Salt Water Cures - Second-to-Last Entry

Salt Water Cures

Second-to-Last Entry

December 27 The pathology of Christmas

When I wrote the last entry, I found my latest software configuration wouldn't allow me to upload or publish it to my web site. Daunted, I again gave up writing regularly, thinking perhaps the technical difficulties were a message from somewhere, and it was time to stop. But, I found, I miss it. In fact, I think I miss thinking about my day, and summarizing it in a way that makes sense to me and might make sense to others who might find their way here to read what I have written. So, I'm trying again, with new software, that may or may not succumb to my wishes and make publication possible.

The month has been a long and challenging one, not only in the work context, but in the holiday context. Having announced to all who would listen in November that I had no intention of "doing Christmas", I was somewhat off the hook. However, since I prepare the cholestoral over-indulgence known as a gorgonzola and pancetta starta only on Christmas mornings, I allowed as how I would prepare our tradition Christmas brunch for those who wished to join us. Other than that, the plans were low-key.

That, of course, did not prevent me from experiencing my usual holiday disappointment, born of years of unreasonable and unfounded hopefulness that this would be the year that Christmas would be all it was supposedt o be. I started this hopefulness as a very young child, in spite of my parents' refusal to allow any vestiges of Christmas into our home. (They had good reason: with only forty Jewish families in our town, they believed we were likely confused enough about our religious heritage, and they were right, in many ways.) Nonetheless, every year I hoped that somehow this would be the year that family and good food and good cheer would characterize my family home. It never did, of course, partly because to allow it to be so would be to reinforce the dominance of Christianity in our community, even within our home.

I've come to understand, of course, that similar disappointment visited most children, including those who were Christian, and whose parents did celebrate Christmas and aspire to the scene I so wanted to experience in my home. Perhaps they have recovered better than I, creating the Christmases they wished they'd had as children. Or perhaps they have discovered that it is a fantastical creation of film-makers and others whose job is to sell the mood that is created with all the accessories we will buy to support the Christmas industry.

In my case, I have often captured the spirit I so wished I had had as a child. And I get to determine the extent to which I wish to pursue it. After all, we have no family with expectations of our recreating the holiday of their earlier years. (My being Jewish takes care of that, and means that no-one in my life partner's family would choose to be here at Christmas.) And we do not lack for funds, nor for the physical energy to make it happen. We sometimes, like this year, lack for time. And then we get to scale back to the extent we'd like to.

I've beaten half the Christmas disappointment demon by finally convincing people that I do not wish to give or receive gifts solely by the timetable set by scheduled holidays. I love giving presents, and I love getting them -- when they're given from the heart, and are something the recipient actually wants, rather than a pile of gifts purchased, even though we're the toughest people on earth to buy presents for. So at least I don't suffer from the gluttony of over-consumption and no space to store those things that hold no meaning for me or the person I gave it to or got it from. Thank heavens!

But the other part -- the profound sadness -- only happens if someone (usually my life partner or chosen family members of the moment) tries to change plans on that oh-so-loaded and volatile day. This year, my life partner told me on Christmas Eve that he needed to return to work for a couple of hours after church on that evening. I lost it. I was heartbroken. An over-reaction? You bet, but heartfelt: another disappointment; another time what I hoped for wasn't to be. Of course, in the face of such a heart-rending reaction, he acquiesced, but I found it educaitonal nonetheless. The hopes can be dashed; the expectations of those I love cannot. At least not if there is anything other than life or death that is precipitating the change in plans. Not reasonable, but my particular take on what can only be called the pathology of Christmas.