The end of December, and it’s almost enough to make me almost
hate almost everybody. But I don’t hate anybody. I just can’t take having to do
something for one more person when there is a messy mound of papers on my desk.
I fear that something really important is at the bottom of the pile. I don’t
have time to look.
Christmas is in a few days, and I don’t feel holly-jolly. I like
giving gifts more than receiving them…but every year, I have to buy little
gifts for about 18 office staffers/co-workers. Then my friends and I have our
lovely (I really mean it) Christmas dinner party, which necessitates buying
about 15 gifts for the kids and December birthday friends. Then, I shop online
for all the in-laws in Minnesota. The pressure and deadlines are enough to make
you say “next year, I’m opting out.”
My 14-year-old son still gets excited about holidays (he loves
Christmas carols and sings them around the house 24/7). He and my hubby brought
in a big tree with supple green needles which smelled of fresh pine, exactly
like my childhood, like whooshing through a tube back to 1969. With added
lights, it was breathtaking.
My son asked why I’m so stressed out around the holidays; he
doesn’t yet know — he’s still only a receiver of presents. He fully
enjoys the season, as a kid should. There’s a bit of mystique for him behind
each advent calendar door. I can feel the wondrousness through him, who now
picks out what he wants on Amazon and sends me the link.
Did I mention that I’m a teacher who is finally off on winter
break for 3 weeks! Teachers are so overworked, it’s awful. We spend hours every
day after school on our own time getting the necessary things done. It takes
about a week to get the poison out of my system before I can even accept that
I’m on vacation. Sleeping late, having breakfast at noon, wearing pajamas all
day, helps.
I wish I were a little better at…riding the chaos of the season.
I start feeling the dread in November. For me, the holidays are about 85%
drudgery/labor and 15% joy. Am I normal to feel this way?
Here is my fantasy: I see myself and loved ones in a quiet
non-cluttered living room, with soft hushed carpet, a fireplace glowing, a
Christmas tree lit and sparkling, tinkling holiday music, the buttery scent of
(gluten-free) cinnamon buns baking…and silence. The clock is moving slowly,
barely moving at all. I’m actually relaxing on a holiday, with no lists of
things to do, besides eat the cinnamon buns. Total silence. Peace. No stacks of
papers to file away. No medications to refill. No piles of clothes to mend.
Just quiet. Shhhh. No! No forms to fill out… No summer fan-blades or
air-conditioner filters to clean. Just Peace…. Aahhh.
My parents always celebrated both Christmas and Hanukah when I
was a child. So now, besides decorating the tree, we light the Hanukah candles.
We are not much more religious than this. I have inherited my grandmother’s
unburnished menorah, with its humble history. When my son was about 5, I showed
him how to light the candles, as I read the prayer phonetically, in my own
version of the sing-song way it’s done.
Coincidentally, we live in an Orthodox Jewish neighborhood. Over
the years, the neighbors have come by, with challah bread, candles, tin
menorahs, pamphlets, hoping to make me more observant. But they haven’t had
much success. The pamphlets have become a bit much, even though the people mean
well. One young woman with 7 children, who lives around the corner, came around
asking if we would come to their Hanukah party. At that time, I was in a busy
frenzy, so it seemed to me an imposition. Our sons, about the same age, had
played together a couple times years ago when they were about 9 or 10.
When the day came, I surprised myself by getting dressed to go to
the party. My son had come with me last year, but this year had no interest,
and neither did my Unitarian hubby, so I went alone. I showed up at the time I
was invited for, not wanting to miss this exact time of lighting of the candles
at sundown. But I was the only guest and felt awkward, her younger kids all
staring at me solemnly. The woman and her husband are very friendly, but she
was busy in the kitchen making latkes. (My grand-aunt Shaindle used to make
them when I was a kid. Yum.)
I thought about how my friend’s life and my life were so
different. She, in her traditional clothes and wig, cooking and baking, and
raising one child after another. Her youngest was on the floor scooting around
and making noises, and sort of ignored by everyone (but me). But this baby is
loved, and will turn out okay, as my son, who was doted on as an only child,
came out okay in a different way.
Finally, my friend’s eldest son entered in his black suit and
wide-brimmed black hat. I barely recognized him because he, as well as my son,
had grown 6” in a year, and both have started to acquire more defined noses and
chiseled jaws. He had become a young man. And because they were waiting for all
the other guests to arrive later, he lit a menorah just for my sake, which was
very nice. They use olive oil in little cups instead of candles, in the
traditional way. He sang the prayers he knew by heart in a lively way. He was
taking over the duties that his father had done the previous year. And best of
all, he smiled at me, a big generous smile.
The late guests finally arrived, and I felt it was my cue to go.
I thanked the hosts, and as I was walking to the door, this son asked, can I
tell you something about Hanukah, for just a few minutes? And because this
young teen was so enthusiastic, of course I said yes. And I listened to him
talk about how the Hanukah lights lift you to a higher place and brighten your
world. I thanked him, and we exchanged big smiles again before I left. Walking
home in the dark, I thought, yes, we need to be reminded that there are higher
places to go, brighter places…and that it only takes a little light to drive
out a roomful of darkness.
