“Happy Holiday!”

I look around me. I see festoons and trees and pumpkins and steaming turkeys and rabbits laying eggs because there aren’t enough chickens.

I see a fat man in red facing mixed messages.

I see people marching.

I see banners and placards.

I see people dressed their way.

I hear singing, I hear chanting.

I see Labor Day when we don’t.

I see dueling churches piling money to make the highest steeple with idiosyncratic symbolic variations. Catholics claiming Pride of Origin. Mormons elbowing their way in with Temples ready to take off from the earth toward the Angel Boni Moroni.

I see, looking farther East, Temples spreading out, and way down South over there say a prayer the Big Man Big House adjacent to the Big Hut and the Big Hat.

I see skies that are blue, green meadows too, and I say to myself, “Whaaat?”

I look at the Calendar and see every month is taken. I flip the pages, and see every day’s a holiday. Multiple times.

I see people dress funny and sometimes walk on the streets, sometimes stay home inside.

I see people gather, sometimes around a Rock, around which sometimes the Ragged Rascal Ran. Sometimes She Sells Sea Shells by the Seashore.

Whole sections of a city are devoted to religion. Wall Street preys to Mammon. The God of Money makes Scientology a Religion.

Children wander aimlessly on the streets because the Temple of Learning has been shut and closed down, acolyte priests the Former Teachers join them, looking for a job, and Every Day’s a Holiday.

My head spins like crazy, which is Another Holiday.

Everyday’s out at the Holiday In.

People seem to have a Need for Holiday, to fill their Hollow Selves so they won’t implode.

Sometimes they pump in hot air, like politics, and let it out and aim selectively. They have their Targets, just like Archery Day, looking for the Eye of the Bull, or Arbor Day, celebrating the Memory of Trees.

I see Liquid Days, Deep Sea and Shallow Waters.

Days of Belief compete with UnBelief and DisBelief, as gods compete each other out of the Heavens and leave the Heavens to Betsy.

There are days for Color and Rainbows and Pride. One day a year, the beer turns green, as does the urine on that Day of Days.

There’s Kissing Day, as if that isn’t every day.

I’m sorry to say there’s a Day of Repentance. A Day of Forgiveness, a Day of Do Over, a Day of Forever and a Day, and a Day of Never.

There’s What-a-Day! And Many-a-Day, and Never-a-Day and Never a Dull.

There’s a Day for Life, and the Days of Our Lives, and a Day to Wed, and a Day to Be Old Enough, a Day for Death, a Good Day to Die, and a Day to be Born because once wasn’t enough.

We celebrate Days, Months, Years. The Year of the Comet. The Year of Living Dangerously.

We celebrate our Lengthy Obsessions when a Year isn’t enough. We celebrate War for a Hundred Years, and a Hundred Years of Solitude.

Historians laugh and say, “That’s nothing! We had a Thousand Year Reich. We had Millennia. We had Eons, whole Ages, like the Stone Age, and the Iron Age where we still are, transmogrifying iron into steel for the Weapons of the Day on the Eve of Destruction.

We celebrate celebration.

Some people say, “I celebrate myself.”

I do more than that, and Raise a Glass to Life!