I grew up during a time when the picture-perfect holiday was splashed across every medium.
That was the day of Christmas-card-sending, and when the mailman's load grew heavy, it was from greeting cards, not from Christmas catalogs. (We were often surprised by wonderful hand-written notes from old friends and distant relatives. It was before the one-size-fits-all Christmas update letter.) The Christmas cards themselves often featured cozy fireplace scenes, peaceful snow covered hills, and beautiful starlight nights.
TV ads also showed an idealized version of the holiday. Clydesdales pulled a sleigh smoothly through pristine, powdery snow. Families gathered in the warm glow of a lovely living room furnished with the perfectly decorated tree and stockings hanging from the mantle. Succulent Christmas dinners were served by a beaming mother and carved expertly by the father.
The Christmas movies also reinforced the ideal image with happily-ever-afters, all's-well-that-ends-well's, and bad guys with hearts of gold. Everyone received just the gift they had most desired. Miracles took place. Sick people got well. It was beautiful, and I swallowed it whole.
Of course, I was aware of discrepancies between that ideal and my own experience. It was sad but true that our town was too warm for a snow-covered landscape. I'm dreaming of a white Christmas was my theme song because dreaming was as close as I was going to get.
Our house had no fireplace and therefore no mantle and no stockings. My mom never brought out a whole turkey for my father to carve. (Our approach was much more practical: the bird was always sliced in the kitchen and came to the table ready-to-eat.)
Every Christmas I received an array of nice gifts, but none of them made an impression as being my heart's desire, and I never noticed much happily-ever-after going on. In the back of my mind, I always thought my family's Christmas seemed to fall a bit short of the Christmas we were "supposed" to have. Reality never quite measured up to those ideals, those expectations of perfection. I think I thought it would all be different when I grew up and had my own household.
But it wasn't different. Oh, my home has a fireplace, and my husband carves the turkey -- but no matter how hard I tried over the years, I never felt we achieved the absolute perfection of the holiday ideal. Some relative would be out of sorts. Preparing that extensive holiday meal is tiring, and if I came to the table beaming it was from perspiration. Finally, I don't know about your fireplace, but at our house it always seemed to be too warm close to it and too cold on the other side of the room.
Over the years I've made peace with the fact that the elusive holiday pictured in the media is a marketing fiction. I've learned that no matter how hard I try, I can't ensure that everyone at my house will have a grand time. I've learned to take advantage of short cuts and time-savers in all the holiday preparations; I've learned to give myself a break.
Once I identified and abandoned that mostly subconscious expectation of "the perfect holiday," my holidays have improved dramatically. Wrenching those cozy mental pictures out of my head took years, but I'm finally able to enjoy December without constantly comparing my experience to Christmas cards and commercials and movies. The holiday monkey is off my back.
Maybe I'll write a recovery program for the extreme expectations woven into our psyches by mass media, our culture, our marketers.
Meanwhile, merry (realistic) Christmas!
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Wet streets
We've had a lot of wet streets lately. We all know it's important for drivers to be cautious and possibly slow down a bit when the road surfaces are shiny with rain or sleet.
Since we are in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is much more normal for people to be busily zipping around -- if they can. But I am absolutely certain that there are more cars on the roads during this season each year.
I don't know where all those extra people come from. Do they lurk in their garages all year and come out in December like some sort of nocternal birds? Do they hibernate through the heat of the summer, waiting until rainy winter days to venture out to clog up the roads and parking lots?
This is also the time of year when I drive to work in the morning in the dark, and I drive home after work in the dark. It can get me down if I let it. It makes the work day feel 12-14 hours long somehow.
So, because of the dark, the heavy traffic, the rain that (often) slows the speed of the cars, I seem to be spending a lot of time in my car in the dark inching along on wet streets. As I roll along a half-car-length at a time, I am entertained by the way wet streets reflect light.
