So this is Christmas (ugh)

I procrastinated writing this blog. I didn’t know how I would start it, what I would say. It’s not a problem of having too little to write. It’s a problem of having too much: some 50 years of accumulated Christmas baggage.

Why is it my least favorite holiday? I’m not sure I can explain it a way that would make sense. My family, both immediate and extended, isn’t dysfunctional, except maybe for the ongoing sibling rivalry between my two sons. Politics and religion don’t divide us. Substance abuse isn’t an issue. We’re all comfortably housed with enough money to get by.

Why then do I not look forward to this time of year? My husband, Mark, a Christmas lover, doesn’t understand, and we’ve been married 30 years. When I told him I was struggling with how to blog about my ambivalence about the holiday, he advised me not to do it at all.

“Don’t be a downer,” he said.

“But I suspect I’m not the only one who feels this way,” I told him. “I know I’m not.”

He had to agree with me on that point.

So here’s a blog post for all you un-merry folks out there who see Christmas (or whatever you choose to observe) as something to endure rather than celebrate. For the rest of you, well, maybe my words well help you understand us seasonal Eeyores.

Christmases past  

Christmas at my Aunt Jean’s. The girl next to me is Connie, who lived next door.

I used to love the holiday and look forward to it. I’d get that warm, romantic longing in my heart when I heard songs like Sleigh Ride and Winter Wonderland. Oh, to be able to ride in a one-horse open sleigh! Or dance like Vera-Ellen in White Christmas. And those gowns!

Perhaps my expectations were too high.

Christmas in gray, rainy Seattle could never measure up to the snowy magic conjured in songs and on film . . . particularly after my Aunt Jean died. She had been our small family’s Fezziwig, the holiday linchpin, hosting us and a neighbor or two at her cheerfully decorated home in South Seattle. When she passed in her forties of bone cancer, she seemed to take much of the joy of the holiday with her.

My mother and grandmother weren’t ones to pick up the baton. Neither was my uncle or cousin. They might come over to our house for the obligatory holiday stopover. My father came, too, with his wife. But I remember these visits as painfully stiff affairs that put me on display: My growth would be remarked upon, and I might be asked to play something on the piano. After an hour or so, our visitors would make a polite excuse to leave, and we could all breathe again.

Mid 70s? Check out that tree.

We did our celebrating on Christmas Eve. These were quiet threesomes – my mother, my grandmother and me – with a couple of game hens because a roast or a ham would be too much food. After dinner and gifts, my mom and I would take a walk through our quiet neighborhood, and she would invariably remark on how “magical” Christmas Eve was compared to Christmas Day, which, in her view, was a “letdown.”

Christmas Day was when I’d get together with my friends and compare gifts. Since my mother wouldn’t buy me anything that was too big, messy or dangerous, this was my chance to play with pogo sticks, Jarts, Easy-Bake Ovens, Hoppity Hops, Clackers and Creepy Crawlers/Fun Flowers plastic molds. But the best part of this holiday gift sharing/boasting was being able to vicariously experience what Christmas was like as part of a bigger family, with parents, aunts and uncles, cousins and siblings. I am an only child.

I eventually married into that larger family. Mark’s German-Swedish clan, particularly his dad, Wallie Funk, revel in the holiday. Wallie has been known to leave up his tree and decorations year-round. (It saves all that packing and unpacking). Mark’s mother, MaryAnn, once hosted two big Christmas meals while limping on a broken foot. She didn’t know it was broken at the time. Neither did we, because she never complained.

MaryAnn stuffed turkeys and stockings. The gift exchange was a flurry of ripping and tearing, no attempts made to save the pretty bows and paper for reuse next year. We were showered with an embarrassment of riches, and it left me a little shell-shocked and thinking that I better step up my own gift-giving game. If I couldn’t figure out what to give the cousins, there were always food baskets. Everyone likes food.

