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For years Christmas has simply meant aggravation. For one thing, ever since I moved to California it's snuck up on me, because the fall-to-winter weather change isn't there to remind me that THIS IS DECEMBER. (In fact, I think this is one reason I'm puzzled by suddenly being thirty-seven. My brain hasn't accepted that a full year has passed since I moved here in 1991.)
In addition, until recently Rob and I "had to" visit BOTH sets of parents every year, which meant six different flights -- two to get us to Boston to see mine, two to get us to Louisville to see his, and two to get us back here. (Let's not mention the time changes. His parents, in Louisville though they may be, are on approximately Hawaii time. The jetlag for this holiday frenzy was usually strong. And yes, EVERY YEAR I arrived in Louisville my luggage was missing. After three of these in a row I quit checking luggage at all.) Oh yeah: all these plane flights COST MONEY. So does the fact that all the gifts get shipped. So does (did, for years) the fact that as a consultant, I lost two weeks' pay every time I made this trip.
So it's been quite a long time since there was enough that was pleasant about the holidays to outweigh the aggravation. I've often grumbled that I wanted to avoid Christmas entirely. I probably would have if it weren't for the worry that my parents would be deeply hurt.
This year I got my wish. At least about the travel, I did. We're not going east at all. Because we leave for Japan on the first of January, we discussed the insanity with both sets of parents and are going to stay right here in Sunnyvale.
Now, of course, I realize everything I'm going to be missing. I don't have people to spend the holidays with; in my family, you spend them with parents until you are a parent yourself, which for me will be never, so the idea of just![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rfrench and me having Christmas day by ourselves is lonely and alien. I won't go out to the Christmas eve Chinese dinner with my family at the restaurant my parents love, and even though that place is so crowded they don't honor reservations we've made and it's so loud we can't actually converse, I'll miss that dinner anyway because it's such a tradition. I'll miss my father getting up on Christmas morning and making pancakes for the family. He does it every year. He'll do it this year. I won't be there.
So I'm looking at our tree with its tiny pile of gifts, thinking about the Christmas I'm about to spend, and I'm saying to myself "It's just not Christmas without..." I find I'm not even sure how to complete that sentence. Without a package wrapped in my father's goofy style, a patchwork of all the wrapping paper scraps too small to use in any other way? Without all the decorations and music my mother brings out? Without someone putting a bow on the dog? Without spending 24 hours stuck in Chicago O'Hare? What?
I need to find my own traditions. And if I'm not going to be a complete grump for the next several days, I better find some *fast*.
So far I have decided on three things. Forrfrench, I'll resurrect his family's tradition of hiding his gifts around the house. For me, I'll bake, not because my family does, much, but because it's good for me. For both of us (but mostly for me) I'll make pancakes. This afternoon I bought pancake fixins for the first time in my life. It's never been important enough to bother before, but it is now. I bought eggs and I bought butter. I came home and made brownies. Tomorrow I'm planning to make sugar cookies and frosting, and maybe I'll do some peanut butter or chocolate chip cookies too. Christmas morning I'll play Dad and make pancakes.
Yes, lots of this revolves around food. Food is easier to produce on short notice than a dog would be, or a Dad, or lost luggage. Of course, it's kind of awkward that after Christmas we'll have only six days left here. Maybe I'll tuck all the leftover goodies in the freezer for us to rediscover in late January.
No matter how I slice it this one will feel weird to me. My job is to make it as happy as I can... and learn what's important to me and what's not. Maybe next year I won't mind the travel hassle. (Or maybe I will.) At the very least I'll appreciate some things more. And perhaps, as time goes on, I'll solidify my *own* set of things without which it "just isn't Christmas".
In addition, until recently Rob and I "had to" visit BOTH sets of parents every year, which meant six different flights -- two to get us to Boston to see mine, two to get us to Louisville to see his, and two to get us back here. (Let's not mention the time changes. His parents, in Louisville though they may be, are on approximately Hawaii time. The jetlag for this holiday frenzy was usually strong. And yes, EVERY YEAR I arrived in Louisville my luggage was missing. After three of these in a row I quit checking luggage at all.) Oh yeah: all these plane flights COST MONEY. So does the fact that all the gifts get shipped. So does (did, for years) the fact that as a consultant, I lost two weeks' pay every time I made this trip.
So it's been quite a long time since there was enough that was pleasant about the holidays to outweigh the aggravation. I've often grumbled that I wanted to avoid Christmas entirely. I probably would have if it weren't for the worry that my parents would be deeply hurt.
This year I got my wish. At least about the travel, I did. We're not going east at all. Because we leave for Japan on the first of January, we discussed the insanity with both sets of parents and are going to stay right here in Sunnyvale.
Now, of course, I realize everything I'm going to be missing. I don't have people to spend the holidays with; in my family, you spend them with parents until you are a parent yourself, which for me will be never, so the idea of just
rfrench and me having Christmas day by ourselves is lonely and alien. I won't go out to the Christmas eve Chinese dinner with my family at the restaurant my parents love, and even though that place is so crowded they don't honor reservations we've made and it's so loud we can't actually converse, I'll miss that dinner anyway because it's such a tradition. I'll miss my father getting up on Christmas morning and making pancakes for the family. He does it every year. He'll do it this year. I won't be there.So I'm looking at our tree with its tiny pile of gifts, thinking about the Christmas I'm about to spend, and I'm saying to myself "It's just not Christmas without..." I find I'm not even sure how to complete that sentence. Without a package wrapped in my father's goofy style, a patchwork of all the wrapping paper scraps too small to use in any other way? Without all the decorations and music my mother brings out? Without someone putting a bow on the dog? Without spending 24 hours stuck in Chicago O'Hare? What?
I need to find my own traditions. And if I'm not going to be a complete grump for the next several days, I better find some *fast*.
So far I have decided on three things. For
rfrench, I'll resurrect his family's tradition of hiding his gifts around the house. For me, I'll bake, not because my family does, much, but because it's good for me. For both of us (but mostly for me) I'll make pancakes. This afternoon I bought pancake fixins for the first time in my life. It's never been important enough to bother before, but it is now. I bought eggs and I bought butter. I came home and made brownies. Tomorrow I'm planning to make sugar cookies and frosting, and maybe I'll do some peanut butter or chocolate chip cookies too. Christmas morning I'll play Dad and make pancakes.Yes, lots of this revolves around food. Food is easier to produce on short notice than a dog would be, or a Dad, or lost luggage. Of course, it's kind of awkward that after Christmas we'll have only six days left here. Maybe I'll tuck all the leftover goodies in the freezer for us to rediscover in late January.
No matter how I slice it this one will feel weird to me. My job is to make it as happy as I can... and learn what's important to me and what's not. Maybe next year I won't mind the travel hassle. (Or maybe I will.) At the very least I'll appreciate some things more. And perhaps, as time goes on, I'll solidify my *own* set of things without which it "just isn't Christmas".
