It's ten days until Christmas and I have yet to really begin my shopping. Good grief. I love Christmas but every year it just seems to get more and more stressful. Why? I dunno. You'd think it'd be easier with each passing year. You get a routine down pat and it becomes a simple matter of executing that routine each year, right? Seeing as my life is anything but routine and hasn't been for many, many years, I guess this would explains things. Ah well. We can't all be the Cleavers, I guess.
It's just that I never know anymore what to get my friends and family. This equates to endless hours trudging around stores, trying to come-up with something that would actually please the intended recipient. Bottle of perfume? No. I'd get her something that smells great on me, then smells like cat pee when it's on her. Maybe a gift certificate? Nah. Too impersonal. I know! A really nice cardigan! What size is she again? Well, she's about my size, maybe a little bigger. But what colour? Hey! How about a spa certificate! Well, where in the hell is there a spa around here... and so it goes. I remember years ago somehow knowing exactly what to get for each family member or friend. I often wonder just when and how I lost that particular ability. Then, in one mad frenzied day of bustling Christmas shopping, I would get every last item on my mental list. If there were any exceptions, I always left myself one more day to find them elsewhere.
I think I made Christmas so exciting because every year it became a contest. A race against time to see if I could get it all done in one day. The rushing around was part of the Christmas thrill. It got your holiday adrenaline going. After years upon years of having my adrenal glands leached by real stress, rushing around just doesn't seem so thrilling anymore. I'm kind of liking sedate lately. Unfortunately, having never honed a low-stress Christmas routine whilst I was young, I never had the routine in place when I reached that stage in my life where panic isn't fun anymore. A stage where high-stress and adrenaline rushes result in bouts of crying and early beddy-byes.
But ...
I wouldn't trade Christmas for the world. Not yet anyway. Guess I'm not as jaded as I would like to think. I can't wait to get together with everyone (my boyfriend's sister and housemate are the most wonderful people you could ever hope to meet! - not to mention, some pretty damned fine cooks too!) I still get a rush when I plug the houselights in for the first time; when I first see the tree all trimmed in finery; when the flaming Christmas pud is walked into the dining room. I still cry as Alistair Sim's Scrooge begs his nephew's wife's forgiveness for "having no eyes to see with, nor ears to hear, all these years." I still giggle like a kid at Clarence the Angel and wait with baited breath to see A Charlie Brown Christmas and the Grinch. My heart still races, a little, when I wake-up Christmas morning and realize what day it is.
Sigh. I guess there's no hope for me. It seems Christmas and I are to continue this love-hate relationship. I'm certainly not going to give it up and I don't think my family and friends would let me anyway. Suffice it to say, I'll just keep trudging along through each Christmas, struggling to find a low-stress routine. Between bouts of crying and tiredness, I'll enjoy some nog and a cuddle by the tree with my guy. I'll enjoy Charlie Brown and Snoopy, Clarence and Ebeneezer and I will stuff myself like a suckling pig at Christmas dinner. Then, of course, I'll cry some more, when it's all done and I see the state of the kitchen. Ah well. What's a non-Cleaver 42 year old with no Christmas routine to do?
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