Ah yes: it’s that time of year again. I say that, but I don’t believe it. For some of us, it has been that time of year since about the middle of October. This period of time, which we can call by the nebulous term “holiday season” has delighted me since I was old enough to notice it. I was taught, in my youth, about the liturgical calendar of colors, but I can’t remember much of it. But I knew by the time I entered first grade that October is orange, November is brown and black, and December rides on a riot of color, with red and green narrowly coming ahead of gold, silver, blue, yellow, and everything advertisers could think of to add to the rainbow’s original selection.
This is the time of year when we moan and drag out the decorations, the traditions, the recipes, and, of course, the complaints. The complaints are essential to making a holiday, from “Already?” to “That was it?” What is Halloween without warnings about apples with razors and costumes which are sociohistorically inappropriate? What is Thanksgiving without stern medical admonitions about overeating? And Christmas, ah, Christmas!
I have written of this hereintofore. If you look back, you find that one of the mightiest traditions of Christmas is telling everyone else they’re doing it wrong. The complaints run from the specific to the profound. What would my family Christmas have been without the reproof that tinsel is designed to resemble icicles (some manufacturers actually CALL tinsel “Icicles.) and that it should be hung delicately a strand at a time. To those of us who found that throwing a ball of tinsel at the ceiling would allow it to drift down on the tree like snow, this complaint was simply a form of applause for our artistic vision.
There MUST be warnings about conspicuous consumption (Bob Cratchit, in 1843, was drawing criticism for spending a whole week’s salary on Christmas dinner), childrearing (that Nice and Naughty list Santa uses teaches children they need to be bribed to be good, or, as an alternative, teaches them that no matter how much they pinch their pets, they still get presents), and the ever present urging to remember the True Meaning (which for something so obvious varies from speaker to speaker: ever sit down with a notepad and watch Christmas TV specials for what each said was the True Meaning? It’s as illuminating as six strings of Christmas tree lights.)
I personally get sick of all the complaints online, in the newspaper, on television, but though I grumble, I have no more desire to put an end to the Christmas Complaint tradition than I have for getting rid of gingerbread for its calories. See, my own belief is that Christmas has been around for long enough to have gathered thousands of traditions which mix together in different amounts and combinations every year to produce a singular event each year which gradually becomes indistinguishable from Christmases Past and Christmases Yet To Come. And I am aware that the traditions of the holiday are also like Christmas tree lights: if one goes out, they ALL go out.
So whether you are spending Black Friday putting up lights, or standing in line at Target to get the last Taylor Swift Advent Calendar, or simply have a Spam sandwich and a shot of Diet Dr. Pepper while you grouse about those idiots who can’t keep their holidays to themselves until you’re good and ready, I wish you a merry transition from the gravy holiday to the peppermint bark one. I may disagree with your holiday, but I will defend to the last bit of sticky ribbon candy your right to do it your way.
Blogsy Babbles 