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The Salvaging Army:

Hey, hey! Mr. And Mrs. Medium and all the Media offspring thereof: we the wise, the hungry, the serene and the distraught, we want to be heard. It's our time, so, listen!
These are not bells jingling in front of your favorite store, these are coins we saved in our own pockets. We do not wear costumes nor bang on red buckets to gain your attention. We are only discernible by our indistinguishable demeanor.

Neither Grinch nor Scrooge, we, people , individuals and various relatives are not against anything; we are for love, peace and quiet. Love thy neighbor? Pass the peace please? And could you folks just be quiet down there! I'm trying to think.

You may never meet us at midnight, on a highly advertised date, pushing you and your shopping mate out of line for first dibs at mediocre bargains. We will not scream under a pile of chintzy Chinese cashmere, nor touch base, yelling and scratching at a frail old lady in the undies department for a single bit of lace, however cheap.

No! we will be snuggling to our silk pillow, the only sound, a peaceful snore and the rustle of happy sheets. Our children will neither clamor nor implore, they will giggle in yellow snow and pick pine cones in the park. No one will blackmail us, nor cajole us into fake reciprocity at the time of traditional begging.

And it won't be us knocking on your door at dinnertime, coaxing you to stand in stocking feet with the heat oozing out between your reluctant legs into the street; you may have to stand there awhile listening to carols rehearsed over and over precious time. Checkbook in hand, ready for yet another charity, you will scrimp and cramp happily in the name of multitudinous acronyms.

The crackling metallic paper being pulled over semi-secret surprises will not keep us awake in the bedroom, while somebody frantically wraps last minute orders. Precious sleep-time will not be wasted in anxiety attacks over the diminishing quality of workmanship. None of us will loose another brain cell to impatience, worrying if and when the package-du-jour will arrive on time.

Our conscience does not stir in the late hours while we wonder if it is the right size, color or, hell-forbid, P.C. popularity correct, brand? Self doubt will not plague our post dinner quality time. Creeping apprehension will not ruin life, as we perceive it to be. For fear of the inevitable faux pas at the in-laws.

Yes, the meat may be desiccated, the wine too warm and the pie too wet - well! We still have no corner

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