Forgive us for indulging in some survivor’s guilt, loyal LDBCers, but this past holiday weekend was a lesson in the power of positive thinking. Or the nonsense of negative thinking. Or not thinking clearly. Or something.
You know that scene in Pulp Fiction when the guy comes out of the bathroom and unloads his pistol at Jules and Vincent … and doesn’t hit them once? Me and Mrs. LDBC, friends.
We were visiting Papa LDBC in Jacksonville, FL, when we stumbled upon an impromptu free concert given by the fabulous First Coast Pops Orchestra. We can be a bit slow—well, I can, anyway—and we thought it might be plain old classics rather than those of the holiday variety. As Yoda might say, wrong we were.
It would have been rude (and boring) to leave at that point. So I sat back to await our demise. Mrs. LDBC, for her part, predicted we’d be fine.
And we were. They worked their way through wonderful renditions of “Silent Night,” “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” “The First Noel,” “Joy to the World,” “O Come All Ye Faithful,” and a host of others. But the dreaded Boy did not show.
I really need to listen to my wife more.
Others haven’t been so lucky, alas. Jack Emery Taylor was dispatched in the desert by a Christian prog-rock station. Deb Campbell was murdered awaiting a mammogram. (Hold the jokes, please.) Shari Golden never made it to Hebrew school. (I said hold the jokes.) And Jenny Runde got her bell rung while setting her alarm, never to wake up again.
That’s just a small sampling, and we’re barely into this thing. Seventy-five brave LDBCers have reported their losses on the official form, and if that stupid Pentatonix a capella version continues going viral, the form may well melt down. (You’ve been warned. Don’t click the link if you see it.)
Stay safe, friends. But again, if you don’t, please let us know via the official reporting form so that you’re included on the Memorial Wall, and stop by the Facebook page for equal helpings of sympathy and mockery.
Oh, and don’t forget to send along some of your kids’ holiday art for me to share. Amid the grief and bloodshed, we need the kind of cheer that only a child with a crayon or a set of paints can bring. (Send it along to the email address you’ll find here.)