More Christmas Confessions

Well, everyone who has been around Tinfoil Magnolia for a while knows my stance on the holiday season. In case you've forgotten, or don't know, or are new in these parts, here's a link to last year's Christmas Confessions as a refresher. Christmas and I have a complicated relationship. 
I was raised in a "Christian" household. My parents were both really non-religious until they found God and were baptized as adults when I was somewhere around 4 years old. I still remember that night the preacher came to our door and stayed for hours talking to them. I wondered if he'd ever leave because I was tired and wanted to go to bed.
After that, we were packed up each Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday evening without fail to attend the Church of Christ down the block from our house in Franklin, TN. I was sent to kindergarten there. As a kid, I had already been celebrating Christmas as a time to get presents, see Santa, put up a tree, and have big family dinners. The church my parents chose to attend really did nothing special to celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday. No plays or pageants, no manger scene on the front lawn, no special music (they don't believe in instrumental music anyway, all acapella), no Christmas Eve candlelight services. At most, it was recognized in the story of the "virgin birth" being told on Sunday morning.
Although I grew up to be a good Christian girl, studying my bible and attending regularly with my parents, caroling at the nursing homes and to shut ins during high school, and attending Christian college, there still remained in my mind a strange dichotomy about Christmas and the commercial, social holiday versus the religious aspect. 
Time spend in that Christian college pushed me away from religion, and over the years of my 20's, I separated myself from it totally.  I can't quite say I am atheist, mainly because I think it takes too much arrogance to believe 100% either way. I am definitely agnostic, questioning, learning, open, secular and skeptical. One thing I am not is a "Christian", nor do I embrace  the beliefs that go along with it.
So Christmas is a strange time for me. I think more people than will admit it celebrate it as a more commercial holiday. After all, it's really about the spirit of giving isn't it? It's about winter, and hot chocolate and spending time with family. It's about light and Santa and kids full of anticipation and excitement. 
It is also a time of pressure, stress, and going into debt for your kids to have the most and best. This is the part I have trouble connecting to the religious side of it. I just wouldn't think if you believe in celebrating Dec. 25 as the birth of a man who basically lived his life with no worldly posessions, one who went around with whores and lepers and doing good and preaching peace and basically being a hippie for 30-something years.... Oh, and lived in Jerusalem. Then how do pine trees, and gifts, and snow and a mythical figure like Santa Claus fit with this? I just don't know. But I am sure there are plenty of people who can justify it in their minds. I never could.
I was talking with someone at work the other day who knows I don't "do" religion. We talked about caroling to shut ins and nursing homes back in the day. He said, "wow, you were a good little Christian girl, weren't you?" I said, "yeah, what happened?" with a laugh, then added, "I actually still do a lot of volunteering and stuff in the community. You know, even though I am not religious. " To which he laughed and replied, "See? Hedging your bets aren't you? Just in case."
(I won't even go into how offensive this remark is to me) 
Not to sound too Pollyanna, or naive or whatever but I'm not. I'm not doing it for any reward, heavenly or otherwise. I do it, I volunteer, I give, I do, just because it's what we should do. And that's what I told him. "We are all here on this earth together and we are meant to help one another. If we don't, who will?" And I am not trying to be magnanimous or self-serving here. I really truly believe this in a real, humble, and valid way. I believe it with all my heart.
Merry Christmas, Y'all. 


http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/steve-martins-christmas-wish/1186554

It's Christmas, Y'all. Now lets move on.

Merry, Happy, Cheer!

The only great thing I got done for the holidays this year was that hubby and I got together with my photographer friend, Amybestfriendsince8thgrade, and we took each others' holiday card pictures. Hubby and I always do a silly card, and I really love this year's result. Like everything else involved with Christmas, it isn't what I envisioned in my head, but I love how it turned out.

See, hubby and I don't have children. And before you give me that sympathetic "awww" it was a conscious choice not to have any. (Yes, people, you can make a choice about procreation, it doesn't have to just happen to you.) Anyway, no one really wants to stick a photo card of two grown adults up, it's just wierd apparently. So, we decided several years ago to use crazy, funny photos for our holiday cards. Our only goal is for them to be fridge-worthy. I think we've succeeded this year.

