Corey Seymour: Warning- No Politics

In the spirit of the holidays-the joyous birth of Jesus Christ, the divine miracle of the after-Christmas-big-discount sales, the annual resurrection of the lefse and the lutefisk, the Holy Day of the Ever-Increasing Waistline, and the general spirit of renewal fostered by the arrival of a new year, let's dispense with politics for a moment-oh don't worry, my next column is due in two weeks-and focus on the things that are closer to the heart, or at the very least simply more dang fun.

 It always strikes me as quite funny-or tragic, really, if I'm being honest-that while so many people flock to New York City (where I live and work) with their friends and families for Christmas and New Year's, it's exactly this time of year that always has me missing New Rockford more than ever. Yes, we have a lot of seasonal sights here: the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree (I used to work a block away from it and have seen every one since 1989, when I moved here-though I've yet to see this year's version, something I'm hoping to rectify by the time you read this) and the skating rink directly below it; the elaborate and over-the-top windows of the Fifth Avenue department stores (my wife and I took our kids for a quick tour of them for the first time this year; here's hoping they don't grow up thinking our family does all their shopping at Tiffany's!); and to ring in the New Year, of course, the whole world watches the ball drop at Times Square. I joined in this ritual exactly once, in my first year in the city, and while it was a memorable experience, it will remain a once-in-a-lifetime type deal. Imagine a capacity crowd at the Fargodome. Now imagine 100 or 200 of those all jammed together. Outdoors. With no bathroom. And an hours-long wait to the main event. Trust me: You've got the best view of anyone from your living room.

 So yeah: We've got a lot of bells and whistles for this time of year. My best Christmas memories, though, aren't about Fifth Avenue or Rockefeller Center or Times Square. They're about the ice skating rink on the west side of town near the old elementary school, and the warming hut there that saved me from frostbite on many, many occasions. They're about friends and family caroling from house to house-and so many tins of Christmas cookies making the rounds, both ingoing and outgoing, that someone really should have started a seasonal commodities market for them. (Thankfully, lutefisk, like my Times Square New Year's, was only a once-in-a-lifetime "delicacy.") As for New Year's eve? Every year it made me start talking to my television: "Hey Dick Clark?!?! You know your stupid ball only covers the Eastern time zone, don't you?!?!? Why are we supposed to care, when we've still got an hour to go? Who's dropping the ball in Minneapolis? (Ooops, sorry, just occurs to me that with the Vikes in the hunt this year, this could be read as bad karma. Go Vikes!)

 I particularly remember a great string of years, probably in the early 80s, when, after much complaining about the lack of a white Christmas, my family walked out of midnight mass on Christmas Eve to find the sky pouring down fat white fluffy flakes of snow-our own local Christmas miracle.

 Here's wishing you and yours the happiest of new years. May we all look forward to good health and many indictments-sorry, I mean much excitement!