"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?"
---- Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel). How the Grinch Stole Christmas! New York: Random House, 1957
Contrary to the speculation of my extended family, I do not "hate" Christmas. Au contraire! I still revel in the sparkle of decorations, the crisp, evergreen scent of trees adorned with a history of family treasures, and--in the vicinity of little Cindy Lou Whos--the unmistakable crackle of electricity generated from the anticipation of what treasures Santa will bring this year. Yes, I still love Christmas. I even tour the neighborhood light displays while playing my Charlie Brown Christmas cd. But don't tell anybody.
But, like many adults, I have also wrestled with the pang of nostalgia and melancholy that can haunt the last days of December. As the month glides through its choral concerts and holiday craft fairs, it seems like hopefully moving toward a lush desert oasis that draws closer and yet remains always just beyond reach. The buildup is overwhelming! What Super Santa could possibly satisfy this cultural craving? God bless him.
I was in my early 30's before I finally surrendered to the reality that the traditional Christmas observance just didn't work for me. The frantic buying didn't suit my temperament or my budget. Not having kids, the Christmas morning ritual of present opening just seemed worn out and contrived. The presents are nice and thoughtful, but often didn't quite hit the mark. Besides, did we really need that L.L. Bean fleece vest or the latest teeny weeny digital camera?
So, as of 2003, I officially resigned from the ritual gift exchange. (Though my stepmom keeps sending a few presents--sigh. She says it makes her happy and I can't stop her. True.) Now new traditions and rituals have emerged, cobbled together with remnants of the old--midnight mass and carols at the Episcopal church--and unconventional--snorkeling in Key West on Christmas Day. Talk about sparkly gifts swimming around!
My favorite so far was with a group of similar-minded single friends in 2004. We decided to spend our Christmas in the North Georgia mountains, at the Len Foote Hike Inn, one of Georgia's best kept secrets. http://hike-inn.com/ Accessible only on foot (a pretty easy 5 mile hike) the rustic lodge is outfitted with double bunk rooms, hot showers, a chef on staff and comfy common areas with windows showcasing the beautiful forest. Well fed, we spent Christmas Eve doing puzzles, playing scrabble, and roasting in front of one of the wood stoves. Each person brought one gift for the group: cookies, a poem, a song, a candle, which we shared before heading off to bed. On Christmas morning, the innkeepers gently rang a gong for those who wanted to see the sunrise. Sleepy-eyed and clutching our coffee mugs, we shuffled over to join the other guests in a room with 180 degrees of windows. The golden red sun rose quietly over the Appalachians. That was it.
Merry Christmas!
It came, joyfully, without packages, boxes or bags. I think the Grinch really had it right after all.
---- Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel). How the Grinch Stole Christmas! New York: Random House, 1957
Contrary to the speculation of my extended family, I do not "hate" Christmas. Au contraire! I still revel in the sparkle of decorations, the crisp, evergreen scent of trees adorned with a history of family treasures, and--in the vicinity of little Cindy Lou Whos--the unmistakable crackle of electricity generated from the anticipation of what treasures Santa will bring this year. Yes, I still love Christmas. I even tour the neighborhood light displays while playing my Charlie Brown Christmas cd. But don't tell anybody.
But, like many adults, I have also wrestled with the pang of nostalgia and melancholy that can haunt the last days of December. As the month glides through its choral concerts and holiday craft fairs, it seems like hopefully moving toward a lush desert oasis that draws closer and yet remains always just beyond reach. The buildup is overwhelming! What Super Santa could possibly satisfy this cultural craving? God bless him.
I was in my early 30's before I finally surrendered to the reality that the traditional Christmas observance just didn't work for me. The frantic buying didn't suit my temperament or my budget. Not having kids, the Christmas morning ritual of present opening just seemed worn out and contrived. The presents are nice and thoughtful, but often didn't quite hit the mark. Besides, did we really need that L.L. Bean fleece vest or the latest teeny weeny digital camera?
So, as of 2003, I officially resigned from the ritual gift exchange. (Though my stepmom keeps sending a few presents--sigh. She says it makes her happy and I can't stop her. True.) Now new traditions and rituals have emerged, cobbled together with remnants of the old--midnight mass and carols at the Episcopal church--and unconventional--snorkeling in Key West on Christmas Day. Talk about sparkly gifts swimming around!
My favorite so far was with a group of similar-minded single friends in 2004. We decided to spend our Christmas in the North Georgia mountains, at the Len Foote Hike Inn, one of Georgia's best kept secrets. http://hike-inn.com/ Accessible only on foot (a pretty easy 5 mile hike) the rustic lodge is outfitted with double bunk rooms, hot showers, a chef on staff and comfy common areas with windows showcasing the beautiful forest. Well fed, we spent Christmas Eve doing puzzles, playing scrabble, and roasting in front of one of the wood stoves. Each person brought one gift for the group: cookies, a poem, a song, a candle, which we shared before heading off to bed. On Christmas morning, the innkeepers gently rang a gong for those who wanted to see the sunrise. Sleepy-eyed and clutching our coffee mugs, we shuffled over to join the other guests in a room with 180 degrees of windows. The golden red sun rose quietly over the Appalachians. That was it.
Merry Christmas!
It came, joyfully, without packages, boxes or bags. I think the Grinch really had it right after all.
1 comment:
So glad to know you are blogging too! I'll keep reading. love Danielle
Post a Comment