After the holy daze of holidays.

Here we are, four days and a few hours away from yet another new year.  Last year, I set three resolutions for myself, all three of which I kept.  The first was to reconnect with my family.  The second was to–attempt–to open up a bit and not be quite such a silent, festering, cloud of smoke all the time.  The third was to do a bit of theatre in 2008, as I hadn’t done the previous year.

I think one of my resolutions for next year may need to be to do whatever it takes to enjoy the holidays in 2009.  No?  You may be right.  Perhaps that wouldn’t work either.

I know that many claim this as their favorite time of year, but I am quite eager to have it all overwith.  You can call me a Scrooge, or a Grinch, or just about any other name that suggests a nasty hum-bugger short on Christmas spirit and you’d have a fair foot to stand on.  It is true, it is true, oh how did it come to be true? Never mind, it is:  The last few years I have hated the holidays! 

It is odd too, as the autumn to early winter season does rank as my favorite.  Cool days, brisk walks, roaring fires and smoke from the chimneys; sweaters, scarves, coffees, teas, and silhouettes of naked tree branches all twisted together. 

However, this last dose of december the twenty-fifth; spent waiting for busses, crunching my way through muddy, slushy snowdrifts up to my knees, attempting to mind-block the puddles in my shoes and somehow stay open-hearted enough to not purposefully bring other people down–has nearly completely drained whatever supply of “merry christmas magic” I may have had left over from childhood. 

It makes me a wee bit melancholy to not merely notice, but feel those enthusiastic bits of myself go and be replaced with something jagged and jaded.  Is this what it is to grow up?  All of a sudden I feel a bit like Peter Pan; craving only the play and the merriment; wanting another chance to be smiley and heartless like children are, and not see the smoke and mirrors behind the illusion.

It was also quite different in terms of my own individual traditions.  The first year I did not watch or read “A Christmas Carol”.  The first time (I believe) that I watched “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” in its entirety.  Not a terrible ordeal, nor a terrible difference.  I suppose they’re more or less the same.  One’s Dickens, one’s a cartoon, and both more or less deliver the same message, which I’m confident was intended for people just like myself.  ‘Lighten up and don’t be so difficult with people who sing and make noise’, say little Cindy loo-who and tiny Tim.     

This evening my Beloved one and I will go up to Washington and have a sort of belated Christmas get together with my Mum.  The last chance to attempt to tuck away a little holiday cheer, safely stowed for next year. 

Afterall, it never hurts to have good intentions.  (And on that note, good luck with your own resolutions–if you’re the sort to set them.)

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© Jeffrey Puukka, 2008