Skip to main content
This would sound sacrilegious if I were, um, religious. I’m sure it will sound sacrilegious to my kids. Okay. Here we go. Christmas is not my favorite holiday. (Thanksgiving is.) Christmas is not even in my top ten favorite holidays.

I’m not a grinch. I enjoy a lot of the season. The food, the look of things. I have a soft spot for glittery soft gold anything. Those people who do blue and silver decorations, though, I have no idea what they’re doing. They are from the other Christmas planet. Anyway. I love candy canes and Handel and snow.

What I don’t love is the pressure. There is so much to do. So many expectations, deadlines, lists. (Some of these could be alleviated by better organization on my part, I admit.) But so much of it is false, too. Many of these gifts are not heartfelt. How could they be? Gifts for the kids’ bus drivers? I can’t (maybe some people can) go down this list of people I don’t know and find just the right thing to show our love and appreciation and whatever else we’re trying to show. I don’t know their interests. I don’t know if they like peanut butter cookies or peppermint. So a whole lot of people get generic candles at this time of year.

Really, I’m not a grinch.

Comments

Anonymous said…
you know, mother,
many people on that list would never know that you did not get them a gift.

i think that they'd understand, in some converse way.

- Dan :)
6:29 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Last night was the first meeting of the writing group. It is a quirky group. The other Odyssey grad seems like a good contact to have. He told me about a group led by Ted White near here. I’m thinking about looking into that one, too. I suppose I can’t be gone every evening. Anyway, this group (the one from last night) will force me to produce at least two pieces a month. That alone is worth the price of admission. Well, the price of gasoline, anyway.
2 comments
Read more
Life is a little tough these days. Taking a break. I will be back with more tales of grasshoppers and compost heaps and scrabble games soon.
17 comments
Read more
I have to confess something. I enjoy reading Anne Lamott. Okay, okay, I know that makes me more touchy-feely than I usually admit. She is very lovey. She talks about mystical things. She freely admits to praying (although she uses the F-word frequently in her books about “faith”. I like this in a person.) She talks about breathing. She is very real, and I admire this. She talks about her parents and her son with a mix of love and frustration and grumpiness. She admits, in public, in her writing, to sometimes being angry, sometimes disliking her loved ones, to having to work very hard to forgive them. I like to think I’m like her in a lot of ways, but I don’t share this ability. I can’t easily look at someone I love, look them in the eyes, and say “I’m really angry with you.” “I am mad.” “That was a bad thing you did. To me.” Instead, I’m the sort that says, “Oh, gosh, I’m sure you didn’t mean to run over my dog. It’s okay. I was meaning to get rid of that old thing soo...
4 comments
Read more