One person definitely didn't like them, however. My mom. I warned her that we were faux smoking and drinking in them in order to capture that 50's vibe. She is a religious person and despite the fact that she did indeed once smoke and drink, is very anti either one of those things. So she looked at the card. I told her I didn't mail it because I was sure she wouldn't want to display it and I was happy for her to keep this one if she did want it. She didn't get the humor in it and handed it back to me. I went home and had a martini and a cigarette. Just kidding. I don't smoke. And it was 2 martinis.

I think I have this year finally come to a realization that has been brewing for a long time. Christmas is a holiday that is meant to be celebrated by 2 groups of people. Christians, for obvious reasons. And children and those with children. I fit in neither group, so honestly, why do I bother?

Despite the fact that I grew up in a religious, Christian household, I never really got the relationship between what I call commercial Christmas and the religious holiday. Even as a child, I looked at them as two distinctly separate things, and the religious holiday rarely played into our Christmas celebrations. It was minor compared to the gift giving, fudge making, carol singing, and tree trimming. We only went to church on Christmas if it fell on a Sunday. or Wednesday. I honestly wouldn't know how you combine the two appropriately. When you think of it they couldn't be more at odds with each other. Some religions do integrate Christmas much more into the social aspect of Christmas, it just happens that the church I grew up in didn't. However, calling myself a secularist, I don't celebrate or concern myself with the religious holiday anymore.

The commercial aspect has taken over our society to the Nth degree. Gift giving, buying, borrowing and spending have become the touchstones for the holiday in modern society. Kids expect so much more than even when I was little. My friend's 4 year old granddaughter asked her for an iPhone the other day. What??

Every year I kill myself with expectations and dreams of the wonderful holidays of my childhood. But I have to admit, watching the nephs (4 and 5 y/o) open gifts last night was enough to melt even my cold, frozen, grumpy, grinchy heart. This year, we had the family over. I pulled the tree together at the last minute with items I had in storage containers. Hubs set us up with a great Christmas song mix on the stereo. We enjoyed not a traditional dinner, but sausage balls, chicken dip, ham biscuits, chicken tenders and such. Along with coffee and a ton of desserts like sugar cookies and pineapple cake, and yes, cheesecake. I used festive paper plates rather than fancy dishes for the first time, probably ever, so the cleanup would be easier. I looked outside halfway through the evening and the ground was covered with that magical, wet, white stuff that had seemingly come from nowhere. It was pouring down snow. What a wonderful Christmas Eve!

Maybe there's hope for me after all.

Christmas Confessions-Christmas Eve Edition

Well, here it is. As I sit here typing it is officially Christmas Eve. Has been for about 8 hours now. And yet, I feel nothing. Nothing, that is, except the heavy weight of all that I need to do. And the inkling of a feeling way, down deep inside me. A feeling that I have been trying to ignore for a long time now. Perhaps now is the time to just get it out there and admit it.

Y'all I don't think I like Christmas. **GASP** I know! Right? I am not ready to admit that I hate it, though there are aspects of it that I do hate. But honestly? If Christmas were a friend, it would be that high maintenance bitch cheerleader high school friend who always wanted to talk only about herself and her problems. Remember her? She prissed around all perfect with her hair and makeup and flippy little cheerleading skirt? She only talked to you when all her other perfect cheerleader friends or boyfriends were unavailable? Or when she needed help with her English or civics homework? That bitch would be Christmas.

You know, we do well most of the year. Some of us struggle to maintain our lifestyle, some of us struggle to just get by. And then, November rolls around. And there she is, staring you right in the face. That bitch, Christmas. On the television, in the mall, on the town square. She's all glittery and perfect and demanding and crap, just waiting for you to hand over your homework. You stand there all schleppy and beaten down from the first 11 months of the year, and for one moment? Usually around Thanksgiving? You think you can be good enough for her.

She tells you that if you can do enough, buy enough, spend enough, bake enough, cook enough, run enough, party enough, dress up enough, do your hair, have sparkly nails, decorate your tree just right, sing carols, make your home look festive enough, if you can do all this? You might, just might, be good enough to be friends with her. But you have to sing carols, visit shut-ins, go into debt, attend all the right parties, buy all the right gifts, and have a patented sympathetic look for all the others who just can't afford to be so perfect in their holiday appreciations.

