12 DECEMBER 2022 M erry Christmas to your friends and my friends and people with no friends. To those who debate, create, grate, orate, and illustrate. To banjo plunkers and donut dunkers. And math test flunkers. To those who are nervous and those in the service. To professors, hairdressers, confessors and assessors. To candy stripers and runny nose wipers. Merry Christmas to fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers. To musicians, physicians, beauticians, morticians, electricians, mathematicians, obstetricians and politicians. And those who go on dangerous missions. To the singers of songs, the ringers of gongs and the righters of wrongs. To home run hitters, infinitive splitters and babysitters. To the strong and the agile, the weak and the fragile. To little kids and circus clowns who help us through our ups and downs. To reporters and writers, recorders, and crime fighters. To free-throw shooters, tuba tooters, kids on scooters and non-polluters. To flag wavers, stamp savers and those who do favors. To the tellers of tales, the protectors of whales and the makers of sails. To wide receivers and basket weavers. To artisans and drafters, to toymakers and lawn-rakers. To the builders of towers and the singers in showers. To mayors, surveyors and pickle-ball players. To good deed-doers and bubble gum chewers. To tap and clog dancers and people who know all the answers. To actors, benefactors and contractors. To the long-haired, the short- haired, the curly-haired and the no-haired. To careful drivers, scuba divers and 9-to-5ers. To transients and shut-ins, to the easers of pain. To those who make mud pies and walk through the rain. To those who sail boats in bathtubs, puddles and oceans. To those who do something, not just go through the motions. To golfers, anglers, and all other liars; to those who conduct church and symphony choirs. To those who send birthday cards and those who forget; to those who remember but ain’t done it yet. To grandmas and grandpas and nephews and nieces, to silver-haired aunties who hug us to pieces. To snowbirds and Zonies; to real folks and phonies; to those who make hot dogs, bratwurst and bologna. Merry Christmas. To meter readers, garden weeders and homeless feeders. To Frisbee throwers, elm tree growers, trivia knowers and ho-ho- hoers. To table setters and puppy petters, to rock and rollers and kids in strollers. To channel flickers and field goal kickers. To friars and fryers, hoofers and roofers, bikers and hikers and volleyball spikers. To winners and sinners, to all who like pets. To those who grow stronger, the tougher it gets. To those who fly kites and to those who fly jets. To the plump and the slender, the tough and the tender, the saver and spender. To the authors of rhymes, to harpists and mimes. To pizza flingers and second stringers. To those who philosophize, romanticize and fantasize. To storytellers and flower sellers. To those who fight fires and those who fix tires. To strummers and hummers, late-comers and plumbers. To referees, those who sneeze, and those who try hard to please. And kids who miss in spelling bees. To the protectors of eagles, the trainers of beagles and the watchers of seagulls. To those who run in races, to those who save us places. To guitar pickers and ice cream lickers. To veterinarians, octogenarians and librarians. To sleepwalkers, soft talkers and leak caulkers. To the shooters of pars and explorers of Mars. To those who work late, deal with fate, procrastinate, delineate, hyphenate and matriculate. To Lyn, my wife, the joy of my life. To those who dry tears; to those who ease fears. And those who brew beers. To the readers of books, the catchers of crooks, to chefs and cooks. To antique collectors and movie directors. To those who wash dishes, catch fishes and grant wishes. To those who make fudge, that is simply delicious. To those who grow oats, feed goats and quote quotes. To carpoolers and preschoolers. To tailors and sailors. To TV repairers and soldiers and airmen. To kids in their teens, homecoming queens, cowboys in jeans, clerks and Marines. To those who use a computer and those who make things with pewter. To people who help others find where their niche is, to people who don’t mind if you scratch where it itches. To those who get flustered, to those who like mustard. Merry Christmas to putters and putterers, thinkers and tinkerers. To rip-snorters and porters. To kneelers, healers and glockenspielers. To the friends of the zoo and police officers in blue. And policewomen, too. To first- year students and seniors who are still in their teen years. To our sons and our daughters, to our moms and our pops. To the dispensers of flu shots and anti- cold drops. To homeowners and blood donors. To those who like ham, jam and Spam. To people who vote, float, tote, dote and sing the right note. To touchdown scorers and midnight snorers. To auctioneers, volunteers and engineers. To those who are down with the flu, to those who can play a kazoo. To basket makers and ticket takers. To teachers and preachers and those who sit in the bleachers. To camel tamers and picture framers. To elephant huggers and Little League sluggers. To peacekeepers and street sweepers. To bookworms and law firms. To those who cry out and those who try out. To the planters of corn. The old. The newborn. Merry Christmas to shut-ins and sick, the aged and nurses. To those who give love with their hearts and their purses. To lovers whose touch brings a joy and a tingle. To Santa, St. Nick, the elves and Kris Kringle. To tenors and baritones, altos and monotones. To quiz show panelists and computer analysts. To pickers and choosers, to nappers and snoozers. To broken dreams and those who mend them. To the old and infirm and those who tend them. To sandwich fixers and 6-foot-6ers. To the inspired. To the retired. To the lovers of kittens, to the knitters of mittens. And you. Most of all, Merry Christmas to you. These are my Christmas wishes The Lowe Road A former Valley newspaperman who now writes about his travels across Arizona, the U.S. and the globe. BY SAM LOWE For a spell in 1973, Sam played a mall Santa. PHOTO COURTESTY OF SAM LOWE To snowbirds and Zonies; to real folks and phonies; to those who make hot dogs, bratwurst and bologna. Merry Christmas.