The spirit of Christmas or...

The filthy whore of Christmas.

I love Christmas, I love the whole Christmas season. You don’t come up with a crazy plan to do all new art for an online advent calendar without loving Christmas. You just don’t. But sometimes I find it hard to keep in the Christmas spirit.

I don’t have a car, some people call this poverty, some people call it being green, I call it an extreme sport, especially at Christmas. I have to plan in advance when I start bringing Christmas presents to my mom’s house. Because if I try to do it all at once… well… I won’t be able to carry everything. I can only bring what I can carry. Lucky for me I have broad shoulders and a strong back.

That’s what led me to be standing on the corner, carrying a heavy backpack (full of beer, sketchbooks and my laptop) and two heavy shopping bags full of colorfully wrapped presents. I was wearing my favorite sweatshirt, the one with long cuffs with the holes cut into them to hook onto your thumbs, a blue sherpa jacket, with my Red hat with white trim, with the furry pompom and red and white scarf. I must have looked like a vagabond santa gone rogue. The patron santa of the homeless and restless. The light had just turned and I had carefully stepped away from curb to let the cars pass.

The next three or four cars passed and the next car stopped. I glanced up at the light thinking, that it had been so short, only to see that the cars still had the green light. This car was asking me to cross against the green. She gestured for me to cross but I didn’t. There were about twelve cars behind her. She gestured again. I pointed to the light. As she drove by me she shouted angrily “I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE!!!” I couldn’t help shouting back “YOU HAD THE LIGHT!!!” And then she yelled “YOU FILTHY WHORE!!!” I was shocked.

Now I could have handled that better, she was trying to be nice but it’s not really nice as a pedestrian, to be forced to cross against the green light. It really isn’t. It can be dangerous, it’s not nice to the cars behind you, it puts the person crossing on the spot. There is a reason we have traffic lights. It was a nice day out, and I had been waiting patiently for the light to change. I’m sure I did look burdened by my heavy bags but I’ll tell you something about carrying a lot of stuff. It’s not easy to move it all quickly. It’s a lot of energy to get it all going and to hustle across the street. And I was enjoying my break from moving all of this stuff. Yes she was trying to be nice to me, but she wasn’t being nice to the folks behind her. I was just obeying the traffic laws. But I’m the filthy whore?

If I were to it over again I would have shouted Merry Christmas instead of you had the light. I would have kept to the spirit of the season. But I still wouldn’t have crossed the street. If I’m a filthy whore I think I should stand on street corners.

Peace and joy....

Presents under the tree...

Every year I set out to write something meaningful about Christmas, my favorite time of year. And with the exception of an observation about glorious failure last year… everything I write turns to sugar, sweet but ultimately unsatisfying.

Beth and I had a Christmas Party last weekend. It was small but fun. The guests seamed to enjoy themselves, and because it was small, each person was presented with a small but thought out gift. There were snowflake swizzle sticks for mom, and a special loose tea mug for Eva, Sarah got a jar of Sarah Beth jam, and Dana got a twirling ribbon (which we must have discussed 14 years ago). People were surprised by the little gifts and pleased.

Beth had her presents for the family and friends nestled sweetly under the tree. And there were several comments about the quantity of gifts. Were all of them real? Who could they possibly be for?

Beth and I marveled at this… there were a lot presents under the tree, and none were in fact fake. The presents, were for our cousins, and Aunt and Uncle, Mom, Will, me, our brother Brian… they were for Beth’s friends.

We, my sister and I give each other a fairly large amount of presents each year and we each give our mother multiple presents and our brother. We don’t usually exchange just one gift. So this must have baffled the guests at the party.

The thing about that is… when my dad died, my aunts, with only the best intentions really, had tried their best to look after and protect my mom that year. Sometimes that meant trying to protect her from us. They presumed they new what she needed. They did so only from kindness… but sometimes she needed us. Sometimes she needed the truth, and sometimes she needed to understand that we needed her too. When my dad died for at least six months, we lost both parents. My mother was not there anymore… which is understandable, she lost the love of her life. And it literally took an afternoon of screaming at her, to finally make her understand that she needed to come back. This was the type of thing her sisters would protect her from.

Resentment grew between my aunts, and my sister and I. Christmas was coming… Everyone was worried abut Christmas that year, it was the first Christmas without my father. Christmas was going to be hard. We asked for a list from my mother, a list of gifts she’d like for Christmas, determined to get her whatever she wanted that year. The list was made, a black velvet jacket, a pair of boots, a black skirt…

I don’t remember everything on the list, but my sister and I got everything on the list. We knew we had to take dad’s place this year. He was the one who bought her the most gifts. Now it was up to us. I had been putting my mother’s stocking together for years. Since I was 16 and my father passed that honor on to me. We were poor and in school and struggling but we were going to prove that we could take care of this. Even though my father had died, we were still a family, a complete family unit. We didn’t need the aunts to take care of my mother, we could do this.

We went into Christmas with something to prove, something to prove to my aunts, to my mom, and to ourselves. We were proving (as we had repeated so many times since my father’s death) that things were going to be okay.

