Holiday Spirit

Dracula lived in the shower in the bathroom at the top of my stairs when I was a very little girl.  Of course he only lived there when it was dark.  His presence made it quite difficult for me to venture to the top floor by myself at night.  It also made it hard for me to get to sleep.  My bedroom was directly next to the bathroom where Dracula resided, and because of him, I would have nightmares about witches.   I would frequently, therefore, drift off to dreamland in the safety of the downstairs living room, where my parents were watching TV.  They would carry me, unknowing, up to my room and tuck me in.  

Occasionally I fell asleep before having changed into a nightgown.  I would then wake up the next morning devastated.  It was like the whole night had been a waste.  I had missed out on the optimal sleep experience.  I was cheated out of blissful rest.  I needed my jammies on.  But it was too late.  I would brood about my sad situation all day long.  Things were never right again until I had slept through the next night properly clad.

There have been years when the holidays have not seemed holiday-ish enough for me.  I fear I am facing such a season.  Thanksgiving is three days away, and it does not feel or smell or sound or taste like Thanksgiving to me yet.  Sure, I'm eating Dryer's pumpkin ice cream every night and there is serious frost each morning, but I do not anticipate one of my favorite holidays coming right around the bend.

Not only does it not feel like Thanksgiving, but this being about as late as Thanksgiving gets, it does not feel like we're only a month out from Christmas.  My closet is filled with wrapped presents, I've been playing Bing Crosby and Johnny Mathis and John Denver and the Muppets on my iPod, and I've already strewn some twinkle lights on my mantle.  But no visions of sugar plums are dancing in my head.

In years past, when faced with this situation, I will begin to panic.  For in my mind, just as one should spend the night in her nightgown, one should spend the holidays in the proper spirit, or the whole thing is a waste.  The major difference being that it will take another 11 months for a shot at doing it right, rather than 16 hours.  Panicking rarely gets me in the mood.

So what to do?  I'm just not sure.  I am guessing that Wednesday will help slightly.  On Wednesday I'll make cranberry orange relish, and orange rolls, a French silk pie and a pumpkin cheesecake.  On Wednesday I'll pull down the harvest ornamentation and replace it with this year's scant Christmas decor. On Wednesday the kids and I will make a construction paper Christmas countdown chain.

But then what?  How do I avoid missing out on Christmas because I'm feeling like the daughter that Scrooge and the Grinch never had?  I'm sure I could count my blessings and lose myself in service to others.  That's the advice I'd give to someone else in my place.  But my heart's not quite buying it.

When I was little and was made to go to sleep in my bed, I'd try to stave off witchy nightmares with thoughts of birthday parties, specifically my birthday parties.  It seemed to work as well as anything.  I don't see it being quite as effective in this particular instance.  But maybe I should give it a shot.

So if you see me this holiday, please wish me a Happy Birthday instead of a Merry Christmas.  And please refrain from commenting about my pink gingerbread men pj's which I may very well have on for good measure.

Turkey Eating

I grew up with Thnksgivings at home with my mom, my brother, often two missionaries, and sometimes a person or two with no other place to go. It was small, but meaningful, and certainly very yummy. My mom made little traditions to make us stop and think about the meanng of the day. Two days after Thanksgiving, we'd feast again with my Dad and my stepmom. This generally included salmon loaf, apple pie, and Grandma's banana-pineapple Jell-o salad. At least one year, Amy made a delicious pumpkin ice cream pie, that I think was a recipe from her mom.

As great as that all may sound, I used to long to be part of a bigger crowd. My dad's family all met together every year in San Diego, and I thought that must be the way to have a holiday. Four, six, seven people--that was not quite in the category of "celebration" to me.

The first time that I experienced one of these San Diego affairs was when I was a sophomore in college. I came down from Utah with a cousin and her family and stayed with my uncle. That was a fun trip, but the fun had more to do with the time I spent with two female cousins and just being away from school. The actual dinner was interesting. These events more closly resemble a ward pot luck than a Thanksgiving dinner. It's in a chapel--boys are shooting hoops in the cultural hall, girls are watching them from the stage and little kids are running amok. Parents and grandparents are in the kitchen warming up and putting the finishing touches on what has been prepared at home. A buffet table set up in the hall leads to giant round tables in what I am guessing is the Relief Society room, decorated in theme. The food is much better than your regular pot luck, I will grant, but for me the dinner is just overwhelming and uncomfortable.

My first Thanksgiving after getting married, we already had one kid and had moved about two miles from my in-laws. That first one was rough. Men watched football, and women did food and clean-up. I had a six-week old baby, and was pretty miserable. Those family events got a little bettter, then a little worse. As more people joined the family by marriage or birth, my mother-in-law felt the need for more organization. There was a time when there were games and crafts for the kids and crafts for the women all scheduled and set up like some mass homemaking meeting/activity day. She's never organized anything for the men--they always have football. This has let up a bit, but there is usually some craft involved still--I hear this year we're doing little glass snowmen. But the only way to avoid going to Larry's family dinner is to decide to go to the San Diego one instead. We've done it a few years, but honestly, now that I have recipes for both Uncle Tim's mashed potatoes and Grandma's orange rolls, I have little need for that kind of Thanksgiving.

My dream is to do the big day up here. Just us, maybe some friends. I could make MY stuffing and MY yams and MY pumpkin pie--maybe even the ice cream pie. The mountain scenery would remind me that I am thankful for where I live, and sitting at a table with my kids would reinforce how grateful I am for my family. My house would smell good, my kitchen would be warm. My slippers would be just down the hall and my sofa would be waiting only for me to finish my turkey. It would indeed be small--six, eight, maybe twelve people. And that would now be my definitave celebration.