Every year I do it. Every year she gets me. Despite the fact that in high school I gave a big f-u to anyone who didn't want me around. Despite the fact that I dressed crazy and was not like anyone else in school. Despite the fact that I had a few friends in every social group, yet no one group to really fit into. Despite the fact that I proudly wore my neon colored Culture Club, Duran Duran, and Cyndi Lauper t-shirts into school, having to walk past all the smoker/stoner kids in their black Metallica, and Rush t-shirts who constantly make smart ass comments to me. Despite all this, I want Christmas to be my friend.

All year long I think of the awesome, elaborate, over the top things I am going to do, cook, bake, and decorate. All year long I think of the great, perfect, one of a kind gifts I will bestow upon my family and how they will love them and think I am the best. All year long I think of how beautiful my home will be, all glittery and glistening in the soft lights, beautiful inside and out. I think of the family dinner where everyone is formally dressed and sitting around a long dining room table, toasting with wine and reviewing what a wonderful, fortune filled year they had. All year I say, I am going to do better this year. And I believe it, y'all. I really do. Even when Thanksgiving gets here I still think I can be it all, do it all, afford it all, and make a wonderful, sane, refined, sparkling Christmas for me and everyone around me. And do it with easy. Why? Because that Christmas bitch told me I could.

And every year I end up where I am today. Christmas Eve. All the holiday parties are behind me, and some of them were nowhere near as fun as I thought they'd be. Mostly time spent with people I don't really even know or usually make time to be with. I got the outside of the house decorated, but it isn't anywhere near as elaborate as I want it to be. I got my tree up exactly a week ago. I am still working on getting it decorated. I got no baking done, no wonderful elaborate homemade gifts done, few gifts purchased, and feel like a major holiday fail. Once again, Christmas is walking away from me, heading toward another girl who looks like me but has a lot more time and money and focus and talent, enough to make the Christmas of her dreams. As they walk off together into the new year, that bitch Christmas flips me off and calls "better luck next year" over her shoulder. I hate you, Christmas, with the burning fire of a thousand suns.

Next year? Christmas? You're dead to me. Ya' hear me?

***The portrayal of Christmas as a bitchy high school cheerleader is not based on any one person, and really has nothing to do with my experience with cheerleaders or any of those with whom I may or may not have been friends with in high school. I am sure cheerleaders can be as nice and wonderful as all the rest of us once they are all grown up. This story is, obviously, fictional.***

Holiday Memories

As you may or may not know, I moved around a lot as a child. I call Franklin my hometown because it is where I graduated high school, where I learned to drive, where I marched in band and attended football and basketball games. It is where my parents stayed, and where I met my husband, then met him again. But I attended school in 4 different cities before I finished, and the truth is that I only really lived in Franklin maybe 6 years out of my entire life. I lived in Nashville almost 20 and really consider it to be home.

During my elementary years we lived in a suburb of Nashville that is now a booming metropolis. However, back then in the 70's it was mostly rural and filled with farmers and country music stars. Seriously, Little Jimmy Dickens lived down the road from us, Marty Robbins house was visible from our front yard, and every time we went to Kroger Jeannie C. Riley was there. Tom T. Hall's property adjoined ours and we went to his house on Halloween for trick-or-treats. If you don't know who any of these people are, sorry. But at the time they were a big effing deal, OK?

We lived in a little stone farmhouse that sat way back off the road. We had chickens, horses, cats, and dogs. We had 2 huge gardens in the back that mom took care of and neighbors who let us run around on their property for horse rides up through the mountains. We had a ridge above our house where we'd go to pick blackberries in the summer and mom would make cobblers and jelly. It was pretty great.

Now, I have precious few childhood memories, for whatever reason. My brother can remember every moment of every day with an alarming clarity. But me, not so much. So I just have to take his word for things. People mention things that happened when we were little and I just have to ask what the heck they are talking about because I don't remember anything but short flashes, excerpts of my life or really stellar events.