I appreciated the generosity of Mark’s family, but the idea of giving gifts just for the sake of giving  gifts (to people who already had too much stuff) felt not only artificial, but wasteful. I would openly joke that the one thing Mark’s parents really needed was storage space.

When we adopted our boys, Christmas lost its same old same old tarnish for a time. Seeing the

Casey’s first Christmas

holiday through a child’s eyes is like seeing it shiny and new. I still remember Casey’s first Christmas when he ignored the gifts and played with the wrapping paper. Sigh.

Stuff and more stuff

We’re, all of us, to blame for indulging them. They got enough Thomas the Tank Engine trains and pieces to cover our entire basement in track. (We considered it an “investment” in durable, collectable toys until we learned about the lead-based paint they

Loss of innocence?

used in China.) They got so many stuffed animals that we had to relegate them to a couple of clothes

hampers so they’d have places to sleep. There were big, plastic, noisy things branded as educational. The novelty of these gifts never lasted longer than the big D batteries required to power them.

All of this stuff eventually wound up in the crawl space of forgotten toys, never to be touched again. The wastefulness bothered me, of course. Instead of spending all that money and effort on something so fleeting, I wanted to give them books, theater tickets, experiences they would remember and cherish.

This has been met with limited success. Casey fell asleep during The Music Man, and they were less than enchanted by other productions we’ve seen. Neither one of them has cracked open any of the books I’ve given them. (I keep trying, hoping for a breakthrough.)

These days they’d much rather play games on their cellphones or the Xbox. (I’m convinced Casey uses his laptop primarily to play League of Legends.)

This year Charlie will get a laptop of his own. “It’s time,” Mark says. Okay, maybe, but every Christmas we get more and newer electronics, and I can’t help but think that, while this may be good for the economy, it can’t be good for the environment.

I know this sounds like a first-world problem, my moaning about too much stuff when many people have so little or are running for their lives (Aleppo). But that’s why I’ve grown so disenchanted with this holiday. We give lip service to the real meaning of Christmas, but it’s lost in a bombardment of ads and special shopping days. There’s even “Christmas in July.” Gag.

I’ve tried to tune it out, but since the boys (husband included) are fond of watching television and listening to commercial radio stations, I can’t escape it entirely. I’ve tried to rebel, making my own gifts or even handing out the first chapter of my novel in progress (not something I recommend). Art and heart just don’t get the appreciation they deserve despite the time-honored message of the little drummer boy.

Maybe I just need to lighten up and not let Christmas overwhelm me with its myriad obligations. Maybe my problem with the holiday is its excesses: there’s too much build-up, too much expectation, too much pressure, too much commercialism, too much hubbub. For those without means or family, it can also be too expensive, too disappointing, too lonely.

Sorry if this has turned into a rant. I was afraid of that. I feel my Christmas-loving husband rolling his eyes. So, to end on a more positive note, I will list, in no particular order, the things I do like about this time of year:

1. Bright lights on dark days. Houses, trees, shrubs, railings — all a twinkle with fairy lights, a stunning single palette of cobalt blue, glowing white icicles and those big old-fashioned bulbs in every color including Xmas orange. I love them all.
2. Christmas cards. Not sending them – we don’t – but receiving them, particularly those photo cards that show the age-progression of our friends’ “kids.”
3. Eating. If you can’t stuff your face over Christmas, when can you stuff it? I love mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, and all things chocolate. I indulge freely and without guilt.
4. Singing. I belong to a women’s singing group. Every Christmas, we have a party and belt out our holiday favorites, from Silent Night to The Holiday Dinner Song (hilarious). It feels good to sing and laugh.
5. Get-togethers with friends and family. Although I’m an introvert who would always choose a low-key evening at home over a party, I force myself to get out during the holidays and – lo and behold! — I usually end up having a pretty good time. Christmas, at its best, is a time to reconnect and remember. Why do you think Auld Lang Syne (Times Gone By) became a holiday song?

 What about you? What do you love and/or loathe about the holiday? I’d love to hear from you . . . even if you think I’m a Grinch.