It was a very merry Christmas that morning… my mother was overwhelmed by her gifts, by our efforts. There were many tears, of joy, and sorrow, and overwhelming sense of gratitude shared between all of us. Grateful that we had each other.

When we went to our aunt’s house, my mom’s sister had also fulfilled my mother’s wish list. They were again filled with the best intentions. It was a sweet gesture by the sisters who adore her. And with a very un-Christmas like glee my sister and I watched as each gift was opened. You see the gifts we had already given her were enough. Each present was opened sweetly and my mother would thank them and mention that we too had given her boots, or a velvet jacket, or a skirt… and whatnot. We were vindicated. We needed this.

We get along well with my aunts these days. Although, I’ve noticed of all of the cousins, we are the only ones who address them without their titles.

As for all of those Christmas presents under the tree that seem excessive… we take the role my father had, providing my mother with the majority of her Christmas presents for the last 11 years… I think we got used to playing Santa for her and for each other.

I used to believe in Santa, and stopped over time… only to believe again. Because of course we are all Santa Claus… if only we believe.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Taken away....

The other day I was in a used book store. One of those stores that specializes in old books, you know the type of store, they all have that smell… the smell of the past. It’s dust, and damp, age and secrets… the smell of tombs and treasure. These are dreams hidden away in labyrinth of shelves.

And on the counter, a book, an afterthought, waiting to be put away… was book that caught my eye. “Cape Cod Folk – A Novel” It was a book about a trial, set down the cape, written in the late 1800’s. It held no desire for me… this was not a book I’d read.

But for a moment it took me away. And I thought of my dad. I would have bought this for him for Christmas. I could see it all… the stocking with the book nestled snugly inside the title peeking out, with a pair of warm black gloves beside it.

Suddenly it was Christmas, at the old house, the house I grew up in. There was never such a house as this for Christmas. The house was built for Christmas. The fireplace with the window above the mantle. So you can watch the snow and the fire at the same time. There was an alcove to the side of the fireplace, where we’d put the tree. We used to cut our own trees and they were widely regarded as sparse, “Charlie Brown” Trees. They were big wide natural trees deep with hollows for hiding away ornaments, toys and candy.

And suddenly I was happy to be thinking about my dad, and Christmas. I felt so warm and happy, and lucky. Lucky to have such memories, lucky to have seen something that reminded me of my father… just lucky.

Waiting for that moment

Over the years I’ve learned a few things about myself, and although I do learn… there are lessons I feel doomed to repeat each year, especially around Christmas.

I know myself. I know my overly ambitious plans, I know how I work. I come up with ideas about hand crafting mountains of presents, and clever ways to wrap them, and run out of time every year. My plans are always big, pie in sky dreams, beautiful dreams. Generous in nature, ambitious in scale… these dreams warm me though the lengthening nights.

And every year somewhere along the way it happens. Maybe it’s the 20th, the 22nd, or even the 24th …. Somewhere along the way you can find me sitting on the floor at 3am the remnants of my broken dreams strewn about me. That’s when I say “No more.” What ever is done is done. Whatever isn’t won’t be. I can do no more.

What should be a sad moment, a moment of defeat really, a moment of failure sometimes on a spectacular scale… might be one of my favorite moments. It’s the moment I let go.

In that moment I realize somehow everything will be okay. I’ve done enough. This wasn’t my fault. I did my best and really, I did more than I thought I could. My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I can relax. It’s enough.

In the wee hours of the night, so peaceful… so lovely finally I’ll sleep a fitful sleep. The next morning I’ll still try to get more done. But it won’t be as urgent, as frantic. My plans will be more flexible, my schedule less daunting.

So right now, as look at my plate piled a mile high, I think to myself don’t worry, that moment will come. Reality will force itself into my plans but it will be pleasant. .. because it’s the season to be joyful.

Merry Christmas to you...

It's my favorite moment of the year. A moment so sweet, so simple so filled with potential. About to be interrupted. But the moment is even better when shared.

I love to wake up early Christmas morning, when all the word is asleep, turn on the lights of the tree and sit contemplating Christmas thoughts like peace on earth and good will towards man. I like to think about the people I know and love all snug in their beds, dreaming of sugarplums. I like to thing of people whose dreams my come true today when gifts of unbridled generosity may thrill them.

I like to think about Christmas morning and look at the piles of presents and wonder if any of my carefully wrapped presents will thrill my family. I think about my brother in California and hope he has merry Christmas. And I like to think about you too.

There is such sweet serenity at this moment.

Somewhere children are prowling in the dark, waiting for moment when Christmas begins. Somewhere weary parents rest, exhausted but happy with their haul of gifts. Somewhere someone sits thinking about Christmas watching the light of tree in the darkness.


One upon a time my sister and I both did this. We would sit and quietly contemplate how very lucky we were. Thinking to ourselves indeed it is a wonderful life. But sleep and good sense gradually pulled her away form this early morning ritual. And every year that same good sense tightens the covers around me on Christmas morning. But somehow I drag myself up and soon am basking in glorious tranquility of the morning while the rest of the world slumbers. But the world is my oyster right now, and it's easy for me to believe in the spirit of Christmas.

Wishing you all the best this Christmas.