 
|
||||
              
|
Wednesday, December 23, 1998 By Samantha Bennett
Before we get to the (mince)meat of the column, a public service announcement: Gentlemen: Why not shop early this year - maybe hit the stores today instead of tomorrow?
I'll even give you a little advice about what to get that special woman in your life, which I know you're dying for because you have no idea. (You have no idea because you don't pay attention to what she wishes for or notice what she likes, but I'm not going to scold you because I am filled with the peace of the holiday season and I don't want to ruin it.)
First, do no harm: Do not get her what you want. No matter how much you may want her to be, she is not exactly like you. She is different. She probably does not want a Beer-of-the-Month Club subscription, a global positioning system or a deluxe gas grill.
If you must get her something prosaic that you know she needs, like a zip drive or an electric fan or jumper cables, do us all a favor: Put a little something frivolous in the box. A diamond ring would be festive.
Now that I have that out of my system, I'm going to go sugary on you. 'Tis the . . . you know.
I like Christmastime. I like the idea that there is a time of the year infused with magic and sparkle (relax that's the only time I'm going to use that word in this column) and the possibility of miracles. I like cookies and carols and parties and those first soft, dazzling flakes floating gently from the sky. In six weeks I will curse the miserable ice and filthy crusted snow, but right now I am filled with the peace of the holiday season and I am not going to let the certainty of months of wretched weather ruin it.
Back before there was Christmas, people knew when the plants die and the trees go to bones and the darkness falls early, you need a brave little light and some togetherness to warm up. And feasting helps too. Once we get the solstice safely behind us, the days are getting longer, and the forces of heat and life are inexorably going to conquer the forces of cold and death. Even if it takes until June.
I'm a total softy about Christmas. I love to watch Alistair Sim's Scrooge cover his face with his hands and plead with the spirits until he wakes up "as giddy as a schoolboy" and frightens the maid. In fact, it's just not Christmas until he does.
It's not Christmas until the Grinch finds the strength of 10 Grinches, plus two. And until Charlie Brown's tree gets a little love.
When I was a little girl, we had giant real trees, seven or eight feet high. Dad chose the thickest one we could find; he didn't want to be able to see the trunk at all. Which was nice visually, but made it very hard to nestle ornaments among the branches. You'd end up with a zillion little inflamed pine-needle stings up your arms. First came the lights, tiny and colored and flashing; then the tinsel garlands; then the ornaments, in strict order of size, with big ones at the bottom and little icicle ones at the top. Then the cloud, which I wasn't allowed to touch because it was made of glass fibers. Then the angel. Then a good stiff eggnog for Dad.
After I went to college, my parents got an artificial tree. Dad swore off the whole decoration thing because it was a pain. So I decorated. He would sit there on what it was a pain in and say, "You're not going to leave that like that, are you? Oh for crying out loud, you can't put that there!" He was right. It was a pain.
But it's not Christmas without the baubles, so I do it every year. I have an apartment-sized artificial tree, and I put on Vince Guaraldi and maybe some George Winston while I dig out the decorations and assemble the most beautiful tree in the world. I take out the only two electric candles that work, run out for batteries, put batteries in them, turn them on and stick them in the window. I hang the bells on my door and the garland on my mantel, and it takes me 20 minutes because I'm using unbent paper clips and I can't remember how I did it last year.
Even if some of the tree lights don't light, even if I don't have any eggnog, even if I have to spend five hours on the turnpike Christmas Eve, and even if people can't resist boasting to me that they had all their shopping done before Memorial Day, I am not going to get grumpy because I am filled with the peace of the holiday season and I am not going to let anything ruin it.
Merry Christmas.
Samantha Bennett can be reached by e-mail at sbennett@post-gazette.com.
|
|||
