I love Christmas but I’m struggling to find the right words to explain the magic, probably because I’m binge-watching “Orange is the New Black.”

The language in the TV show about a women’s prison parallels some of the words my late, great dad used to say when assembling Christmas toys.

“This thing must have been designed by some #$@&%! Third World engineer,” he would rant, as he looked at tiny parts laid out all over the floor and instructions in 8-point type.

When I grew up and became a reporter I discovered Dad was right about those $#@&%! dry Christmas trees causing #$@&%! fires.

But this Christmas season. Wow. Where do we begin?

We’re afraid to travel or celebrate in large groups as the number of pandemic deaths continue to increase. The tradition of meeting for brunch and then going Christmas shopping is missing in most states. And the holiday parties, the coping mechanism for December as it starts getting darker and darker earlier in the day, have been canceled.

One of my favorite holiday galas is hosted by Kathleen Bohland and Mark Brown. The event is such a wonderful way to reconnect with Rocky Mountain News alums, say hello to the other folks in the couple’s eclectic circle and feast on the Barry Fey Memorial Honey-Baked Ham.

Mark covered music for the Rocky, and became friends with the superstar concert promoter. Legend has it that the first time Fey showed up at the couple’s Christmas party he couldn’t get over the wonderful taste of that sweet meat. Being Jewish, he probably hadn’t had many chances to sample ham.

One year Fey showed up, gluten-free bread in hand, ready to make his sandwich. But he was so early the appetizers had yet to be served, and by the time the star attraction arrived Fey was stuffed. He had to settle for a doggie bag of honey-baked ham.

Fey died in 2013, but his friends have assured Mark that he would be honored that the ham has been named in his honor.

Another annual holiday party I’ve always enjoyed is hosted by J.J. Ament and his wife, Nicole. They know so many people that guests are instructed to park at the church around the corner.

Over the years, J.J. has tantalized me by casually mentioning before the party how many pounds of shrimp he’s ordered to fill the ice-sleigh sculpture. The shrimp’s divine, but what I really like about this soiree is saying hello to all the politicos. J.J.’s dad, Don Ament, served in the legislature and as the ag director under Gov. Bill Owens, so the place is filled with folks who have played a role in shaping Colorado’s history.

“We’ll be back bigger than ever for 2021!” J.J. told me.

Certainly there are things to be thankful for this holiday season. Three family members have contracted COVID-19, but now are doing OK.

Growing up, Christmas began when the Sears catalog arrived. We would take turns going through it and circling the toys we wanted.

One year Santa got me a tape recorder. Oh, how I loved it. I must have been destined to become a reporter because that holiday I would secretly tape my siblings and then play back the tape back and say, “Aha! You did too say” this or that.

The worst gift ever? My winter coat no longer fit because I had gained so much weight from sneaking food, but I didn’t want to tell my mom that it wouldn’t even zip. I started wearing my dad’s worn and dirty denim farm jacket. That year Santa gave me my own farm jacket. It fit, but I didn’t want that. I wanted a cute girl’s coat with fur around the collar.

I never said anything to my parents but decades later while helping them go through boxes and boxes from a lifetime together, I discovered the jacket. I had sewed a yellow smiley face decal on the collar, but other than that it looked almost new.

“Your coat!” my mom exclaimed.

I smiled. But I am the queen of delayed reactions, and while driving home to Denver from South Dakota I pulled my car over, popped open the trunk, dug among the boxes of stuff I was taking back with me and found the coat. I cried for awhile, then drove through a McDonald’s and ordered a bunch of stuff from the value menu. Another tradition upheld.

But most of my holiday memories are wonderful. We’d decorate the tree while our Alvin & The Christmas album played. I recently read where someone wanted to hear “real” Christmas tunes not Chipmunk stuff. I can’t think of anything more real.

We’d bake cinnamon rolls and watch TV.

“A Charlie Brown Christmas” debuted in 1965 when I was 8 years old. This was back in the olden days, pre VCR, Blockbuster or On Demand, and we’d have to wait for it to be reshown every December.

“Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” Charlie Brown asks.

Linus Van Pelt takes center stage, and recites Luke 2:10.

“For behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord,” Linus says.

As an adult, there were years I had to work on Christmas Day or I didn’t have enough time to travel home. Friends took me in. Later that night I would check in with my family. “I had a great time, but they put giblets in their gravy. Ick,” I’d say. “Well, this is long distance so I better hang up.”

One year when we all made it home, the flu struck. I was the first one to come down with it and soon the place sounded like a frat house after a big party.

And then there was the year Mom and Dad, and my brother and his kids traveled to Denver for the holidays. Mom called from Nebraska to say there had been an accident and the car was totaled. She was so tickled that her young grandson Nate looked up at her and said, “Grandma, aren’t you glad we said those three Hail Marys before we started?”

They got a new car and made their way to Denver. I had Christmas day off but I had to work that week and I made every excuse in the book to call home and see what they were doing. Playing cards. Eating. Eating. Playing cards. It was killing me.

Christmas 2015 was tough. I landed a government job and finally had the holiday off, but Dad died in March. There would be no more driving Mom and some grandkids to Denver.

This already has been such a strange Christmas. Instead of getting misty over “Love Actually” and “While You Were Sleeping,” I’m watching Piper get a screwdriver/shank from her Secret Santa in “Orange is the New Black.”

May all of your Christmases be giblet free.