Christmas wrapping, up

Why our Christmas was just plain wonderful, thank you very much. Fun, calm, easy, satisfying, and Christmasy too. But sadly, nearly impossible to recreate. A fluke, like a bunch of randomly chosen leftovers thrown in a pot that--defying reason--combine into the most delicious meal you've ever had; the Chili Chicken Marsala Tom Ka Gai Potato Pancake Souffle of holidays.

The recipe is as follows:

Have a transit strike hit the group of islands on which you live the Tuesday before Christmas, making travel impossible between the island you call home and the island where everyone works and does all their holiday shopping--which you had yet to do.

Have your days become unbearably grueling, long, and exhausting.

Realize Thursday, strike still going, that unless you buy gifts for your family and mail them TODAY, they won't arrive by Christmas. Start scouring the local shops on your home island that are within walking distance. Discover that they are all nail salons, newsstands, 99 cent stores, and near the water, where you can SEE the island you need to be on, fancy pants artisan boutiques that sell unique and/or remarkably hip goods you can't afford--which is of no consequence because no one in your or your partner's family (or your partner for that matter) have any desire or use for vintage 1980's clothes, coffee table books about architecture or vaginas (or the architecture of vaginas), or the new Silver Jews CD.

Go home empty handed. Drink. Weep. Panic. Repeat.

Wake up the next day, the Friday before Christmas, find that that strike is over. Throw on your clothes and dash over to the island with all the stuff on it, desperate to find the two small things you had in mind for your partner at least. Encounter SIX MILLION PEOPLE with the exact same agenda. Choke in impassable sidewalks, witness lines snaking out the door and into the street in front of each store you enter, stores that, you discover, do not carry the two simple, stupid, easy to find things you were certain would be a cinch. Walk past a clock that says it's four PM. And you haven't bought a single gift. For anyone. And tomorrow is Christmas Eve, the day you have guests coming over for an afternoon supper, and you have yet to clean the apartment or do the dishes or buy a single item on the menu.

So you--and here's the REALLY IMPORTANT INGREDIENT--give up. Dramatically. In Union Square. You give up, throw your hands in the air like you just don't care, admit to yourself and the world that it is physically impossible to pull Christmas together in a single night, to find an appropriate gift for your man and thirty other gifts for thirty other people. Even if you could it'd be stupid to pay twenty bucks a pop to overnight panic-inspired tokens just to say you sent something. There is nothing left to do, game over. Get on a train, and go home.

And POOF! You notice a weight is lifted. You notice your mood is dramatically improved. You find peace in surrender, terror evaporates, you are suddenly unafraid of that which lies ahead.

You, with all this newly acquired time on your hands, spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up a few home made gifts you had begun in a frantic can't-shop rush and cast aside days before. You find this activity pleasant and fulfilling. You go to the grocery store, unencumbered by stress of any kind, to pick up the things for your supper the next day; delighted by the prospect of spending time with those you love. You notice the people rushing, the mad dash for the last minute whatever, and you feel sad for them--poor people! Panic and guilt sucking every bit of life from their faces. You hold the door for them and smile; concern and kindness on the outside, a bit of smugness on the inside, because you have learned how to bypass such useless stress.

The next day you spend the morning doing a bit of cleaning, and a bit of leisurely trinket shopping (just for fun!) in your neighborhood, and spend a wonderful relaxing afternoon and evening with your friends. You eat food, drink wine, and talk, and it's very, very festive indeed.

And you wake up Christmas morning more excited than you had been in years, ready to tear into the packages under the tree that you know--due to the big No Real Gifts This Christmas surrender--consist of only whatever silly, useful, or shiny little things you picked up the day before from the local dollar store and pharmacy. Each item wrapped up with equal importance. Each item received with a level of excitement that an onlooker might mistake as a joke or sarcasm, "Salsa! I love salsa! A new night-light for the bathroom! Chocolate! A bar of soap! GUM! CHAPSTICK!!! A TIGGER TOOTHBRUSH!!!!!" and then (because you must) you sing, "The most wonderful thing about Tiggers, is Tiggers are wonderful things. Their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs. They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! But the most wonderful thing about Tiggers is, I'm the only one...IIIIIIIIIIIII'm the only one."

Then there is a movie in a big, uptown theater, and a walk in the pouring rain to see the tree in Rockefeller Center and the window displays on 5th avenue; and your mood is so very light you can't even work up a decent grimace for the tourists with their cameras and oversized umbrellas. You find, quite uncharacteristically and beyond anything resembling your usual mode of being, that you enjoy the fellowship of the crowd.

And home again, where there is a full dinner waiting (left over from yesterday), a pup, the tree, your totally amazing gifts from the drug store, a scary movie, and the night; which you spend doing exactly as you wish, for once.

Anyway, that's my recipe for the most delicious Christmas ever. Feel free to try it out for yourself, make substitutions where necessary, etc.

Posted by Antigeist at December 28, 2005 11:57 AM