Here's a replay of a post from 2012. It's the story of my family's last Christmas tree. There might just be another one in my future. Earlier this year, I had my front lawn replanted with drought-tolerant vegetation. Instead of grass, I now have this plant that can subsist on about a minute of H2O per week from my sprinkler system. A few other stray plants are growing amidst it all — some seeds that I suppose were carried there by winds or birds and took root. And one of them is a tiny pine tree which we didn't plant but which is growing out there. In fact, it's growing in the precise location that I would have wanted it to grow if we had planted it. A few weeks ago, it had attained the size and density of the tree that Charlie Brown brought home but now that we've had a whopping half-inch of rain in the last month around here, it's starting to turn into something. Maybe by next year, it'll be something worth decorating. In the meantime, here's the tale of the last time there was something that looked like a Christmas tree in my life…

So here I was in this family where my father was Jewish and my mother was not. But she learned. Of course, all she really learned was how to cook a few Jewish staples like brisket and latkes but that was enough. More than enough.  Remind me to tell you in one of these what it was that caused both families to drop their opposition to my parents' mixed marriage. (Hint: It was the birth of me…or actually, the impending birth of me.)

In our home, we celebrated Hanukkah. I always thought that since I was half-Jewish, I should only light four candles. We also celebrated Christmas and got a big tree. The acquisition of the tree — going to the lot, picking one out, haggling with the salesguy — was a big part of the holidays. My mother, being the least Jewish of the three of us, was more or less in charge of the tree. All my father contributed was to pay for the tree and drive it and us home.

My mother was a purist: No artificial colors on the tree. No flocking. Just a plain, simple green one. We'd position it in one corner of the living room in front of the fireplace that never had a fire in it, and we'd decorate. She and I.

We had two kinds of decorations. My Uncle Aaron was in the window display business. He sold low-cost, pre-fab ones that were made in Hong Kong or elsewhere in the Orient. He'd design them and sell them to stores that needed something simple and cheap to pop into the front window. He also sometimes bid on and would win contracts to supply street decorations to cities.

Uncle Aaron had crates of Christmas ornaments. They cost him almost nothing and he'd give us boxes and boxes of them. We gave a lot of them to neighbors and sometimes, my friend Rick and I would invent a game that involved smashing a box of sixteen. I eventually outgrew thinking it was fun to break things but I enjoyed it at the time.

The hard part of decorating our tree each year was in not cluttering it with too many decorations…because we sure had too many. I'd usually put the balls in place, step back to look at my handiwork, then remove about half of them.

We also had to leave room for my mother's decorations. She had a small box of ornaments from her childhood, including a lovely star to place atop the tree. I don't think they were valuable in a monetary sense but they were priceless to her. I'd put on Uncle Aaron's ornaments and it didn't matter if I broke one or two or twenty. Like I said, we had crates. But my mother's half-dozen ornaments were handled by her and placed on the tree with great care. Then when Christmas was over and it was time for the tree to go away, the first step would be for her to carefully remove her decorations and pack them away for another year.

We did this until I was twelve. In 1964, Uncle Aaron died and we decided not to have a tree that year. It would have been festooned with his ornaments and would just have reminded us that he wasn't around. We didn't have one in '65 or '66 and a few months prior to Christmas of '68, we gave the garage-full of Uncle Aaron's ornaments — I almost just typed "Uncle Aaron's balls" — to a local charity that came and carried them away. My mother made certain that her memento ornaments were not included and I saved the lights and one box of Uncle Aaron's just in case Rick and I ever wanted to play one of our ornament-smashing games again.

As we approached Christmas of that year, my mother admitted she was a little depressed. '68 was a rough year in this country and it had finally "sunk in" for her that we were never going to have a Christmas tree again. When she'd suggested giving away the ornaments in the garage, she hadn't realized the emotional impact of that decision.

So I went out and got her a tree.

Not a big tree. A small tree. It was the symbolism that counted, not the actual tree. And besides, I didn't drive back then so I had to carry it home from the lot up on Pico Boulevard. I selected one that was under three feet, took it home when my parents were out and decorated it with the ornaments I'd saved to smash with Rick and the lights I'd kept. My mother was very happy to come home and find it…and to add her childhood ornaments to the display.

They'd been out buying the ingredients for our Christmas dinner. I think it was pot roast and latkes that year and the meal was a big hit.