One of the few really strong memories is of a Christmas we spent in the stone house in Williamson County. It was the most charming little house, and I have fond memories of living there. However, there were only two bedrooms downstairs and a big, open upstairs. Mom and dad gave me the upstairs bedroom as I was the oldest. My brother was still small when we moved there, maybe 2 or 3, so he couldn't navigate the steps. Anyway, I hated it. I was such a scaredy cat it wasn't funny, still am. In retrospect, it was a great room, really cool. It was huge, and had tons of built in bookshelves under the eaves. I had frilly blue curtains and matching twin beds that sat on opposite sides of the room. It was one of those rooms where the stairs come up in the middle of the room, making it sort of a circular layout. But it was huge. But the reason I was so scared?

The attic door was at the far end of the room on the front of the house. I was terrified of the attic and whatever monsters might be living in there. I didn't like being up there during the day much, but at night? It was terrifying. I actually remember many nights sleeping downstairs on the pullout sofa in the living room. So this particular year, I got to sleep in my brother's room with him, as I probably did most of the Christmases in that house. I just don't remember. We were a bit older, I would say I was 8 or so which would make him 5 maybe. So we were both totally wound up for Christmas. However, my brother? He was ULTRA hyper on any given day, much less Christmas Eve. I would imagine these days he would have been diagnosed and put on some type of medication for some condition. But then, you just had to let him run down.

So he was aggravating the tar out of me. I was trying to sleep, really. Always the practical one, I knew the sooner I fell asleep the sooner I would get to see my presents. I was at the age where I was on the verge about the whole Santa thing, just ready for a reason to disbelieve it. However, he always came through for us so I held on to the thought. Anyway, my brother kept kicking me, or pinching me or talking to me about the time I fell asleep. "Get your foot on your side" or "you're hogging the covers" I would imagine. We never got along well at all and were always fussing like that. So mom had to come in and yell at us at least three times that it was time to get to sleep.

I don't remember word for word, so let me just say the next few minutes went something like this: "Do you hear that?" I asked him. "What is it? It sounds like someone walking around!" he said. "Who would be walking around? We are all in bed." Then we got scared. Then more "clomp, clomp, clomping" above us. "It's reindeer!" I suggested. "It is they are up on the roof!!" he agreed, excitedly. "Oh my gosh!" we both said, astonished that we'd really stayed up long enough to witness the arrival of Santa.

"I am going to look." Said my brother, throwing back the covers. "NO!" I said. "If he sees you we won't get anything. Don't you know that? Get back in bed!!!" I exclaimed in the loudest whisper I could muster. Surprisingly he did as I said, probably the only time he ever did. Truthfully I think he was a little bit scared himself. "clomp, clomp, clomp" "They are up there, there are reindeer on the roof." "I want to look out the window!" "NO!" "How do you think they do it? I want to see!" "NO!" "But, I can see them if I look!" "No, do you want to get presents?" "yes" "Then, NO! Don't do it!"

On and on it went until the noises stopped. After all this, we were so wound up. I know we slept some, but at one point, well before the sun came up, I remember slipping out into the hallway and peeking around the corner into the living room where the tree was. We were both afraid to cross the threshold into the room, so we just stood there, feet in the hallway, heads poking through the doorway, squinting and trying to figure out what all the big, shadowy shapes under the tree might contain. We finally crawled back into bed, feet frozen, and discussed what we might have waiting for us. We also discussed Santa, the reindeer, and how we couldn't wait to tell mom and dad in the morning that we HEARD the reindeer on the roof.

Of course I now realize that the scary attic was situated directly above my brother's room and the living room. And I know that since I was terrified of the attic it was the perfect hiding place. But that night cemented a belief in Santa that I held on to way longer than I should have. (yeah. other kids made fun of me.)

But I will say, even as an adult, I still believe in Santa. If you don't, shame on you. Santa is a spirit that is real and has the chance to inhabit each of us, even for a moment each year. If we could all just focus on the spirit of giving, not getting. On helping others without expecting a return. On spending time on people who don't have anyone.

If you want to witness this spirit in action, check out what fellow blogger, The Bloggess is doing. It warms even my frosty heart. This? Well, I think the word miracle is one of the most ridiculously overused words in our society today. But what she's done over there? It is simply. Amazing.