Umm... not what we meant by "SAD"

The reader has no doubt heard of Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. As summer wanes and autumn waxes, the hours of daylight in our northern hemisphere decrease. This diminished exposure to sunlight produces in some a change in their emotions and mood, or their "affect."

The Presbyterian Curmudgeon is afflicted with SAD. Right around Reformation Day (or "Halloween" to you papists), my typically dour, and appropriately presbyterian, mood begins to perk up. My step, normally a shuffling gait appropriate to carrying the weight of the world, acquires an unaccountable spring. By Thanksgiving, I've entered into a state of what can only be described as giddiness. For example, I listen to, and profoundly appreciate, the Christmas albums of Elvis Presley and Raul Malo without a trace of irony. If anything, a sentimental tear can  be discerned in the corner of my eye.

This change is so profound that Mrs. Curmudgeon and the curmudgelings can't help but notice it. The day after Thanksgiving, as we were hanging our wreath on the front door (a wreath made entirely out of jingle bells and whose jingling not only fails to annoy, but brings a smile to my face every time the door opens, which if nothing else is proof sufficient of my disorder), Thing One said, "Daddy, I love you when you hang that up." Naturally, he expresses love for me throughout the year (who wouldn't?), but still.

What so disorders my affect? In a word, the season. Or more precisely, the season of the Church year. Last December, New Horizons published my essay, "Fear Not" (http://www.opc.org/nh.html?article_id=529), which I've increasingly come to consider my spiritual testimony. Having been raised with the Church year, autumn brings Advent, and Advent brings the good news that Christ came for a sinner like me. It's no wonder, then, that I suffer from SAD.

Isn't that everyone's experience?