So was the tree. Enough time had passed that it didn't bother Aunt Dot (Uncle Aaron's widow) to see a display that contained a reminder of him. It was, in fact, rather pleasant. And we never had another tree again. It didn't seem necessary and I didn't think we could top the short one. Maybe one of these days, I will…and I'll add in my mother's ornaments. That's assuming I can find them.

Our favorite Christmas video…

A must-read Christmas message from Matt Taibbi. He's right. We have too many forces in this country trying to manipulate us through fear.

I started my obit of George Clayton Johnson yesterday by saying…

As many folks across the Internet are announcing, author George Clayton Johnson had died at the age of 86. I believe he was deceased on some websites before he was in reality…but I somehow think he would have enjoyed "outliving" his own death, even if just for a few hours.

…and now I am delighted to hear that he is still "outliving" his own death. George is reportedly still hanging in there and his son says he may just live through another Christmas. An announcement Tuesday night that his death could happen any minute somehow triggered widespread reports on the 'net and in the press that he had passed. I waited until Locus (the science-fiction news site) and other official-type sources had posted it before I decided it was so. Locus seems to have taken their announcement offline and so has Variety.

I don't know that he is awake and aware that this is going on but if he is, I will bet he is wickedly happy even if it only means he will survive his obits by a day or two.

Everything else I wrote about him being a colorful, amazing guy still applies. And doesn't he seem like an even more colorful and amazing guy now?

The kid in the above photo is me and I don't care that you don't believe it. It's me. I'm not sure where it was taken — some department store, probably May Company — or how old I was. Seven? Eight? Beats me. But it's me. And is it my imagination or does Santa look like he's telling me not to tell my parents about something he said or did?

I don't have a lot of great Christmas memories left to share here. In fifteen years of blogging and telling tales of my past, I may have exhausted my supply. There weren't that many to begin with.

I do not remember ever seriously believing in Santa or of Christmas being that big a deal around our house. It was a time of love and joy and gifts but with my family, it was always a time of love and joy and gifts. The main features unique to Christmas time were a tree in the living room, a lot of TV specials I had to watch and a certain synchronization of presents.

Our family consisted of me, my mother, my father, my Uncle Nathan, my Aunt Dot and my Uncle Aaron. Nathan and Dot were my father's brother and sister. Aaron was Dot's husband. Nathan never married. One year, my mother's parents came out from Hartford and stayed with us for the holiday season. Then after Grandpa passed away, it was just Grandma one year. After Aaron died, we'd invite Aunt Dot's best friend Sally to join us for Christmas Dinner if she didn't travel out of town to be with other members of her family.

Since Sally was going to bring me a present, I felt I should get her one…and I never knew what to get for her. All she seemed to want was that I address her as "Aunt Sally" and you couldn't wrap that and put it beneath the tree. I think I usually gave her candy but the real gift was that I'd make the card out to "Aunt Sally." The rest of us were real good at taking the gift-selecting burden off each other by hinting with a minimum of subtlety as to what we wanted.

So we usually had six or less people at the table…and then as people died, it went down to five and then four…and at some point, it seemed a bit depressing to have much of a celebration at Christmas. It just reminded those of us who were left of those of us who were not.

At any given assemblage around the table, at least one person was Jewish and one was Catholic — and then you had me who had never been Bar Mitzvahed but identified as more-or-less Jewish but really had a foot in both camps. Early in my childhood, there had been a bit of polite, respectful debate about the co-existence of the two faiths in one family and then there had been that ghastly mistake of enrolling me in a Sunday Hebrew school. But the religious situation was never that serious nor was it divisive. There didn't seem to be any point to it.

One reason I find the whole current "War on Christmas" thing so phony is that each year I intermingled with people of different religions and there was never an issue. Not for one second did anyone attach any significance to wishing someone "Season's Greetings" instead of "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Hanukkah" instead of some other preferred form.

Not just in our house but throughout the neighborhood and at school, one good wish was as innocent and friendly as another. No hidden meanings or schemes to demean any faith were inferred or assumed. "Happy Holidays" meant "I hope your holidays (whatever they may be) are happy for you." It's amazing that some people have become convinced that that innocent little pleasantry could ever mean something menacing.

I've always felt that way about religious preference or even bigotry. Just let everyone be whatever they want to be and respect it. I feel the same way about racial prejudice or about prejudice over sexual orientation. If you just respect that others are what they are, it works out fine. It only becomes a war if you somehow feel threatened and choose to start one.

Getting back to the photo up top: I've been staring at it, trying to figure out what was on my mind when it was taken. This is a guess but I think it's a good one.

