Christmas time. This was my blog request topic from Judy Corbin. And I’m pretty sure that she was thinking that perhaps I should wax poetic about Christmas being all about the birth of Christ and family and the like. But it’s hard for me to take that line since Christmas has never been about those things for me. Well, family was always a part of it. But really, you don’t appreciate family until you are considerably old er, and members of your family begin to die. Until that happens, you take family for granted, whether you mean to or not.
Christmas for me has always been more about Christmas Spirit. You know, the Charlie Brown Christmas, the Grinch’s heart grew three times that day, Frosty was fine, and Rudolph saved the misfit toys kind of spirit. It’s an on and off season for me. Some years, I’m so excited about Christmas that I can’t even sit still. And just as likely, I’ll be indifferent to the whole event. Being one ruled more by moods than anything else, I’ve never been very good at figuring out why some years Christmas is great and others it’s merely average. I think in part, the mediocrity of the season emerges with the stress at trying to make everyone else’s Christmas something special. I want to try to find the perfect gift for the boys so that I can have that moment of joy when they open the gift. Of course, that stress is compounded when I have to find a gift from myself and Jose, Big Mama, Papita and Mamita, as well as give a few hints and clues to the big man in red himself. I don’t stress over the money too much, I stress instead over hiding how much I spend from Jose, who is mostly likely amazed that the dollar continues to stretch so very far, and what a good shopper I must be to get so much for my buck.
To be perfectly honest the past couple of years, I have blamed my dirth of holiday spirit on my tree. My small, pathetic tree. The tree that is only 1/2 has big as my old tree. My old tree which was perfect. My old tree which was tall, and wide, and wonderful…sigh…i miss that tree and can’t afford a new one that was of similar size and dimension. But soon. Maybe if it snowed more it would help me get into the Christmas groove. I am grateful every afternoon for the north pole radio, because music is always that magical influencer. It’s the best part of a church service – to be fair, it’s probably the only part of the church service that i actually listen to. But music is the mood affecter. And I’m always ready for Christmas when I hear carols.
Maybe it’s all about getting older. And knowing that Christmas is more like sex than you’d ever thought. Doesn’t matter how good it is, it’s all oven in 10 minutes and then you’re left with nothing but a mess to clean up. Maybe with age and perspective, we forget how to live in the moment – whether it be the moment of anticipation or the moment of joy – and we see it from too far away and how it all fits into the main scheme of things. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what i want, or what to ask for. And not needing anything means not expecting anything great under the tree. Which seems uber selfish, but also very much the child. I know there is still a child within me, and as I sit here writing trying to figure out why the Christmas blahs hit more and more, that child is inside of me banging about, jumping, dancing in her seat and singing sleigh bells, loudly. And I hope that that child is stronger than the adult.