The shiny road surfaces multiply the headlights to my left and the tail lights stretching over the hill in front of me. Neon store lights seem to echo across the wet parking lots. Christmas decorations blink on houses and in yards and are reflected on the wet driveways.
This is the darkest part of the year, and this is the most illuminated time of the year. We turn on lights, and the rain ups the ante.
Sitting in my car, the scene puts me in a reflective -- sorry about that! -- mood. Maybe I'm a little bit hypnotized by the visuals or maybe like an overstimulated toddler, I'm lulled toward dreams. I sit in the endless traffic, waiting, looking, thinking.
Over the years, I've learned to capitalize on these unexpected snatches of time. (Long delays in airports when I'm traveling alone. Interminable waits in doctors' waiting rooms. ) These can turn into great stolen moments for meditation.
This year the wet streets are the context for counting the blessings in my life. Remembering all the good things of 2007, reviewing all the kind faces that have brightened my day with smiles, acknowledging that I have been richly blessed. There have been troubles and sadnesses to be sure, but those melt away in light of the good.
The multiplied lights in the wet streets remind me of the blessings that surround me but go unnoticed until I have these unplanned opportunities to realize what I should be grateful for.
Since we are in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is much more normal for people to be busily zipping around -- if they can. But I am absolutely certain that there are more cars on the roads during this season each year.
I don't know where all those extra people come from. Do they lurk in their garages all year and come out in December like some sort of nocternal birds? Do they hibernate through the heat of the summer, waiting until rainy winter days to venture out to clog up the roads and parking lots?
This is also the time of year when I drive to work in the morning in the dark, and I drive home after work in the dark. It can get me down if I let it. It makes the work day feel 12-14 hours long somehow.
So, because of the dark, the heavy traffic, the rain that (often) slows the speed of the cars, I seem to be spending a lot of time in my car in the dark inching along on wet streets. As I roll along a half-car-length at a time, I am entertained by the way wet streets reflect light.
The shiny road surfaces multiply the headlights to my left and the tail lights stretching over the hill in front of me. Neon store lights seem to echo across the wet parking lots. Christmas decorations blink on houses and in yards and are reflected on the wet driveways.
This is the darkest part of the year, and this is the most illuminated time of the year. We turn on lights, and the rain ups the ante.
Sitting in my car, the scene puts me in a reflective -- sorry about that! -- mood. Maybe I'm a little bit hypnotized by the visuals or maybe like an overstimulated toddler, I'm lulled toward dreams. I sit in the endless traffic, waiting, looking, thinking.
Over the years, I've learned to capitalize on these unexpected snatches of time. (Long delays in airports when I'm traveling alone. Interminable waits in doctors' waiting rooms. ) These can turn into great stolen moments for meditation.
This year the wet streets are the context for counting the blessings in my life. Remembering all the good things of 2007, reviewing all the kind faces that have brightened my day with smiles, acknowledging that I have been richly blessed. There have been troubles and sadnesses to be sure, but those melt away in light of the good.
The multiplied lights in the wet streets remind me of the blessings that surround me but go unnoticed until I have these unplanned opportunities to realize what I should be grateful for.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Touch
When I shop for clothes, I touch the fabrics. I am particularly attracted to clothes that are luxuriously soft or smooth.
I have a jacket that is not a color I would ordinarily buy -- and from a previous post you know how important color is to me! -- but I own the jacket because it is unusually soft to the touch. When I wear it, I often stroke the left sleeve with my right hand, and when anyone compliments the jacket, I thank them and then invite them to feel the sleeve to marvel at how soft it is.
I have always liked stuffed animals, not because I like animals, but because I like the way they feel when I cuddle them. I can even tell you which brands of stuffed animals feel best.
Touching is an important interpersonal element as we all know. I wonder if that is one reason we continue the ancient greeting of shaking hands -- not to show we bear no weapons, but to touch. Similarly, I think this is why we sometimes hug when we greet people.
