The mail carrier stood outside the closed Kalaniana'ole gate and tried again. The box was clearly heavy, and he had to shift it to one shoulder the way you carry a large sleeping child to free up one hand to ring the bell. Still no answer. Big sigh. Big box.

At Longs Lihu'e Saturday morning, a customer wearing a Warriors tank top, backward baseball hat and wrap-around shades played traffic cop, directing other flustered shoppers through the traffic jam of shopping carts.

On a full Hawaiian Airlines flight into Honolulu, a flight attendant looked out an oval window of the plane and said wistfully, "All the Christmas stuff looks so nice ... from way up here."

It seems as though people are extra "irras" this Christmas. "Irras" is the local girl quick-speak for "irritating," as in:

The traffic going to town?

Irras!

The parking the malls?

Irras!

The crowds at the stores?

So irras, I tell you!

It's hard to maintain the spirit of Christmas cheer when you're having to engage in mortal combat just to buy a couple of all-purpose gift certificates. There are people screaming and swearing behind the wheels of their cars, and they haven't even left their house yet. What used to be called the "bustle" of holidays has become a full-on frenzy.

The urge to pare down is thwarted from every angle. Even homemade gifts have to be something particularly clever and chic, like soap with bunches of leaves pressed inside or a hand-wrought bracelet with semiprecious stones.

The oldest kupuna in our community tell stories of austere Christmases, where dinner was one of the chickens they kept in the yard and presents, if you were lucky enough to get presents, were things like an orange or new underwear.

The thing is, when people talk about those old-time simple Christmases, they remember those times with such fondness. It wasn't about receiving, it wasn't even about giving. It was about celebrating together.

Outside the Hawai'i Kai Longs, the Salvation Army bell ringer needed a break. A security guard from the complex offered to watch the red kettle while she stepped away. As soon as he had that bell in his hand, he transformed from a polyester black pants, polyester white shirt, comfortable black-shoe-wearing crime fighter to a beaming elf, singing "The Little Drummer Boy" with improvised lyrics at the top of his lungs. "I am a small kid too pa-rumpa-dee-dum!" he belted out with glee, breaking his song to shout "Merry Christmas" to anyone near.

In just that moment, the irritating "bustle" around him calmed just a bit and it felt like Christmas is supposed to feel.

Lee Cataluna's column runs Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at 535-8172 or lcataluna@honoluluadvertiser.com.

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