Confusion Falls

Poor old Aunt Pillowhead. She gets all funky around Christmastime.

Why?
Well, first of all, Perfect Man is Jewish and she's agnostic. That makes the act of buying and decorating a Christmas tree seem almost as odd as the singing of Christmas carols. Instead of "Angels We Have Heard On High," and "Little Town Of Bethlehem," I've been walking around singing "What's It All About, Alfie?" and "Things I Don't Understand." When you research the symbols and traditions of Christmas, you find it was originally a pagan holiday that the Christians co-opted to get people in line with their beliefs, which further complicates the chowder that is my thinking these days.

Secondly, since my kids only come to visit us every other Christmas, alternating with their dad, and Perfect Man's kids always celebrate Christmas with their mom and Hannukah with us, we don't even celebrate the holiday on the off years. But I still want to get gifts for the people I love and still like the idea of recognizing a season of love and peace and joy--I don't want to be a Scrooge--so I'm still half-plugged in. I'm not sure what the answer to all of this is but I don't think it's Festivus.

Lastly, it's just a nostalgic time. This time of year, it's impossible to not reflect on Christmasses past, my adult children who were once little fat bundles of unabridged and unchecked Christmas Everything: Wonder, Greed, Delight & Magic, who once decorated the tree, sang songs, watched the sky on Christmas Eve looking for Rudoph's nose, and woke me up at 5:00 on Christmas day, wearing footed pajamas and expressions of hysterical anticipation. Or even further back, when I was the child waking up at 5:00, and the feeling I had when looking at the blinking, candy cane-laden tree in the predawn light, the piles of presents that promised a new, perfect life, the guaranteed hours of happiness and goodwill that lay ahead. And that sharp, sweet smell of fresh pine needles. I love that smell.

But should I complain?* Of course not. I am married to a man I adore, who adores me back. My children are grown and healthy and happy. Instead of the tree and the presents and the carols, on Christmas morning we will be skiing in fresh beautiful snow at a gorgeous ski resort with all the other Jews, Buddhists, and agnostics who ski, where we will have spent the three previous days and nights. I am lucky. I am blessed, and I know this.

But I am still confused, and still nostalgic, and, if not exactly sad, still a little wistful. So, Season's Greetings from your befuddled, muddled old friend. And Happy New Year, too.

______

*One easy way to talk Jewish is to take a statement and put it into question form.

Examples:

1. "That is not a nice thing to do." becomes "Is that a nice thing to do?"
2. "He is not such a bright person." becomes "Is he such a bright person?"
3. "This holiday does not make sense to me" becomes "This is a holiday that is supposed to make sense to me?"