Some times I wish I celebrated Christmas. I don’t know if I always felt that way, or if I do just tonight. Though I get fed up with all the consumerism and often wonder how a perfectly Christian holiday turned into Santa Claus, decorated pine tress, and malls staying open 24 hours, I think of how nice it would be to be somewhere on Christmas Eve celebrating with a dysfunctional family that is not of my own.
Tonight I wish I was in old house with the fire place roaring, surrounded by new people-his family. I’d be with his mom, sisters or sisters-in-law in the kitchen drinking wine, hearing stories about his childhood-the embarrassing stuff you always want to reveal to the new person who shares the siblings bed to get back at them for doing the same thing to you. They’d be laughing and teasing me about what a pathetic baker I was. He’d come in and check on me, grabbing me from behind at the waist and I’d call him the nickname he had in 2nd grade and then kiss his check as an apology. I would observe everyone, taking mental note of their idiosyncrasies. We would share a bed under his parents roof and that would make me feel naughty, maybe I’d even pull out a red sexy nighty and Santa hat just for extra kicks. In the morning there would be a brunch of a feast and presents being pulled out from under the tree. His family would include me in their rituals and each have neatly wrapped generic gifts for me like bath and body sets or a basket of gourmet olive oils. They would be incredibly gracious and in return I’d feel utterly grateful.
Though tonight I’m lonely. I lost myself for a few hours in a chick-lit book making uneven comparisons to the heroine who in a weird way I always end up briefly missing when the book is over, no matter how annoying she is. Now I’m watching an independent film that I’m sorta bored by but don’t feel like turning off. I bought some pre-made nestle chocolate chip that I put in the oven mainly because I wanted the apartment to smell like freshly baked cookies. I over cooked them a bit so instead of golden brown, they are more the color of a grocery store paper bag. I wrote a long list of things I could do over the next few days. Things I put off like playing with my embroidery kit, cleaning under my dresser, scanning torn out recipes and decorating ideas from magazines, and having a beauty day (which for me includes shaving my legs, using a mud mask and giving myself a manicure and pedicure). I have that South Park song going through my head, “I’m just a Jew, a lonely Jew on Christmas.” At least I think that’s how it goes. Anyway, that’s where I’m at, where I’m often at, at a place where I think the greener side of the grass, or in this midwestern weather, the other side of the snow bank.