Christmas is over. Well, not completely over. The day is over but the feeling lingers... For me, Christmas happens more fully once the day itself has passed. Once the pressure has lifted and the work is done. Then comes the real holiday -- a time to reflect and relax and enjoy the fruits of all the planning and hard work. If only we could do more of that ahead of the holiday so that the anticipation could be more joyful and holy and sweet. I have been working on that for a while now, and try to remember each year to savor the pre-Christmas as much as the post.
When the kids were little, I struggled so with this holiday which consists largely of mercantile madness. I felt so underneath all the lists and the self-imposed intensity and the need to buy for everyone the perfect gift.
The bitter irony is that we women have taken a beautiful time of year and turned it into a frenzy. We women created this insanity. I mean, really, do you see men freaking out about lists and home-made jam and what to buy nieces and nephews they never see and whose names they don't even remember? I confess that in years past, I secretly strove for a picture perfect Edwardian Christmas with the smell of delicious foods and mulled cider wafting through the house, my children dressed in lovely clothes, stringing garlands of popcorn and cranberries for the tree (we actually did that one year), delivering hand-made gifts to neighbors and friends (yes - we've made homemade marmalade and cookies), our gingerbread house made from scratch sitting proudly on the dining table (done it -- more than once). But, unlike the Edwardian days, we don't have servants to help, we work part- or full-time jobs and we are blinking exhausted from just the normal wear and tear of our lives. However, most women I know push Christmas and push it hard and we drive our men and everyone else crazy with it all.
What if we didn't do it? What if we just let it happen and unfold on its own?
Showing posts with label Holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holidays. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Thanksgiving Sunrise and Rutabagas
Thanksgiving has come and gone. Again. Our second since moving out of the house and on board our sailboat.
One of the challenges of moving onto the boat was how to do the holidays. Our oven doesn't hold the usual 20 lb turkey and I'm not ready to "just get a small turkey breast" as my mother suggested. Someday, yes, someday. But not yet. Last year we borrowed a friend's beach cabin on Anderson Island and went there with my sister and her new Brazilian husband. Sarah was in France so it was Dan, Julia and I. It was nice, yes, but it felt really odd to me. Not my house, not my stuff, nothing familiar, nothing that felt ritualistic. My sister was happy because she was back in the states after nearly 3 years in Brazil. And she had spent quite a bit of time at this cabin in years past and had many memories of happy gatherings. So for her it was a homecoming of sorts - but for me it was baffling. I missed Sarah and kept tripping over myself trying not to run the show, as I am wont to do, or complain, as I am also known to do on occasion... C'mon, Irene - positive attitude! It's not the place, it's not even the food, it's the gathering, the people, the attitude of gratitude.
Our tradition for over 20 years was that Dan would wake early, make the stuffing, stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. At some point, one or both girls would wake and make their way down to the kitchen to keep him company and comfort the poor turkey who Dan would make dance and talk back to them as they assured him that it was okay that we were eating him today. They called it "turkey psychology" and they did it every Thanksgiving. At least that's what they told me because I wasn't there. Thanksgiving morning was my turn to sleep late - a well-earned sleep - my reward for nights on end cooking cranberry sauce, rutabaga, pies, extra stuffing... after shopping and cleaning and inviting and planning. I would wake up to the smell of turkey just starting to brown, smile, roll over, and go back to sleep until it was seared to perfection.
One of the challenges of moving onto the boat was how to do the holidays. Our oven doesn't hold the usual 20 lb turkey and I'm not ready to "just get a small turkey breast" as my mother suggested. Someday, yes, someday. But not yet. Last year we borrowed a friend's beach cabin on Anderson Island and went there with my sister and her new Brazilian husband. Sarah was in France so it was Dan, Julia and I. It was nice, yes, but it felt really odd to me. Not my house, not my stuff, nothing familiar, nothing that felt ritualistic. My sister was happy because she was back in the states after nearly 3 years in Brazil. And she had spent quite a bit of time at this cabin in years past and had many memories of happy gatherings. So for her it was a homecoming of sorts - but for me it was baffling. I missed Sarah and kept tripping over myself trying not to run the show, as I am wont to do, or complain, as I am also known to do on occasion... C'mon, Irene - positive attitude! It's not the place, it's not even the food, it's the gathering, the people, the attitude of gratitude.
Our tradition for over 20 years was that Dan would wake early, make the stuffing, stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. At some point, one or both girls would wake and make their way down to the kitchen to keep him company and comfort the poor turkey who Dan would make dance and talk back to them as they assured him that it was okay that we were eating him today. They called it "turkey psychology" and they did it every Thanksgiving. At least that's what they told me because I wasn't there. Thanksgiving morning was my turn to sleep late - a well-earned sleep - my reward for nights on end cooking cranberry sauce, rutabaga, pies, extra stuffing... after shopping and cleaning and inviting and planning. I would wake up to the smell of turkey just starting to brown, smile, roll over, and go back to sleep until it was seared to perfection.
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