Dear God

Dear God, it’s…

that time of year again. I sit here thinking of what to write. I know I’m a little old for writing letters to a presumably fictional character, known around the world for taking much of the spice out of Christmas, at least as far as the One and Only Son is concerned. But never the less, I believe it is good therapy and I recommend it to all.

No one actually believes they are going to get what they ask for anyway, but it’s not the asking, or the getting, that’s important. It is a fact that you lessen the trepidation of the season by taking yourself mentally out of the turmoil and madness.  Put yourself out there with New Year’s resolutions and birthday wishes, by writing a letter. We know our wishes most likely won’t come true, but like praying, what can it hurt to ask.

If life is about one thing, it is to understand the things that cause us to cease being who we are, and allow us to be, who we want to be. Whether it be like some mad man from ancient times who taught his reindeer to fly, or a rabbit that lays chocolate eggs; it is the distraction that permits our over taxed minds to relax and consider alternatives to who, and what we have become. It is the distraction that allow us to forget about everything.   We spend too much time thinking about all the things that keep us from thinking about, what makes us feel good about life. Using my own logic, metaphorically of course, if I spend all my time thinking of what doesn’t matter, but am willing to be distracted by what does, I will find that because I have been feeling like nothing matters, begin once again, to feel like everything does matter.   

Although, I do believe that distractions are a form of therapy that need to be more fervently endorsed if we are ever to be able to outwit reality, I also know that behind every lesson, there is something to be learned. That is why I am writing this letter to you, Mr. Claus.

Last year, I asked for a pet. I didn’t care what kind of pet. Any pet would do. Well that is, any pet but the one you sent. I didn’t ask for a bird. I don’t even see how you, or anyone for that matter, could consider a bird a pet. And if I did, it wouldn’t be a parrot. The thing is almost the size of a chicken and has the personality of an ex-KGB officer. 

Speaking of personality, remember two years ago me asking about a friend of a friend. Now I ask that you please stop inferring ideas from what is being relayed to you in private. We expect more of you than we do of Facebook. I suggest you burn and or delete all your correspondence, in an effort to avoid embarrassing moments like the one I experienced. Just a well-meaning suggestion.

That bird you brought, is not only annoying, but It, also doesn’t listen. I know nothing of birds, parrots in particular, but rude and obnoxious ones, most of all. I have heard more cursing from your gift, than on the last Bill Maher show. It also began complaining immediately about its cage. He calls it his, “cell.” I put a mirror and bell in his room.  It ignores them.

I call it, It, because I don’t know how to determine whether It, is a male or female. I would suggest in the future that you send along a manual. I guarantee, it would be of the utmost help.

I didn’t know what to feed It. I tried everything from peanut butter to crackers, which I was informed was a favorite of parrots. Just more nonsense. I finally discovered It had a preference for seeds. I gave It some sunflower seeds I had left over from the last wedding I was invited to, and It did nothing but complain about the time-consuming job of cracking the shells just to get at a nut the size of, in Its own word, “lint.” He ruined Christmas Eve for me probably forever with his incessant negativity.

I became so desperate I went on the internet to find out what to do with this thing. The most amazing tidbit of information I found, is that It has a better chance of becoming a centenarian, than I do. They are apparently from an equatorial climate, so I showed It the out of doors, snow, and ice, thinking It would find some inspiration to behave.  But all It did was suggest I, “turn up the heat.”

I know, it is not proper etiquette to complain about a gift. I know it is the thought that counts, but that is what worries me. Why would you think I needed a parrot. Not a kitten, puppy, even a turtle, or better yet a gold fish, but a bird.

Most creatures we can learn to tolerate. Well, perhaps not snakes, or maybe spiders, and definitely not bed bugs. Most animals however, we do have a tolerance for. Some birds we accept, even sparrows, sometimes crows, but parrots? It is like asking us to learn to like our neighbors, or people at work.

You really need to get out more. We don’t all live in a world of little people who wear funny clothes and smile all the time. Well, some of the people I know do wear funny clothes, so I guess that isn’t the best example, but someone that smiles all the time is highly suspicious where I come from.

And by the way, if you didn’t want the bird you should have just asked someone to take It off your hands. Pawning It off as a gift, was beneath you. The reason I know It was in your care, is that It told me about your cookie addiction, and your problem with…well no need to go into that. Your red nose says it all if you must know. It, says to tell you, you’d better clean up your act, or people are going to find something else to do to break up the long cold nights. Perhaps, go back to celebrating the Solstice, then where will you be. And where will we be? There are already over eight billion people on earth; enough is enough. 

It also suggests, you keep an eye on Rudolph. Apparently, Rudolph is not the cute little reindeer he claims to be. And, It says, the other reindeer are fed up with him getting all the attention, while they do all the work. There’s talk of a strike to get a living allowance of 15 comets an hour, and double time on Holy Days. They want to be able to afford Wheaties! Possibly Frosted Flakes. They are tired of roughage. “Mutiny,”

It says, has been rumored. 

It says, Rudolph also smokes out behind the manger you erect every year to compensate for your interference in the true reason, for the season.   

I know I shouldn’t complain, but you really do need to be a little more considerate when it comes to giving gifts you think might fit the giftee, as you did in my case.  I believe I may suffer irreparably for years from your callous indifference. I’ve never had a similar experience, not even once, at Easter.

I don’t want you to take this letter the wrong way. I’m sure you make plenty of mistakes, that no one notices. I just believe instead of spending so much time with the naughty and nice list, you spend more time with your gift list. 

That Bob Dylan Christmas Album from three years ago, wasn’t as bad as the bird, but then I could re-gift it, and no one was the wiser. I am not a Claus, so I can’t just re-gift a parrot. Please remember what Christmas is supposed to be all about. It is a birthday party of sorts. Presents are supposed to solicit happiness.

Oh, and by the way, I named the bird Martini. It, likes it. It, is learning to sing Christmas carols in Hebrew, and I found that gin helps listening considerably easier. And I will thank you for that.  It, wants me, to ask you, for a swizzle stick and a paper umbrella, and It says the olives are in back of the fridge behind the maraschino cherries, in case you were wondering.

Shalom

P.S. This year I would like some Hydroxychloroquine. People tell me it makes fat arrogant people disappear. Pardon me, for asking, but I might just need a case, if you can find the room.

Yours in Spirits

Parrot Guy