More Holiday Musings

December 25, 2008

There are certain things that I will never understand. For instance, why my mother fully washes the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Why leaving the house in my family always induces acute panic as we grab our belongings and run out the door before the alarm goes off. Why my aunt gives my cousin Suzy a terry cloth “I love Grandma” baby bib when Suzy does not have a child, nor is she pregnant. Why the only thing that can peak my 87-year-old grandmother’s interest is a game of one-arm bandit on my uncle’s blackberry. And the topper, why a nearly naked picture of my adult brother was not only found but passed around the table last night, to everyone’s hysterical amusement and my personal trauma.

Around the kitchen table.

Christmas Eve. It was actually pretty tame this year. I walked into my aunt and uncle’s abode of marble and chandeliers and a shiny black baby grand, the porcelain angels and an orchestra of caroling animals, the 7-fish spread on stainless steel countertops, to a much softer buzz of conversation, uncomfortably quiet at first. But throw in some dirty jokes and borderline porno to just plain freakish images stored on my uncles’ blackberries and things start to liven up. In our defense, we did have the more traditional Santa visit (my brother played the part this year, with Danielle his elf assistant) enjoyed by the younger company, the exchange of gifts in my family’s first attempt at a grab bag, and my cousin Andrew’s lovely piano playing (unfortunately we did not sing carols this year, very much to my dismay). It turned out to be a night of laughs and comfort, twisted and inappropriate as some of the triggers may be.

My sister's lovely family.

Fellow weirdos Al and Danielle.

Aunt Nina, who made it all possible.

A few too many.

My number one guy.

Per usual, I was up with my parents and Al and Danielle until about 2:30 back at our house, opening our individual gifts and talking, my mom happy with her new “woke” (also known as a WOK), me snuggling under a new sheep blanket with my stuffed sheep, courtesy of Al who understands my bizarre fascination with wooly quadrupeds. This morning I revved myself up on coffee, talked incessantly to my mother about every incident and thought that has befell me over the past month as if we haven’t talked in years, watched her new Roomba zig zag along the floors of the house. Laughed at my father mumbling a few obscenities at the Roomba. Some more talking. Danielle with ribbons tied around her head, Al with no shirt and a snow hat, we’re all, even my parents, like kids, playing around, still in our pajamas. That part of the holidays has never seemed to change--the playfulness of Christmas morning. We’ll lounge around most of the day then head to my other aunt’s--same crowd new locale--for more food.

Midday appletinis.

Danielle and I, happy and relaxed.



A refreshing winter walk with mom at Verona park.

I’ve been pestering everyone to drop our plans and head into the city for a clichéd Rockerfeller Center Christmas. See the tree. Get hot dogs and hot chocolate. Walk in the slush around the Christmas windows, just like my parents used to take Al and I when we were young. Inhale the very same charcoal smell that got me hooked nearly 20 yeas ago, the burning pretzels mixing in with the crisp night air. Despite the crowds, and hellishness of midtown, by tonight I know I’ll be feeling like a fish out of water again, and will be craving the chaos, even that chaos, the activity and diversions, just so I can breath.

Thoughts on the way to the far-off land of Jersey

December 24, 2008

On the train to Verona, NJ , using my spectacular new acer mini-lap top courtesy of Colin, so I can “Write a great novel and buy that summer home we’ve always wanted." Right. First let me try to keep a steady blog; it’s been nearly a month. Not without ample excuse though. First, the infamous paper, which has finally been turned in as The Stage as a Moral Mirror: Examining the Split Identities of Actresses in the British Romantic Period. Second, work dissatisfaction. Third, oddness and blues from the impending departure of Colin over the holidays. All which have lead me to the fourth--excessive alcohol. Not that it's necessarily been all bad. On the contrary, it's been quite fun--my barfly nights that is--but nothing kills my creative drive more than a hangover.

I just did mostly all of my Christmas shopping in a matter of 2 hours. I’m now sitting in a state of dried sweat, exhaustion, sore feet and hunger. Oh, and guilt. It’s amazing how I can wipe out my entire checking account in a matter of two hours. I prided myself for not getting caught up in the Christmas hype thinking that somehow I was immune to it this year, but I merely delayed the inevitable, which ended with the dreaded “insufficient funds” notification while trying to abstract more money from the bank. It caused temporary panic. Who just broke into my checking account and started spending my money? Until I realized, yeah, I just broke into my checking and spent all of my money.

The train is running late, of course, and by the time I get to my aunt’s I’m sure it will be nearly 8 o’clock. Not so bad though, it’s usually a late night and my dad picked up my Nut Brown ale at the liquor store which I’ll most definitely drink on arrival to slip into a more festive mood. (He may call me a barfly, but is still willing to enable.) It’s raining and pretty warm, compared to our recent artic influx. You can’t see your breath though, that bothers me.

I got myself a discounted velvet plum dress today with a pink crushed velvet scarf. I thought I would dress up a bit, like I used to in the days when my cousin Suzy and I would be uncomfortable in our tights and our red-velvet dresses. I'll take myself back a bit to when Christmas Eve was the absolute best night of the year. The excitement from the carols that came on the radio on the way to my Grandma Sue’s apartment ,where our entire extended family would pack in, two tables in the kitchen and dining area, one long table down the center of the living room. The lasagna. Oh, the lasagna, the only food item sans the seafood. All of my brothers and sisters. All at the "kids'" table. No one was married yet. Suzy and I would play in the spare bedroom full of old clothing and knicknacks, hide in the clothesracks of the deep closet, wind up all the music boxes that sat dusty on the shelf. (There is an obsession with music boxes on my mom’s side of the family, as there is with stuffed animals that talk and sing. )

So, things are different now, obviously, but particularly this year. I was too stressed, too caught up in non-family things for the anticipation to buildup more than mildly. I wonder what will tonight bring. The caroling, that’s what I always look forward to.