Christmas 365 Unwrapped

Among other things, a case is made for socks and underwear as the perfect gift. I’m not turning my nose up at these computer speakers, though.

It was with reluctance that I went to bed on Christmas night. I hated to see it all end. But I understand how awful that song and sentiment, “If Every Day Could Be Like Christmas” is. To paraphrase a line from popular culture, if every day is like Christmas, then no day is like Christmas. It’s special because it’s unique to the year. One has to learn to say goodbye.

And go back to this, just this, for two straight months? NOOOOOOOOOO!

My complaint has always been how abruptly the spirit leaves. For as much as I enjoyed Christmas with my children when they were small, it was over by 9 a.m. as the last present was opened. Even the hit-or-miss, oft-annoying Christmas music sounded jarringly out of place by late afternoon. After up to six weeks of that music, after all these dull winter days livened by silver and gold tinsel, red and green color schemes, decorating and party-planning, etc., that’s it. Everything goes back into the box until next year.

With a matured appreciation for the season, my Christmas buzz lasted clear until just before bed that night as I stood before the tree and looked at the individual ornaments, the ones bought on a whim, the ones our children made when they were small. There was still some difficulty in turning away. I had to sleep, though. And when I woke up, it would no longer be Christmas. 

I was okay with that. I wasn’t forcing anything. We had a far better time than we’d had a right to expect, so it was a memory to treasure. (My wife and I had been braced to endure an empty nester’s Christmas this year. Both of our children changed their plans at the 11th hour.) I’ve lived long enough to have had more good and great Christmases than bad ones. For me, that’s saying something.

And when I awoke everything was okay. Yes, Christmas was over. But I didn’t feel the crushing loss I’ve suffered in years past. I mentioned in my last post about misusing the memory. It’s taken me over half a century, but I’m getting the hang of this now.

The view from the liquor store parking lot on Christmas Eve. I thought it had a certain desolate charm.

These days, most of what I wear and use day to day was acquired across various Christmases. Both of my 20-oz. coffee mugs, as well as the two plush bathrobes I alternate between on mornings throughout the year, were Christmas gifts. As every one of my fleece pajama bottoms also came to me from beneath the tree, every day I sit and drink my morning coffee in unwrapped presents.

In recent years, it’s become an established tradition that I get silly socks. This year was no different. So, when I’m out of my morning work clothes and into my indoor/outdoor action-wear (watch me walk to the mailbox!), I’m walking in Christmas. It helps that most of the stuff is practical. Even my big gift this year, a set of top-shelf brand computer speakers, is something I’ll use every day. That I’m using the computer instead of a separate mini-disc player has changed my work habits in a way that deserves a post of its own. Stay tuned.

Getting my desk and the east wing of my office (left background) squared away after months of neglect was a gift unto itself.

Although it was a relatively short season and we love the seasonal decor, it made sense for my wife to take everything down by Sunday, the fourth day after Christmas, or “the fifth day of Christmas,” and let’s face it, hardly anyone celebrates it like that. I’ve tried it for years, with the music in my playlist mix and fattening up on eggnog, but it was just forcing things. As I said while hauling the boxes upstairs, it’s a melancholy chore that’s only going to get more depressing the longer we put it off.

Our artificial tree sheds just like a real one. We’ll be vacuuming up little needles for months to come. Note the boxes stacked in the left background. That’s all going upstairs once the tree is bagged.

Christmas is one day, a day that’s hyped and anticipated over the course of a month or more, and it’s over before you know it. You wonder how it went so quickly, leaving nothing behind but a mess to clean up.

Me, I’m grateful for silly socks and thermal underwear and the people who think to buy such things for me. And if my wife and I still cry ugly every time we watch our grown daughter make that turn onto the main road out of town, we also know we wouldn’t miss her so much if she was a 26-year-old lump who never left her room, let alone home. She has to go forth and get up the next day to do all those grown-up things we cry ugly in pride for. That we’re still important enough to her for her to come see us on Christmas is enough.

We go about our lives, and as the New Year turns old on January 2 I’ll soldier on through the first and worst months of the year wearing the clothes, drinking from the mugs, and listening to the speakers I got over various Christmases. I’ve got my own projects to finish, and I’m praying I’m alive and full of great stories to share of this great next year ending with next Christmas. 

It’s a Happy New Year if we want it.

Until next time....