“I hear that in many places something has happened to Christmas; that it is changing from a time of merriment and carefree gaiety to a holiday which is filled with tedium; that many people dread the day and the obligation to give Christmas presents is a nightmare to weary, bored souls; that the children of enlightened parents no longer believe in Santa Claus; that all in all, the effort to be happy and have pleasure makes many honest hearts grow dark with despair instead of beaming with good will and cheerfulness.”
Julia Peterkin, A Plantation Christmas

• Middle age isn’t all bad, but it’s still full of diminishments, one of which is that my ability to write for long stretches of time isn’t what it used to be. The end product, I trust, is still of passably high quality, but time was when I would routinely write two unrelated pieces in the course of a single day, then go out at night and see a show. Alas, I find it increasingly difficult to change hats: if I write a Wall Street Journal drama column from scratch in the morning, it’s all but impossible for me to knock out a chunk of, say, my Duke Ellington biography in the afternoon. I don’t know whether it’s a matter of flagging energy or lessened will, but one way or another, I seem to have lost some of my endurance.
Thus I rejoice to report what happened when I accompanied Mrs. T to the University of Connecticut Health Center last week for a day’s worth of visits to various and sundry doctors. Her appointments were non-consecutive, meaning that I had to spend some six-odd hours sitting in waiting rooms. Not wanting to fritter away a whole day reading or idly surfing the Web, I decided to write a “Sightings” column for next week’s Wall Street Journal. It came with unexpected ease and I sent it off to the paper. Then inspiration struck, and I started writing a second “Sightings” column, which I finished just as Mrs. T emerged from the day’s last appointment. I sent it in and we went home.
The best part of this story is that my editors at the Journal approved both pieces with nothing more than trivial queries, so they’ll be going into the paper just as I wrote them–back to back in the waiting room.
Forgive my vanity, but there’s life in the old boy yet!

Bing Crosby sings Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” in Holiday Inn:

“Hope is the best possession. None are completely wretched but those who are without hope; and few are reduced so low as that.”
William Hazlitt, Characteristics

By the time most of you get around to reading this posting, Mrs. T and I will be on our way to Chicago, where we’re spending the next two days hanging out with Our Girl (whom we love dearly) and seeing Steppenwolf Theatre Company’s much-discussed revival of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (which stars Tracy Letts, the author of Killer Joe and August: Osage County, who is also a highly distinguished actor in his own right). On Wednesday we head down to Smalltown, U.S.A., where Christmas and my family are to be found.
I’ll do my best to keep you posted on what we’re up to this week, but if I don’t, there’ll still be the usual videos, almanac entries and theater-related postings to keep you occupied.
In the meantime, enjoy the holidays–we will!

Mel Tormé and Judy Garland sing Tormé’s “The Christmas Song” on The Judy Garland Christmas Show, originally aired on CBS in 1963:

“Christmas is a holiday that persecutes the lonely, the frayed and the rejected.”
Jimmy Cannon, Nobody Asked Me, But…

National Review Online recently asked me to make some Christmas-gift suggestions. To see my picks, go here and scroll down.