I feel the need to say something today. I had planned the day writing for my book, but simon decided to stay home, in one of his righteous I'm-not-working-on-Jesus'-birthday moods, so any real writing is impossible. He'll be happy enough to collect the royalties when it becomes a New York Times best seller for 3500 weeks, but he just sees me at the computer wasting time and overheating Compy and it's impossible for me to work always waiting to be interrupted.
I always feel slightly out-of-step with the rest of the world on Christmas. I guess, if it comes to that, I really am just slightly out-of-step with the world on Christmas. (See, Simon, just came in and told me to put the chicken in the oven. That's what I was talking about in the previous paragraph.)
Now, I'm back. The dead bird's corpse is roasting, Simon is slightly put out with me and I want to finish this post.
I remember when Mani and I were first married. We always celebrated Christmas, not as a religious holiday, of course, but as a time for family and fun and general mayhem. Then, the first year after he started school - public school in Montreal - Sandy came home one December day and asked, 'Are we Christians?'
We both stopped dead in our tracks. 'You know we're Sikhs.'
'Yeah, then why do we celebrate the birth of their God?'
So Mani asked, 'Son, are you really confused?'
'No, it just doesn't make sense.' This from a six year old child!
He also had his own sensibilities about Christmas pageants at the school. When they sang Christmas carols ('kind of like kirtans, but not really'), he'd sing the parts he didn't disagree with and leave out the rest. It was great fun watching him on the stage singing, and then suddenly his mouth stops for a bit, then starts again. Since he had a great, rather loud singing voice, this annoyed his teacher, but her only alternative would have been to force him out and she couldn't do that. He learned to stand up for himself young.
That's why we stopped celebrating Christmas. I guess over the years, I've loosened up a bit, maybe a bit too much; it is, after all, THE big celebration of the year, and hardly anyone is concerned with its religious significance any more except the Jews and the ACLU and Pat Robertson and his ilk. It's a day when most people are home with their families, which is a vast improvement over the normal day spent away from home accumulating cash to buy stuff. Of course, most people spend a lot of money and even go into debt to give stuff to other people, expecting, of course, that they'll get stuff back. And now, it's not considered bad taste to regift the stuff that others give you that you don't want. You regift to someone else and then they gift or regift you with stuff. STUFF AND STUFF!! IT'S WORLD-WIDE ALLIGATOR HUNT, AND NO ONE IS CONCERNED WITH DRAINING THE SWAMP. (HINT: IF THE SWAMP IS DRAINED, THE ALLIGATORS WILL GO AWAY ON THEIR OWN.) I didn't mean to leave the caps lock on, but I don't feel like retyping that.
Compy just buzzed me. Someone wants to chat. I have the busy symbol on, but no one respects that. But I need to write, so I'll continue. That about alligators was the last thing Mani said before the battle. We could hear them outside. 'Well, everyone, I'd say we're up to our asses in alligators. I guess the only way to drain the swamp right now is to get us a few alligators.' He was a real leader.
At that, the mob burst in. I wish we had had a few crocodiles to battle the alligators! (Who understands that statement?) Of course, Suni believes we did.
But it's Christmas!! Be Happy! Don't Worry! Jamaica song. How does something like that become so much a part of you that it's always there? Not always right on the surface, but not far beneath. I asked Leo, an Auschwitz survivor, that one time. (Yes, Virginia, there really was/is an Auschwitz.) He said, 'If you're any sort of a human being at all, how could it not?' OK.
Zen for the day: There is nothing left for you at this moment but to have a good laugh.
I never realised how much Dad looked like Santa Claus.
I just got told that these pictures are a bit heavy-handed. OK, consider. It's Christmas, my husband is home in a foul mood, the bird won't stop squawking 'Twelve o'clock,' there's another high wind warning, and on Judge Judy, some guy is suing about some dead pet turtles. It's a day for being heavy-handed.