Touching is an effective way to show sympathy for someone. I often touch another's arm or hand when I am indicating shared emotion.
Of course, affection is shown through touching . . . a father tossles a small boy's hair, a guy cuffs his friend's shoulder, a couple holds hands.
A touch is a simple gesture . . . not hard to learn and certainly not hard to perform. No complicated steps involved. But it can make all the difference . . . in communicating feeling, in bridging interpersonal chasms, in understanding the world around us.
I wonder if that is why anything that gets past our emotional defenses, past our stoic facades is said to be --- touching.
I have a jacket that is not a color I would ordinarily buy -- and from a previous post you know how important color is to me! -- but I own the jacket because it is unusually soft to the touch. When I wear it, I often stroke the left sleeve with my right hand, and when anyone compliments the jacket, I thank them and then invite them to feel the sleeve to marvel at how soft it is.
I have always liked stuffed animals, not because I like animals, but because I like the way they feel when I cuddle them. I can even tell you which brands of stuffed animals feel best.
Touching is an important interpersonal element as we all know. I wonder if that is one reason we continue the ancient greeting of shaking hands -- not to show we bear no weapons, but to touch. Similarly, I think this is why we sometimes hug when we greet people.
Touching is an effective way to show sympathy for someone. I often touch another's arm or hand when I am indicating shared emotion.
Of course, affection is shown through touching . . . a father tossles a small boy's hair, a guy cuffs his friend's shoulder, a couple holds hands.
A touch is a simple gesture . . . not hard to learn and certainly not hard to perform. No complicated steps involved. But it can make all the difference . . . in communicating feeling, in bridging interpersonal chasms, in understanding the world around us.
I wonder if that is why anything that gets past our emotional defenses, past our stoic facades is said to be --- touching.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Random acts
The town where I live has an abundance of juniper trees growing in groups and as singles all over the place. Most of the year they are simply a source of the pollen that makes many people suffer allergic reactions. At this time of year, however, they turn into Christmas trees.
On the route from my office in the north part of town to my home in the west part of town, one stretch of road sports a whole herd of perfectly shaped juniper trees -- some older and taller, some shorter, some fuller, some with sparser folliage. They stand on a slight slope, about 20-25 feet from the roadway.
As soon as the Thanksgiving turkey has been finished, unknown elves -- or others filled with the Christmas spirit -- stealthily approach first one tree and then another.
First, silver garland rings one tree. Then a day or two later another tree shows off gold garland and red ball ornaments. Over the course of a week or two, virtually every tree is adorned for the season.
You never see the tree-decorating in progress. I suppose it must occur in the dead of night when there are no witnesses. Whatever the hour of the decorating, the Christmas spirit as displayed on these roadside trees greets all of us caught in rush hour traffic.
I love these random acts of kindness and good cheer. Someone chooses not only to decorate their own tree, but also to provide decoration to public trees that we all can enjoy.
Don't you just delight in this sort of giving?! Happy holidays!
On the route from my office in the north part of town to my home in the west part of town, one stretch of road sports a whole herd of perfectly shaped juniper trees -- some older and taller, some shorter, some fuller, some with sparser folliage. They stand on a slight slope, about 20-25 feet from the roadway.
As soon as the Thanksgiving turkey has been finished, unknown elves -- or others filled with the Christmas spirit -- stealthily approach first one tree and then another.
First, silver garland rings one tree. Then a day or two later another tree shows off gold garland and red ball ornaments. Over the course of a week or two, virtually every tree is adorned for the season.
You never see the tree-decorating in progress. I suppose it must occur in the dead of night when there are no witnesses. Whatever the hour of the decorating, the Christmas spirit as displayed on these roadside trees greets all of us caught in rush hour traffic.
I love these random acts of kindness and good cheer. Someone chooses not only to decorate their own tree, but also to provide decoration to public trees that we all can enjoy.
Don't you just delight in this sort of giving?! Happy holidays!
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