I never really believed in Santa…or if I did, I didn't believe the guy in the red suit at the May Company was the real Santa because — you know — he'd be too busy just before Christmas to sit around a department store all day. Besides, I was well aware there was a Santa down the street at Bullock's Department Store and another one over in Beverly Hills at Robinson's and what about that Santa outside on Wilshire Boulevard near Rodeo Drive who was out there all day ringing a bell for some charity and posing for photos?

So if I did ever believe there was a real Santa Claus — and I don't recall that I did — I'd figured out that I couldn't meet him or sit on his lap. The guy at May Company was some outta-work actor or someone they'd hire to impersonate The Man Himself to draw customers into their store. At that age, thinking like that is not cynicism. It's figuring out the world around you and all the fibs — some of them, no doubt well meant — that you need to overcome if you're ever going to grow up.

By the time this photo was taken, I knew there was no Santa. So I'm thinking I was pressured by some relative with the camera to get in the line to sit on the impostor's lap…and what was on my mind was probably something like this: "What am I supposed to do here? Pretend this guy is the real Santa, meaning that I go along with a fraud? Tell him my list of stuff I want this year? Or maybe I should rip that fake beard off him and expose him as the fake he is?"

I'm pretty sure I didn't do that last thing. I probably went along with the hoax just to get it over with.

Or knowing me, I may have climbed up on his knee and whispered to him, "I'll make a deal with you, fella. If you'll pull some strings to get me that Sneaky Pete Magic Set I want, I won't blow the whistle and tell all the kids in line that you're just an office temp in a fake beard!"

And history does show that one year, I did get my own Sneaky Pete Magic Set. So maybe this is the year that I learned that while racial or religious prejudice doesn't work, blackmail sometimes does. Have a Merry Whatever.

Another favorite Christmas video…

Fred Kaplan runs down Barack Obama's foreign policy efforts and tells why most of them could prove to be very successful or very unsuccessful…and why the president hasn't done a good job of explaining them to the America people.

As many folks across the Internet are announcing, author George Clayton Johnson had died at the age of 86. I believe he was deceased on some websites before he was in reality…but I somehow think he would have enjoyed "outliving" his own death, even if just for a few hours.

[And 24 hours later, we find out that he is still outliving the reports.]

George was a man who lived for ideas and concepts and new ways of looking at whichever world he thought he was living in at any given moment. He could sit and "hold court" (as they say) for endless hours, spinning out thoughts that raced in and out of his mind. He was the kind of man who not only thought but made you think. I confess I didn't always understand what he was talking about but I'm sure he was fine with that because he often admitted that he didn't, either. One time when I did understand him, he was saying how you often have to take a lot of wrong turns to get to the right place…and I could certainly agree with that.

George was known for writing on the original Twilight Zone TV series, for co-writing the novel Logan's Run (with William F. Nolan), for writing the first-aired episode of the original Star Trek, for writing the story upon which the movie Oceans 11 was based and for countless short stories in fantasy anthologies. Among the other TV shows he worked on were Route 66, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Law and Mr. Jones and Kung Fu.

He was a constant presence at science-fiction, fantasy and comic book conventions in Southern California and could usually be found surrounded by a bevy of friends and admirers doing what he did best…telling stories and talking about ideas. He also taught writing and gave invaluable support to a long list of students who went on to fine careers.

Oh, yeah. And he smoked an awful lot of marijuana and campaigned mightily for its legalization. I might have known George better but not for that. Not the campaign part but I sometimes found it hard to breathe within ten feet of him.

I have known him so long that I have trouble zeroing in on our first encounter. It was probably a planning meeting for the second or third San Diego Comic Book Convention — the event now known as Comic-Con International. That would place it in 1971 or 1972. The organizers held meetings in Los Angeles and invited folks to come and make suggestions to make the con better. I was invited and so was George and we got into what now seems like a silly debate about a suggestion of his. That was how I learned that the best way to become friends with the man was to discuss something — almost anything! — with him. He loved conversation and any exchange of ideas.

Soon after that, he fronted a small comic convention called Clayton Con. It was held at a public school on a weekend and he invited me to be one of its guests. I went and was pleased to find that it was not about the buying and selling of old comic books, as most such events were. It was about sitting around, talking about them.

That became my entire relationship with George and I suspect it was the entire relationship he had with most people we both knew. It was all about sitting around, talking about things. He was never at a loss for words or ideas and he was a fine inspiration to everyone who was privileged to be in those discussions.

