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 Those of you who are constant readers of my annual
thoughts on Christmas know just how much I dislike the holiday
season. But there is one thing about Christmas that I don’t find
quite as exasperating - it’s scheduled.
I know exactly what days the stores will be closed. I know what time
to be at my family’s home to open more gifts I will later struggle
to find room for. I know what days I will leave to travel out of
town and when I will (finally) be home again. I know which presents
I have asked for, and are likely to receive. I know just how much
food to eat, and how much will sit uneaten in my refrigerator (and
eventually end up in the trash- I’ve always been bad at leftovers).
But every year, as I mentally prepare myself and meticulously sort
through my schedule, something goes horribly wrong. There’s always a
surprise.
Ironically, it should not surprise anyone to learn I dislike
surprises. Dislike may not be the best word, but I cannot think of
any other words to attribute to the feeling that erupts in my chest
as someone inevitably reveals a surprise over Christmas packaging.
Throwing off my schedule like this only serves to heighten my
anxiety. At least give a guy some warning. Tell me at Thanksgiving
that you’ll have a surprise at Christmas; that should do it.
Surprises at Christmas can take a few different shapes, and each one
brings with it a special flavor of heartburn.
A change in menu
For some families, Christmas is a rehash of Thanksgiving when it
comes to food. I don’t see the point to such a strategy; didn’t we
just eat turkey and ham? Why are we doing this again so soon? Is
this a secret stash of leftovers I didn’t know about?
As the years have gone on, not every family has continued this
trend, thank goodness. Luckily for me, my family came to the same
realization and made Christmas food relatively simpler each year. We
have a rotation of sorts throughout the years between a number of
homemade soups and stews, and a variety of sandwiches and assorted
finger foods. While there may be a slight difference each year, at
least I can choose from a small list and usually be mostly correct.
But there are some people out there who decide they want to surprise
their families and friends at dinner time on Christmas or Christmas
Eve. I could see this being a good thing, if the surprise was
something akin to, “I’m tired of being in the kitchen, let’s just
get chicken or Chinese food.” That would be alright; then I don’t
have to fret over choices (at least not in the same way.) A holiday
menu is an entirely different problem.
No, sometimes the host or a guest decides to show up with a tray of
cheese cones or a Brussel sprout mold (these are actual holiday
recipes - the 70s were a strange time for food). I know what they’re
thinking. “I found an old recipe to try - I think I’ll make everyone
else live with my decisions this year.” No thanks - I’ll just eat
the summer sausage out of the holiday food assortment I get every
year. It reminds me of a better season, anyway.
Unexpected presents
When I was younger, I came up with a list every year and gave that
list to my family. This list was a list of things I wanted for
Christmas. I knew I wouldn’t get everything, but it gave me an idea
of what I might see. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would
also get a pile of pants and socks (something I actively seek out
now).
There is always a gift, somewhere, from some indirect source, that I
didn’t expect to get, solely because it didn’t register on my mind
as something to ask for. Getting a present I forgot about is
something special. That means someone was paying attention to those
random thoughts I spout out every day. That’s almost a gift on its
own.
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But sometimes I get something that is so far out of
the realm of imagination that even my anxiety at the situation
vanishes in a puff of confusion. Do I look like the kind of person
who needs an egg cuber? Do I pray in vain that someone, somewhere
has invented a way to turn my eggs into squares? Is it the greatest
mystery to the universe? This is also a real thing that exists. I’ve
never gotten one, but I could see it happening now that I’ve
mentioned it. Thanks ahead of time, Aunt Wilma. I’ll keep it next to
the electric orange peeler.
Meeting people
In my experience, I’ve met someone new almost every other year at
Christmas. It’s usually a new significant other of a cousin, or a
new cousin altogether. Sometimes, I meet more than one new person at
a time, which is truly a battle for the ages as the rational part of
my brain fights my anxiety.
For the most part, I still receive some piece of forewarning about
who will be at Christmas dinner. But sometimes, an unexpected guest
shows up, which only serves to turn me off from my dessert. Whenever
this happens, I try to find out who invited them, even if I can’t
call out the inviter out loud. I want to ask them - what have I done
to draw your ire this year? I saw Uncle Joe two years ago; isn’t
that enough for one decade?
Some years I won’t meet any new people, which only fills me with a
different sense of dread. I start to do the math in my head, and
that’s usually when someone says the two words that are already
trying to burst from my brain like Athena from Zeus.
“We’re pregnant!” Even just writing that gives me anxiety. Another
twig on the family tree? Already? The other ones have barely
bloomed. I can barely remember my own name, let alone another one.
Please, at least do me (and the newborn) a favor; give them a name
with an easy spelling.
At least there’s still time before I have to really try to find a
present that fits their needs. Maybe they’ll want to cube their
eggs. Maybe they’ll be happy to receive the strange little kitchen
device that takes a round(ish) thing and turns it into a square.
They’ll probably look at it with wide eyes and make some half-crazed
joyful sound, and then give me a loud “Thanks!” Maybe I’ll even get
a hug in return, and everyone will go “Aww!”
I guess that doesn’t sound so bad after all. After the anxiety of
the unexpected passes, the genuine joy of a good surprise does help
me sleep a little better after the holidays. After the never-ending
run of holidays from October through the end of the year, I think we
all should just hibernate for a while. And even for a curmudgeon,
there’s a good feeling that lingers when all is said and done, even
as I stare at the leftover cheese cones in the fridge.
But enough surprises for now. I have to start mentally preparing my
calendar for next year.
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