That "Christmas" Feeling

It started in late October; it always seems to be the retail outlets that spearhead the trend, but the radio stations aren’t too far behind. B and I had taken the elevator at Saks up to the 3rd floor. When the heavy wooden doors slid silently open we were staring directly into the face of a mannequin. Behind her were racks of Diane Von Furstenberg’s colorful patterned dresses. With a little squeal, I stepped off the elevator and lunged for one of her signature wrap dresses (sorry, I’m a girl, I love clothes). Then I turned to my right and there it was: a giant Christmas display in the middle of the floor.

“It’s October!” I shrieked at B, utterly indignant. “Oct-o-ber! This is no time for Christmas! It’s not even Halloween!”

B didn’t really care, as we were on a mission and both of us were exhausted. I put down the D.V.F. and followed B to the lingerie section where we perused the racks for a strapless bra for the dress she had to wear to a wedding. I couldn’t stop thinking about the Christmas display, though. I was so disturbed by the reindeer and green and red bows, balls, and whatnots. I did chuckle a bit to myself, though, that the display was relegated to the 3rd floor and there were no such decorations on the 1st (where they stock pile the shoes and bags…I like to call it “heaven”). This gave me hope that Saks maybe had an inkling that is was wrong.

Nearly a month passed, and soon I was preparing for Thanksgiving (taking off a couple of days at work, packing for the trip down to Grandma’s, collecting books for the plane ride, etc.). Thanksgiving, for me, is the gateway to Christmas. When I was little we would drive down to my Grandparent’s farm and cut down our Christmas tree from their “Christmas Tree Farm” up on the mountainside behind their house. We would traipse through mud and broken branches, making my dad stand next to various trees to judge whether they were tall enough. Then Dad and my uncles would set to work sawing at the chosen one’s base.

After Thanksgiving dinner we would sit around the kitchen table and start singing Christmas carols (by “we” I mean the women and children. Then men always seem to be occupied with sports). My aunt Beth and I are about the only ones who can carry a tune and so we were always told to start the song and sing louder than the rest. Once I got home from Thanksgiving my family would set up the tree in the living room and decorate on the weekend. Then I’d sneak in to stare at it, dance around it, play with the train track we had running beneath it (yes, it is a very “Leave it to Beaver” little life I’ve had).

But that was then. Now my mother has purchased an artificial tree, the train track had some “water damage” and stays up in the attic, it’s difficult to get the whole family (all four of us) in the same place on any given weekend, and my days of dancing have, well, changed a bit. So this year at Thanksgiving there were no Christmas carols to be sung. Some did still venture up the mountainside to get Grandma and Grandpa their tree, but as we now fly to Grandma’s (and have an artificial tree awaiting us in our basement), there is no tree for me to go search for.

Thanksgiving was early this year and when I returned to work there was still a week left in November. My coworker, C, is the only one with a radio. Normally she’ll have it on a classical station, classic rock if opera suddenly makes an appearance. Upon my return, however, it was Christmas music, all day, every day. I was ok with it at first, humming along to a few of the tunes I like best, but then Celine Dion came on, warbling her way through “Oh Holy Night” and the likes. My hair stood on end, my muscles tensed, I lost focus on my work (not really a big deal; anything with opposable thumbs could do my job). Another coworker of mine, Eva, not so subtly said, “This Christmas music! My God! I can’t stand it!” C didn’t take the hint and thus the droning music has continued. I nearly lost it when the dogs barking “Jingle Bells” was played. Whoever thought that was a good idea, or funny, is an idiot and ought to be locked in a room, tied to a chair, and forced to listen to that song for 72 hours straight, pumped in at rock concert decibels. Stupid, stupid song…

I have officially purchased a gift for one person on my list. I have yet to even figure out what to get my father. My mother’s gift will require a trip to a department store, which I’m dreading. B’s gift should be easy but I have to get off my ass and get it. Mo’s gift is pretty simple too, but I think I might actually have to go to (eek!) the mall to get it. People are already offering “last minute” deals on certain items. Last minute? It’s December 12th! Since when has the middle of December been last minute when it comes to Christmas? A couple of years ago I bought my mother’s and my [then] boyfriend’s gift on Christmas Eve. That’s last minute, baby (both gifts were extremely well received, by the by; I’m just queen of gift-giving).

Christmas used to be my favorite holiday. It meant time off from school, friends, family, movies, and gifts. Now Christmas is being shoved in my face earlier and earlier each year. All around me people and advertisers are screaming at me to get impersonal, but expensive, gifts for “that special someone” (I was at a store this past weekend, waiting in line at the register and noticed that they had a sign saying, “Forget that special someone? ____ gift card is the perfect gift! Available at the register and around the store!” If you’ve forgotten them, they’re probably not that special, or so I would reason).

Consumerism and commercialism has always been a point that is bemoaned by Americans around this time. What I’m saying is nothing new. But if there are so many of us who are so annoyed with it all, why do consumer outlets and marketing agencies keep pushing it on us? Why don’t we boycott? I assume it probably has something to do with being considered a “Scrooge,” but I’ve been called worse. Still, I will go to the (ugh) mall and department store. I will probably pick up at least one gift card (some people are impossible to buy for). I will participate in this holiday that has become more and more loathsome every year (and I’ll probably enjoy doing it). Happy Holidays!