December 25, 2001

Christmas Day, 2001

For all who want to see Christmas in Beckyland this year, those pictures follow. For those who want to know how things are for me this day, well, when you finish reading this, remember you had the choice of clicking that browser window shut.

If you're still with me, be prepared for at least one family secret to emerge, and to learn a new potty-mouth expression.

First off, I'm getting through Christmas this year by pretending it's just Tuesday. Any celebrating I did with friends was last week; most of them have left town. Christmas dinner, rather than anything traditionally associated with the term, will either be grilled cheese or peanut butter, depending on what I'm hungry for when the time comes.

And I used to leave, too. In fact, I would have this year had things gone according to what I had hoped would happen. Things didn't work out, so I'm here. At least I have my piano and my gadgets to keep me company. A long nap is planned. But I really miss my family.

I came late to participation in one tradition in my family, one that I intended to enhance rather than skip, of having Christmas breakfast with one set of cousins in Gaston County. They have a large home that's always filled on Christmas morning with people of all ages laughing and eating and having a wonderful time. But it was exactly the sort of thing my mother would have hated, because of the large number of people. Never mind that she knew most of them; it was just too much for one gathering for her. And unfortunately, Mother never did master the fine art of shutting the hell up and pasting a smile on her face when things were too much for her. She bitched, moaned, and complained to the point that all around her were miserable.

Mother's family (it's her side that hosts the breakfast) knew this facet of her personality all too well, so when they decided to start having the breakfasts after moving into that house, the cousins decided to leave her (and me, by extension) out of it. We were always invited for dinner later in the day, and breakfast was rarely mentioned.

The year she had the first stroke, and wouldn't have been able to come, anyway, they started inviting me. And I loved the gatherings. I had a marvelous time, got to see some of their neighbors I rarely got to see otherwise, and enjoyed the whole parade of humanity (along with the usual assortment of cats and dogs) coming through the house. I learned long ago to deal with the crowds by getting my coffee and an ashtray and seating myself out of harm's way. Inevitably, there were several other people doing likewise, and we all had a wonderful time. It always ended up with me and my closest cousins sitting around the kitchen table gabbing, after the dishes were done and the "company" parts of the crowd were gone. If you are welcome in that kitchen, you're either family or have been adopted into it.

In case you're doing the math, the couple of years after that first year, when Mother was invited and was well enough (before her second stroke), she chose to stay home. She said she thought that she might get knocked off-balance by one of the little kids playing and running. Let's just say that's her story, and it worked for all concerned. We were still invited to dinner.

I have only missed three of the breakfasts in the years since---this year and last, and several years ago when North Carolina had an ice storm on Christmas Eve and my departure from here was delayed for several days.

I'm missing this year for several reasons. Mainly, I really can't afford to make the trip this time. Although things are better for me, economically, than they were a few months ago, I still need to hang on to every cent that doesn't have to be spent.

And for those who wonder why I haven't mentioned the other side of my family, and my friends back home, well, the paternal side is all out of town this year, and my friends are all with their families, so I'm not missing any specific gatherings.

While there are probably a lot of volunteer things I could have gotten myself involved in, to keep from spending the day alone, I have been busy and didn't think to look into these things for this year. I can't quite see myself just showing up somewhere and announcing I'm there to volunteer.

So I am by myself this day. I am basically okay with that most of the time, but I have a huge, huge case of the Christmas blues. It's just bad. And I'm sorry for myself, because I've had this hellacious year wherein lots of things I was looking forward to or feeling good about wound up either not happening or coming with a huge price tag, and I would have loved to get some solace. My family is good in the solace department.

No, I didn't lose anyone on September 11. Yes, I should be grateful for being alive, and I am grateful for good friends and a good job---see the Advent Letter for that list of good things and good people. And I really do hope you have a Merry Christmas. But please don't ask me about my Christmas. Because on this day when I really don't want to be alone, I am. And I'm lonely, and depressed and don't feel well anyway (another allergy-induced earache), so my comment on the whole thing is not one you'd want to hear: fuckity damn.

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I didn't let the blues stop me from putting up some decorations. The pictures of them are here.