Want to hear the guy? The TV Academy once sat him down and recorded a five-hour interview with him…or as his friends might call it, a brief conversation. He will certainly be missed.

Jonathan Chait's latest piece is well summarized by its title: "Sorry, Conservatives. Obamacare is Still Working." And it is. It's not working as well as some had predicted but it's working a whole lot better than the cocksure pronouncements that it would never work at all. More Americans have health insurance and they're paying less for it than they would have without the Affordable Care Act.

More significantly, there still is no viable Plan B, no proposal that would do a better job at keeping people covered. Donald Trump's is interesting. There are, of course, no details except that (a) every single American would be covered, (b) the government would pay for it, (c) it would be through private insurance companies and (d) he's such a great negotiator, he would find a way to make it all happen for less than we now spend. And he doesn't say this part but you can bet (e) it would be called Trumpcare.

Today, tomorrow and Friday, I'm posting my three favorite Christmas videos. Actually, this one — designed by R.O. Blechman and animated by Willis Pyle — doesn't mention Christmas so it's probably a treacherous, secular attack on the holiday…

If you read only one article to which I send you this week, read David Frum on what's happened to his beloved Republican party. It's the best theory I've read that explains the clamor for Donald Trump.

And as a sidebar, read this New York Times piece which says that an analysis of Trump's economic proposals shows that they will — get ready to be surprised — make the super-rich super-richer and add trillions of dollars to the debt. If you've just read Frum, you've seen him say that this is exactly what Trump supporters don't want from him.

And if you want to read one more piece that fits into this mosaic, read Peter Beinart on why he believes that regardless of who wins what in which upcoming elections, America is moving to the left and that can't be stopped.

Longtime comic book artist Don Perlin has some serious medical problems. He's had a couple of operations — one today, I think — on his head. Unless you're a great surgeon, there's nothing you can do about that but you can help out with the serious problem of his bill at a rehab center not covered by whatever insurance he has.

The comic book industry often does not take care of the people who filled the pages for years, often for terrible money. Fortunately, there are folks like Clifford Meth who care about these folks and often come to their aid. Cliff has set up this page for donations to help Don out. Go over there, learn more about the problem and give whatever you can give. This is a particularly good time of year to do things like that and it shouldn't matter that you don't know Don. I don't know Don either but I'm pitching in.

One of the interesting things to observe on the political scene is how utterly lost so many of the pundits are. Predictions are usually based on precedents and saying things like, "No candidate has ever scored more than 23.5% in the Iowa Caucus unless he or she ate fried chicken and hush puppies at Granny's Home Cooking in West Corning before the election." Ah, but in a World of Trump, so many things have occurred that defy precedents that we're all in uncharted territory. That's why you keep reading or hearing folks saying, "Trump's lead will surely plunge by December 1" — and then it doesn't plunge.

I still think Trump's lead will wither once we get to the point of actual human beings casting actual votes for him. I think he'll underperform in Iowa and maybe New Hampshire and that'll ruin his whole "I'm inevitable" act. But I have to admit I don't have a whole lot of confidence in anyone's predictions, including mine. The one thing I'm pretty sure of is that many things have yet to happen that will turn this election inside-out, upside-down and in new directions no one can foresee. (I do however refuse to believe Trump has a real chance until Nate Silver says he does and he doesn't…yet.)

Another interesting (and I don't mean that in a good way) thing that is happening with this contest is that a lot of heretofore-hidden racism and religious bigotry are bubbling to the surface. The ascent of Obama caused me to be surprised at a lot of acquaintances suddenly saying — in carefully-coded ways — that it was just wrong for a non-white guy to be president, especially since he obviously wasn't Christian no matter what he said. I don't believe that everyone who supports Trump is like that but he's sure convinced me there are a lot more of them out there than I thought. And that I didn't know certain people I thought I knew as well as I thought I knew them.

Examples of actors performing in musicals whose voices were dubbed. Actually, a few of these aren't dubbing; they're actors lip-syncing to already-recorded tracks by others — but you get the idea…

If you're not sick of hearing Kliph Nesteroff talk about comedians — and I'm not — here's a radio interview he did last July when comedian Jack Carter died. I never found Carter to be that funny and in most of our encounters, he struck me as a man perpetually angry that he didn't get every job he thought he should have had — as if anyone in show business ever does. But Kliph's right about the guy's importance in the history of comedy.