Perhaps some of you can still view the Christmas season as a benign collection of busy yet cheer-filled weeks. Good for you. I couldn’t be happier on your behalf.
I, however, have come to view December as Class IV whitewater rapids that must be negotiated with strength and skill.
I used to think the trick was to get into the Christmas spirit – you know, nurturing it, protecting it, as if it were a tiny, fragile flame. In years past, this has worked, but only up to a point. After trial and error, I came to understand the real Herculean task is staying in the Christmas spirit.
This means avoiding situations that are guaranteed to drain your goodwill faster than a lowlife siphoning gas from your car.
Example: The day after Thanksgiving, I was shopping in a large garden and gift store an hour before Santa was to arrive on a fire truck. I had passed by a bag of scented pine cones that seemed a fail-safe way to get me into the Christmas spirit. When I backtracked to grab some, I got lost in what was now a gridlock of shoppers all descending on the store at the same time.
The strollers, the shopping carts, the lines, the noise … I did a quick calculation: Christmas spirit gained by pine-cone potpourri minus Christmas spirit depleted by huge line at cash register equals: a negative number. I bolted for the door, silently giving myself the Christmas gift of bailing.
A few days later, my little flame of spirit intact, I popped into a mall department store after work to get two items. Both were in stock, a cashier was readily available and a sale was on. In short, all was calm, all was bright.
Then I committed a tactical blunder of almost fatal dimensions: I walked to Customer Service to get a free gift box. I’d forgotten this would take me past that Dreaded Black Hole of Christmas Cheer, the store’s portrait studio.
Before I grasped my mistake, I was smack-dab in the middle of them: stressed-out families getting their pictures taken for their upcoming Christmas cards. Heartwarming, say you? Oh please, say I.
The dad’s annoyed, having had to come directly from work. He’s plastered his hair down with water in a quick attempt at pre-photo grooming. Mom has efficiently crammed in a bit of shopping with the kids in tow before the family’s photo appointment. She has the illusion they’ll have a lovely family dinner out after the session, which at this stage is running late.
As for the kids, the poor things are now tired and hungry and uncomfortable in dress-up clothes with binding neckties, scratchy lace and static-cling tights. They react predictably, which is to say badly. At least one of them has been crying already. Mom is yelling at them to keep still so they won’t muss up their clothes. Dad tries to pretend it’s not his problem, and Mom lights into him for not helping her, etc., etc.
Run! Run! Run as fast as you can from these people, I told myself. I got my gift box and scurried past them, averting my eyes as best I could.
I hope their photo shoot went well. I hope the kid stopped crying and they were all able to plaster smiles on their faces long enough to get that perfect shot. I hope the resulting photo makes that mom’s flame of Christmas spirit rise and grow.
As for me, though, I couldn’t look. My little flame is still burning bright – and I intend to keep it that way.
Kathleen O’Brien is a staff writer for The Star-Ledger of Newark, N.J. She can be contacted at [email protected].
Comments are no longer available on this story