Me this time of year on carols: It is fall. A few ambitious trees are already turning shades of red. The sun is getting lazy, going to bed early and sleeping late. Pumpkin spice runs rampant among coffee shops. And Christmas is less than three months away.
Me this time of year without carols: Summer is over. Leaves are dying. If the sun doesn't have to get up, why should I? I need more coffee to get through the morning but I'm sick of the same old flavor. How is it only Monday?
As you can tell, it is for good reason that I'm grateful for Christmas carols. Every year the band o' the month tries to sing new Christmas songs.
Songs are not carols. Songs are like the ugly cousin of lovely carol. The one exception is Mariah Carey, whose Christmas songs are pretty tight. But still, nothing can hold a candle to the hymns and festive melodies composed a century ago. Bing and Dean are the chocolate souffle of music. Ave Maria and Jesu, Joy Of Man's Desiring always make me want to be a prima ballerina. And the traditional hymns remind me how wicked cool it is the the Almighty God came to earth as a sweet little baby, all pink and vulnerable and worthy of all praise and all glory.
I will always love music, but like the star on top of the tree, Christmas Carols will forever be the most lovely.