The first significant snow of the season is here, right on schedule to transform the backyard fences and sheds into a holiday card. The roads are greasy; the people driving on them all seem impatient, as if they are running out of time and have decided to make bad conditions worse by driving foolishly. I’ve been within 50 feet of two crashes involving six cars in the last 24 hours. I’m grateful to have only been a witness.
Don’t try to get near a store. Any store. People are making last minute rushes for food and gifts. Why do we need presents at Christmas? Answer: we don’t; that’s why they’re presents.
Doesn’t feel that way, does it? It doesn’t feel like “this is a special item that captures the affection and esteem I feel for you.” It’s more like “this falls within the acceptable parameters to ransom my end of our relationship from year-end emotional blackmail.”
That’s a pity, because it means we wind up with a sentiment in our hearts exactly opposite of the one the holiday is supposed to engender, which probably makes us feel worse for all that.
On the other hand, the hand that receives gifts, we’ve got that empty spot – whether caused by seasonal affective disorder, weltschmerz, ennui or the cascade of commercials – a pain near the heart we hope, against experience and better judgement, will somehow be filled and healed by a gift.
Bruce Springsteen once said the American dream is to constantly move closer to doing what you really want to do with your life. That big tee vees, cars and houses are merely the consolation prizes we accept for selling our dreams short. I’ve been thinking about that this holiday season.
Last summer Adrienne and the teenager wanted to have their fortunes told, so I went with them to the palm reader. When they’d finished, the seer turned to me and asked (with a practiced air), “What do you wish for?” The question brought tears to my eyes. “All my wishes have come true,” I said.
We don’t take time in the third week of July to sit back and think of where we were this week last year or years past, but we do at the end of December. It can be a heavy burden to bear, especially this year, for so many people. Perhaps that’s why we have always placed celebrations of hope in this corner of the calendar.
The things we find in stockings and under trees Saturday morning are just tokens, nothing more. I wish we could wrap real gifts in bright paper – a gift that would let folks know there will be a job and money make ends meet for the year to come, that loved ones serving far away will come home safe and whole. That things will be better in the new year than they were in the old.
My wish for you this Christmas is an end to anxiety and a gift of peace and hope.
The Christmas Gift
The first significant snow of the season is here, right on schedule to transform the backyard fences and sheds into a holiday card. The roads are greasy; the people driving on them all seem impatient, as if they are running out of time and have decided to make bad conditions worse by driving foolishly. I’ve been within 50 feet of two crashes involving six cars in the last 24 hours. I’m grateful to have only been a witness.
Don’t try to get near a store. Any store. People are making last minute rushes for food and gifts. Why do we need presents at Christmas? Answer: we don’t; that’s why they’re presents.
Doesn’t feel that way, does it? It doesn’t feel like “this is a special item that captures the affection and esteem I feel for you.” It’s more like “this falls within the acceptable parameters to ransom my end of our relationship from year-end emotional blackmail.”
That’s a pity, because it means we wind up with a sentiment in our hearts exactly opposite of the one the holiday is supposed to engender, which probably makes us feel worse for all that.
On the other hand, the hand that receives gifts, we’ve got that empty spot – whether caused by seasonal affective disorder, weltschmerz, ennui or the cascade of commercials – a pain near the heart we hope, against experience and better judgement, will somehow be filled and healed by a gift.
Bruce Springsteen once said the American dream is to constantly move closer to doing what you really want to do with your life. That big tee vees, cars and houses are merely the consolation prizes we accept for selling our dreams short. I’ve been thinking about that this holiday season.
Last summer Adrienne and the teenager wanted to have their fortunes told, so I went with them to the palm reader. When they’d finished, the seer turned to me and asked (with a practiced air), “What do you wish for?” The question brought tears to my eyes. “All my wishes have come true,” I said.
We don’t take time in the third week of July to sit back and think of where we were this week last year or years past, but we do at the end of December. It can be a heavy burden to bear, especially this year, for so many people. Perhaps that’s why we have always placed celebrations of hope in this corner of the calendar.
The things we find in stockings and under trees Saturday morning are just tokens, nothing more. I wish we could wrap real gifts in bright paper – a gift that would let folks know there will be a job and money make ends meet for the year to come, that loved ones serving far away will come home safe and whole. That things will be better in the new year than they were in the old.
My wish for you this Christmas is an end to anxiety and a gift of peace and hope.
© Mark Floegel, 2010