Celebrating Christmas and the holidays West of Washington – and in most neighborhoods, for that matter – has become less about contemplating the ethereal moment of God on earth, and more about waiting for the Amazon, UPS. or FedEx man to pull up with another box of cool stuff.

It’s early December, and West of Washington we’ve already begun welcoming masses of delivery drivers whizzing about the side streets and parking in front of fire hydrants to get parcels into the hands of expectant revelers. Santa no longer comes by sleigh, as they say; rather he comes by a Dodge RAM ProMaster painted blue…or brown…or purple and orange. Like it or not, Christmas now comes in a corrugated box.

Yet there’s no forgetting the unique mishaps that come with e-Christmas. There are any numbers of things we’ve had delivered to the house since e-commerce took hold of yuletide. I’ve gotten huge tins of cheddar popcorn from an aunt (which for some reason only tastes good during Christmas), toys of all kinds, exotic loaves of sweet bread from long-lost friends and, once, a large floor rug.

My father, on the other hand, sends beef.

One early December morning, I happily took delivery of my annual subscription of beef in a Styrofoam cooler, and at the same time the UPS man dropped a separate box proclaiming its contents to be 20 premium Angus beef patties. What a bonus! I took the box straight to the cellar freezer with a mind to rediscovering and sizzling them some lazy July afternoon.

That same year, my father ordered the kiddoes a Lego emergency helicopter set – 1,500 pieces – that would probably end up being the downfall of my bare feet (ever step on a Lego?). But, alas, the Lego set never came. We turned the house over. It was nowhere.

He called and gave the Amazon folks his two cents, and they insisted that it had been delivered. Yet, it had vanished. Amazon relented and sent another one that came in early January, but that didn’t offset the tears of disappointment on Christmas morn.

But the humbling part of e-Christmas is that every so often it’s our own foolishness that has taken the Claus out of the cause.

In the case of the Lego controversy, one Saturday six months later, on an evening ideal for a hamburger feast, I remembered my bonus burgers. I hurdled down to the cellar two steps at a time, grabbed the box in the freezer that had been waiting since December and opened it. To my surprise, no Angus patties, rather a Lego emergency helicopter set. Apparently, what’s on the box isn’t always what’s in the box. Amazon 1,West Sider 0.

It was a very disappointing outcome as I had enjoyed roasting Amazon after their alleged mishap. Now I had to figure out how to gracefully save face. More crucially, there was the disappointment of not having the bonus burgers I’d looked forward to. I came up with a nice compromise, and you’d be surprised how much a good BBQ sauce can improve the taste of grilled Lego.

Terror and the Flex-Post
There have been a lot of changes along the roads in the neighborhoods on the west side of Dorchester. I have trouble keeping it all straight because most of the roads hadn’t changed in their particulars for 50 or 60 years prior. One of the hardest crawls is American Legion Highway.
About three weeks ago I was loaded down with a cornucopia of canned food in my back seat – boxes stacked four high containing corn, chili, Beef-a-Roni, peaches, spaghetti packs, and black-eyed peas. All of it was going to the church food drive, but I had yet to take it there. Most things I plan to drop off have a curing period of about two weeks in the car before they make it to their intended destination, and this was no exception.

In ferociously pouring rain, I drove down American Legion in the dark one evening and approached the right on Canterbury. Between the swish of the windshield wipers and the driving rain, I maneuvered into the turning lane. Or what used to be the turning lane…but is now a bike lane.
Suddenly, my headlights flashed on the reflective tape of the Bike Lane Flex-Posts, and then I felt a rhythmic thud as I plowed over them. I screamed for my life and stomped on the brakes. Cans of chili, corn, and peaches came toppling over, bursting out of the box, and clanging all over the dashboard. A parcel of spaghetti broke open and was strewn about my hair and lap. I skidded to a stop at the curb, my heart in my throat, and took stock. I was unblemished, aside from the canned mess. The Flex-Posts were not damaged, and my car was A-okay. After a deep breath, I carried on. Surely, I’m not a singular fool on the issue.

Catching up for the New Year
We’re keeping it simple West of Washington for 2023 resolutions. We want peace. We want to be fruitful in the New Year. We want an end to the violence around the corner and up the street. But the major thing I plan to pull off in 2023 is using all the ketchup packets that have accumulated in the refrigerator. Maybe you’re like me; I get tons of those packets and from where, I don’t remember. With a firm Great Depression mentality deeply in play, I can’t bear to waste them, but I don’t use them: too hard to open and too little ketchup.

So, I resolve to restrict the purchase of ketchup bottles until we use all 476 packets residing in the cheese drawer. Keep me in your prayers.