Hats Off to Christmas

Where’s Mariah Carey when I need her?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how hearing “All I Want for Christmas is You” marks the start of the holiday season for me.

Despite my advanced age, I always get excited about the seeing lights and listening to the Christmas carols and watching all the old movies.

But this year the spirit ain’t here.

I could make plenty of excuses: the state of the world, the state of my mind, and the paralyzing fear that “Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey” will get stuck in my head and keep on playing until the Memorial Day weekend.

I know that’s not true, though. I’ve endured all those things in the past and still managed to have myself a merry little Christmas.

I just don’t have the usual enthusiasm, which is no way to feel about the most wonderful time of the year.

Even Ebeneezer Scrooge had some emotion about the holidays. It was pure hatred, of course, but at least it came from the heart.

Is there a Ghost of Christmas Apathy? And, if so, who cares?

Now I don’t want to get all negative and go humbugging all over town. People who go out of their way to grinch up the holidays irritate me no end.

This is something going on with me and I’m hoping its temporary, like a season of bad crops or a downturn in the economy. I want to get the Christmas spirit again.

I’ve decided the best way to handle this morose mindset is to focus on gratitude, giving thanks for my family and friends, for having a roof over my head, food on my table and a steady paycheck when so many people are lacking all of the above.

Mom's Wigwam

It’s been bitter cold in New York lately. The mercury was so low that I actually F-bombed my iPhone Saturday morning when I saw the temperature was one stinking degree.

But in my search for gratitude, I found something to hang my hat on—literally.

I had to gear up bigtime to go out in this hideous weather which meant I had to break out this ghastly red ski mask I wear only on single digit occasions.

The thing is fashion nightmare; I feel like a walking zit when I put it on. But it is so unbelievably freaking warm that I will happily bury my pride in a snowdrift and slip this acrylic atrocity over my freezing dome.

The ski mask was made by a company call Wigwam Mills, which was founded in Sheboygan, Wisconsin in 1905 and whose hosiery was named the official sock of the US Ski and Snowboard Team for 2022.

The company doesn't make this style of ski mask anymore, but I found one exactly like mine on eBay listed under “Vintage WIGWAM Heavy Duty Winter Snowmobile Ski Face Mask Hat” and going for $19.99.

I freaked when I saw the photo, but I really could've done without the word "vintage"--especially in all caps.

While walking to the gym—and feeling quite warm—I recalled that my Wigwam hat had been a gift from my mother many Christmases ago.

I’m afraid to count the number of yule logs have been burned since I received this headgear, but I know I had it while covering house fires and car crashes on bitter cold nights for the Pocono Record and that was in the Eighties.

I realized that as much as I mock this ski mask’s appearance it was—and still is--an expression of my mother’s love.

She wasn’t interested in the latest styles or looking chic; she was trying to protect me from the wind and the cold and 20 years after her passing the hat is still doing its job.

Today I noticed that my red ski mask is looking a little worn around the edges. Hardly surprising given the passage of time, but I can’t help but feel sad at the thought of throwing away this singular chapeau someday.

But I will never forget the love and care that went behind it. And that makes my spirits very bright indeed.

Merry Christmas.