There are a few more weeks to go until the months-long buildup to Christmas comes to a climax. All the shopping, cooking, emailing and texting, cocktail-sipping, and interior decorating will result in a picture-perfect holiday for everybody. Right?
Except it won't. Not everybody loves Christmas. Nor do they have to, although expressing such an opinion in mixed company might be poorly received. So those of us who aren't overly impressed with the year's penultimate celebration tend to keep our mouths shut while others wax on about its wonders.
We aren't talking about the religious aspects of Christmas here. That's your business.
This is all about the commercial and social and musical and family-fueled extravaganzas that take over so many lives from November through Dec. 31 (and sometimes beyond).
Among the reasons that Christmas doesn't do much for me:
• Shopping. Coming from a large and contentious family where we drew names to decide who we had to get gifts for (the selections of which were often loudly and publicly criticized by cranky elderly aunts), we gave up exchanging presents long ago.
I still recall when, as a 19-year-old college student, I painstakingly saved up, sought out and purchased a pink pearl necklace for my mother. When she opened the carefully wrapped package in front of everyone, she took one look and murmured, "Pearls ... I don't care for pearls." Haven't recovered from that one yet.
And after nearly two years of downsizing to fit comfortably in a smaller (more efficient, more attractive, better located, and adorable) house, I'm surely not about to start restocking. At this point, I use all the clothing, all the dishes, nearly all the glassware, all the linens, and all the furniture I own, and continue to get rid of junk we don't need, which never stops threatening to pile up and make life messy and cumbersome like it was before the downsizing took place.
I don't want anything under the tree on Dec. 25 (nor do I want a tree), and except for new toys for the dogs, I don't want to give anybody else anything. Santa can go elsewhere. We'd rather spend money having several dear friends over for a cheery late-afternoon Christmas Day supper. It tends to be appreciated since we can serve wine at our table, and restaurants can't.
Although I'm still distressed about that pearl necklace, I regret that my mother, who taught me how to cook, isn't here to attend. She died Dec. 25, 1987, a few days after explaining to me on the phone from Cleveland how to make turkey gravy.
• Back to that tree. Little kids may get a kick out of seeing a towering pine adorned with beloved and sentimental ornaments commanding the spotlight in a mistletoe-decorated house. But anybody who has cats or dogs, or doesn't get the point of chopping down a perfectly good tree (not to mention the lofty cost of purchasing one) to stick it in a pot of water until it drops all its needles and gets hauled out, must admit that the logic of this tradition doesn't make much sense.
Especially if one of our beloved four-legged critters decides to chase one of those new toys under the invading piney presence, resulting in its tumbling down, ornaments and all.
We had a aluminum tree for a while, which offered zero emotional or aesthetic connection to me. It outlasted its welcome and went to Goodwill.
So now we string up little lights (being careful not to poke too many nail holes in the new house's walls) and hang a few semi-meaningful ornaments on it. Same effect. And much more original, in my opinion.
• Music. About 10 years ago I worked part-time at Pottery Barn in the months before Christmas, where holiday music was piped in every minute the store was open. I still cringe when I'm forced to hear "Santa Baby" one more time. The only episode of this I find appealing is the delightful annual holiday concert staged by River City Men's Chorus, which I'll be reviewing at its 3 p.m. performance today at Second Presbyterian Church in Little Rock.
• Weather. Please don't plead for a white Christmas, at least not within earshot of me. I like to run and walk the dogs and ride my bike all year 'round. Although it's easier to get through messy weather now that I left aptly named Hillcrest and live near the much flatter Arkansas River Trail, there are only so many layers of clothing I can wear without looking like I did when I was 5 years old, zipped into a movement-restricting snowsuit.
The best aspect of Dec. 25 is that it's a mere week away from my friends' annual Hair of the Dog brunch on New Year's Day. That's where I get my holiday cheer fix, seeing long-missed faces, playing with the hosts' exuberant mess of a dog, chowing down on superb and generous offerings (including the required blackeyed peas), alternating between strong black coffee and mimosas, and looking forward to what's in store for 2020.
Karen Martin is senior editor of Perspective.
kmartin@arkansasonline.com
Editorial on 12/08/2019