Has Christmas changed—or have I?

 

And so begins another holiday season. I have wrapped seven gifts, done some online shopping, a bit of cooking and a lot of menu planning. And I officially feel in the holiday season. My cottage is gaily decorated, thanks to Jordan, with colored lights on the pussy willow arrangement and white lights and ornaments on the table-top tree. The tiny virtual fireplace son Jamie gave me glows with welcoming warmth, although it doesn't put out much. Outside, the deck railings twinkle with white lights, and the neighbor’s wall shows my tiny green lights, with a few red flickers (he says he doesn’t mind at all, and it looks like such a fairyland from my desk). Most of my shopping is done, except for a few reluctant kids who will give me no hint.

But I confess, I approach this holiday season much later and with less—not enthusiasm, but perhaps less energy than I used to. When my children were little, I had to plan both Christmas and Hannukah, the latter involving eight days of gifts for four children. Plus Christmas required several packages under the tree plus stocking stuffers. I used to do spread sheets. And I hid the presents in the upstairs guest room closet—since all our bedrooms were downstairs, the kids were not supposed to go upstairs, but I will never forget the year they found their presents.

And then there were Christmas cards. As a doctor’s wife, I sent out countless obligatory cards. I would buy them December 26 at Hallmark when they were half price, and by the next November, well before Thanksgiving, I had them addressed and ready to mail. And then I sent a Christmas letter, printed off my computer, to distant friends. I remember buying special Christmas letterhead. I haven’t done any of that in years. When I hear from a few, special, distant friends, I reply individually after the holidays, but the mass mailing days are gone and not lamented.

Thanksgiving weekend was when we decorated the house—when there was no longer “we” but me and the kids, we stuck to that weekend. And left the decorations up until January 6 when we celebrated Twelfth Night.

Christmas is different this year—okay, it was different last year but that was because we were in the midst of pandemic and quarantine. This year, I’m trying to figure out if the whole Christmas atmosphere is different or if it’s just me and another signing of aging with, I hate to admit it, waning stamina. Okay, I will admit that I am no longer up for everything I did in my thirties and forties. I try not to use the excuse that I need a walker, but that does mean everything takes more energy and more time.

But I’m not sure it’s just me. Yes, Christmas decorations appeared in the stores shortly after Halloween, which is an abomination. And yes, there are still huge civic Christmas trees and parades and, on the surface, we’re still celebrating wildly with little regard to the meaning of the celebration. But ours is a nation in deep trouble, fraught by conflict and division and corruption. We argue about abortion and voter suppression, critical race theory and socialism (neither of which most of us understand). We want to ban books and masks but not guns. I think we all know we are skating on thin ice, and it makes us more tentative about Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza, and other seasonal celebrations. I have my own theory about how all this meshes with religion, but I’ll keep it to myself. I have no proof, but I think many of us will be grateful for a quiet holiday with loved ones. We don’t need the hullabaloo to convince us that we’re happy, because maybe, deep down, we’re not that happy. We’re scared and anxious. So it’s a time to draw loved ones close and treasure them.

On a less somber note, there was a high old time in the cottage tonight. Neighbors Jaimie and Greg walked up for happy hour. Jordan and Christian were going to a holiday party but came out for a drink first. Conversation flew far and wide—while Jaimie and Jordan discussed I don’t know what but I think exercise classes and diets, Greg, Christian and I talked about everything from dogs (their dog broke his leg chasing squirrels, poor baby) to gardens and our new tree to politics and the SCOTUS debate on abortion (do not get me started on that or I’ll rant). For some reason, we all talked loudly and with enthusiasm, and I often had a hard time hearing. When the Burtons had gone, and Jaimie and Greg were on their way to check on their dog, I said, “I really hadn’t planned any entertainment for the evening,” and they both laughed. It was a good, neighborly time.

And I was most proud of my appetizer: I pulled the baby leaves out of the center of three heads of romaine and put them upright in a glass, made a Caesar dip, and added a basket of baguette slices. To my mind, it was showy, innovative, and delicious. Greg didn’t indulge, but Jaimie and I feasted.

And now I’m catching up on emails but getting so sleepy. Sweet Christmas dreams, you all.