Fa La La La La

Whoops! I did it again.

Every year I vow to cut back on Christmas spending. I tell myself that I have no need for more decorations, that I ought to let go of some of what I have to Goodwill, that the garlanding I do throughout our home is a colossal waste of time and energy; and every year – including this one – I get swooped up by my own “deck the halls” spirit. I love the twinkling lights in the darkness. I love the bright red and green, the sparkling silver and gold. I love poinsettias, holly, and pine. I love candles and bells, gnomes and elves. I love snowmen, reindeer, angels, and the jolly red-velvet clad, white-bearded guy.

Why, though, have I found it necessary to collect and hoard Christmas chachka? It doesn’t make sense to haul nine bins of decorations plus a bin full of lights and two more full of tree ornaments out of my attic, festoon every room, keep things on display for a brief couple of weeks, then return everything to live in the rafters of my house for the rest of the year. And I do this alone, by the way. My family members simply stand back and marvel at my behavior. So, what happened to me in this lifetime that inspired such fanaticism?

My mom was a devout Protestant who believed in decorating her home for every occasion, especially Christmas and Easter. However, I do not identify as Christian and I don’t honor the myth of the Christ child’s birth while I’m tucking sprigs of evergreen in every nook and cranny. But, I do honor the child in us all. I believe in the enchantment, the wonder, the steadfast love that delivers toys to the innocent in one arduous night ride around the world. I believe in expressing appreciation through tangibles – gifts are my language of love –  particularly at this time of year when it’s dark and cold. Maybe, just maybe, a symbol of love will lift a heart, carry hope into the new year, and provide warmth in the barren months ahead.  

Maybe that’s why I expend all this creative energy in December. Or is there a deeper need, an inner child hunger that has yet to be sufficiently addressed? 

When I was little, four or five years of age, I spent long moments alone with the creche on my mother’s end table. I’d rest my chin on the arm of the couch and gaze into the plastic replica of the stable. There were tiny lights that made the cow and sheep glow. Mary and Joseph glowed too; and they and the animals had beatific smiles for behold a child was born! And there was the child swaddled in rough cloth and laid in a manger. Overhead was a bright shooting star and angels with long trumpets, and I felt the awe, the swell of hosannas to the highest, while I also felt the scratchy straw on tender, newborn skin and smelled the dung. In my wee mind, the only thing that made the plight of this poor, homeless child – this heavenly refugee – palatable was the adoration of the shepherds on bended knees and the gifts of the magi. I still feel that way, for all of us; so, I adorn my stable and tie shimmering ribbons around my simple gifts.

Wishing you and yours fanatical joy for all your days here in this weird and wonderful world.