The Holiday season has come and gone, and I can't shake the feeling that I really screwed it up this year; not necessarily for other people, but for myself (and, by extension, for other people).
I have very fond memories of Christmas as a child. My parents, who I now, as a bread-winning adult, realize were poor, spoiled my brother and me terribly. Opening gifts took almost two hours ("scheduled," as it were, so that each opening had a full audience) and took up the entire living room--which again, as an adult, now seems very small. The gifts were also handed out in such a manner that they built up in scale to a wonderful crescendo, starting with the candy-filled stockings and ending with the "big bang" gift at the end . . . which, back then, was not always some battery-operated gizmo (since many of them had not yet been invented). The house was well decorated not long after Thanksgiving, complete with multi-colored lights on the Christmas tree* scattered around the handmade ornaments (most made by my mother, but ALL the ornaments were handmade).
Then there were the cookies. My stay-at-home mother made them every year, and it took her about two weeks to do it. Why two weeks? Because my mother is awesome, that's why. Using about two dozen different recipies, she made cookies for what seemed like forever. We once tried counting the actual number of cookies made one year, and stopped not long after 10,000. She had a plate of cookies for each of the neighbors, for each of my friends' families, for the mailman, for the UPS guy, and for two HUGE plates on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. (She stopped after my father died, and the neighborhood has never been the same.)
That was the other thing I remember. My father's side of the family would get together both on Christmas Eve AND Christmas Day (at my grandparents' house). Eventually, the Christmas Eve thing got to be too much and was permanently suspended. Christmas Day, however, was an all day event with almost thirty people (including kids) sitting around one huge and one small table. It made the Norman Rockwell painting look like a card game.
As time passed, bits of the family grew up, or moved away, or both. Some of the partiarchs passed away, as did a matriarch, and we kind of splintered apart.
Several years later I converted to Judaism. I don't regret that decision, but it did take away greatly from my holiday experience. Hannukah isn't one of the "big" Jewish holidays, so we kind of give ourselves the shaft around Christmastime. It wasn't as severe a transition for my kids, who were too young at the time to develop enough of a traditional Christmas experience to miss. It was a big shift for me, though, and I did miss the yuletide atmosphere. (I still listened to Christmas music, however, because there are some things of which you just don't let go).
Jump forward to many years later of lighting menorahs and eating fried food (yep, that's about it, really), and the holidays lack the luster of yesteryear. But now I'm out of orthodox practice, married to a non-Jew, and feeling the pain of an absent Christmas. This year (our first as a married couple), we kind of experimented with a hybrid holiday. Being overwhelmed with home repair plans, change of work venue, financial issues, a teenage son, and other things, I kind of let the holidays get away from me this year. I didn't have my shopping done as early as I usually do, was not as extravagant or personal with my gift-giving as I was in the past, and didn't really "feel it" as I've tried to. And looking back to last month, I regret it. I should have done better. I would have liked to do better. Although I'm Jewish, I miss Christmas. I wasn't always Jewish, and now part of my family is not. Christmas must return, not just for my family, but for my own peace of mind and edification.
And so next year I will plan better (both temporally and financially), I will strive to make the holidays something of an event, and do it right. I'd like to enjoy the holidays as I have in the past. It's true that you "can't go home again," and that Christmas will never be for me like it was when I was a kid. Times change, sure, but they don't evaporate. My Christmas memories must change, and more must be made. Next year, this blog post will be different. Just you watch.
*The tree I grew up with was artificial, and I believe it now resides at my brother's house. Christmas changed a lot after my father died in December of 1982. We were always told that the artificial tree was necessary because my father was allergic and broke into hives. After his passing, it was too painful to put the tree up the following year. After that, new carpet was the excuse for not getting a real tree. After my brother and I had moved out, the tree moved with him. I'm now convinced that my mom was just too much of an OCD neatnik to deal with watering and stray needles. After having my own real tree for several years, I completely sympathize.
Observations, rants, and plausible
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
The Village
I AM WRITING!
My Screenplay -- Draft Three
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