the rix mix

I don't do Christmas. I guess I quit trying over a decade ago. Except for a couple of memorable Christmases in the 90's, I don't think I've embraced the holiday as an adult. I'm not a humbug. I nod in its direction, hang up a string of lights by the window & in the blog, put a small decoration on the door, snail mail a few cards - mostly to people living alone, send some e cards, gladly echo Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays salutations. Christmas music is fine. But I leave Christmas to those with children & grandchildren, with their family traditions, large ritualized dinners. I feel sorry for those who have lost the most & so suffer really depressing contrasts with years past.

Mostly I borrowed other families' Christmases, always as a more-or-less fringe character: the protestant guy cohabiting with the daughter of devoutly Catholic parents (one is never fully "family" in that situation. My own dad, hardly liberal, was wise enough not to care.); the old friend with nothing to do; the boyfriend at the huge, extended family gathering who loved the stuffing, watched the football game, & didn't talk much (guest-friendly events because they're noisy, informal, a dozen kids running around, & there are always other newbies present) ; & the familiar but peculiar relative. This was alright, even enjoyable, although I was never fully comfortable in those roles when they were all I had.

Yes, there are a few people who would always like to see me at Christmas, several of those visits requiring three changes of clothing, two pairs of footwear, books, music, Ambien, & which have induced in me a deep sense of isolation in the midst of a crowd, & made me feel the loss of what I've never had, only occasionally sought, & am otherwise not inclined to miss. Which is probably how I put it to my former therapist, a non-observant Jew from Russia. She associated Soviet-era Christmas with drunkenness & an absurd evasion of religious significance.

Suggestions from the young folks that I chill, sneak outside with them, smoke a joint, & laugh at the desserts wouldn't do. It's a reasonable idea, but I would only have spoken cryptic lines from Neil Young songs & William Carlos Williams poems, & gotten puzzled "What did he just say?" looks. I get those looks anyway.

The years I worked in a retail store, Christmas Day itself was an anticlimax & a relief. Retail Christmas was busy & interesting, & I never got stomped by customers in an arts supply store book dept, but by closing time on the 24th I'd had quite enough. I taught piano through six or seven holiday seasons, which meant putting aside most other music around Halloween & spending the next two months coaching children in elementary arrangements of Christmas songs so they could entertain relatives & justify the cost of lessons. Once I had made a fun arrangement of "Winter Wonderland" for myself, there wasn't much else in the holiday repertoire I wanted to play.

I was obliged to turn down any opportunity to do a Christmas Eve radio show when WFMU was still understaffed & pleading for fill-ins. Other DJs got to play a Hawaiian slack key guitar version of "Silent Night."

Some years in the 70s & 80s were a nightmare of obligatory personal appearances & gifts with few positive emotional payoffs. I struggled not to hate Christmas. That's when a group of friends discovered we were in the same boat & began having small, informal gatherings late on Christmas Eve. Nobody had kids then. Most of the presents handed out were records, books, & handmade items. Those parties were a loose, happy tradition for a decade.

I recall very fondly the couple of years I had a girlfriend just as nuts as me, & we tuned into the same holiday spirit. We had a real tree, from Val's Lot by the K Mart. We decorated it with snazzy lights & traditional ornaments, topped by an angel, of course. Then we added on whatever we fancied; seashells, boardwalk souvenirs, Mardi Gras beads, doo dads from the vending machines at the supermarket, Halloween nic nacs, & my small collection of surreal musical themed ornaments of instruments playing themselves, a truly expressive tree that looked fairly ordinary from across the room but guests examined in detail. We weren't mocking Christmas; we discovered our own.

What matters most are childhood Christmases. I remember mine as a blur of color, anticipation, & excitement. The theatricality my parents brought to the season made Christmases in my early childhood their finest moments together as a married couple in a relationship that always had serious fault lines. In this much they agreed upon what to do, & they did it with teamwork & enthusiasm; an exquisite, intuitive mix of Nativity Creche & good old American paganism, & minimal religious observance. They understood it was all about their four kids, & I've described their timing as magical to the point of "shamanism" (although they wouldn't have comprehended my meaning). We all lose that childhood Christmas, & when there are children around, we want to recreate it for them.

Labels: growing up, holidays