing to stand upright. We tried to fill up the house with other people. But my son is in Paraguay, one brother and his wife in Costa Rica, the other brother way up at James Bay. o With that wrapped up, there‘s nothing left to do but send my best wishes for the holiday season to all sorts of peoâ€" ple, through this column. â€" â€" To all the people to whom we used to send Christmas cards: it‘s the thought that counts, and we think of you every six or eight months. â€" o _ To all those people who don‘t want a baby at all: don‘t get pregnant, not even a little bit. _ â€" So we‘re stuck with the kids, and I‘ll be happy if I see the New Year without being on my hands and knees. _ To my old friends in the newspaber business: hope you all got that big Christmas issue out without being hospitalâ€" ized with total exhaustion. To all those people who want a baby so badly get twins twice in the next two years. O And to all the people who bother to read this column at all, whether you agree or not, a merry, merry Christmas, with a special thanks to those who write. God bless us, one To my teaching colleagues everywhere: hang in there; it‘s only six months until June. â€" â€" â€" â€" To the prime minister: dear Pierre, hope that other turkey doesn‘t turn up and spoil your Christmas. _ hope you hope you