Last night as we were getting ready for bed, my husband thanked me for a lovely Christmas. Not that most of our Christmases haven't been great, but yesterday had a certain calmness about it - in spite of the fact that I'd slept miserably the night before. I didn't whine about being tired, but I did preempt any criticism that might come my way by warning my menfolk that I'd been awake since 4:00 am.
"Just for today, everything I do is awesome" I told them."I'm really tired, but I'll do my best."
And I did - and everything was great.
It's been a less frenzied holiday season than usual since I retired "Holiday Dreams Sharon". There's been no mad dash to meet self-imposed deadlines. The cards went out later than usual, and I shrugged it off. When I couldn't find the scotch tape to wrap gifts, I used a roll of painter's tape. On Christmas Eve when my rolls came out of the oven a little darker than they could've been, I let it go. I'm still breaking in the new oven, and forget sometimes that it runs hotter than my last. No big deal.
Instead of racing through my holiday checklist, I opted to pace myself. Every day I assessed my schedule to determine what I could realistically accomplish. If I had to miss a trip to the gym to finish up some task, it wasn't the end of the world. When I got off my treadmill I cooled down by watching my favorite home show and wrapping gifts. I made cookie dough earlier in the day and put batches in the oven while I was cooking supper. I made small changes in my habits, and bigger changes occurred in my attitude. Gradually I found myself doing more that I wanted to do, and less that I felt I had to do. I was more serene - and happier.
I took every chance I could find to admire Christmas lights and I went caroling. I decorated my house once - no fine tuning of the Christmas trees or moving stuff around. It was fine as it was.
On Christmas Day I didn't complain about being stuck in the kitchen, because I didn't consign myself to the role of scullery maid for a solid block of the day. We ate breakfast, then put in the turkey. We opened gifts. My mom and I played Rummikub and perused new books while my husband and sons watched television. The veggies got peeled, the salad got made. Treats got arranged on a platter for dessert. A chore was done here and there in the midst of our relaxing. I took it all in stride without stressing over the potatos getting a bit cool while we waited for the obstinate bird to cook. I reminded myself that there was no hard and fast time that supper had to be on the table.
I paced myself. I consulted no checklists, and everything was great largely because I didn't expect one single thing to be perfect.
A few weeks before Christmas, when the idea of "listing" was very much on my mind, I found a poem I'd started to write a few years back...
My List: By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, (January 2010)
I view my list of things to do
with much less than delight -
in fact it leaves me feeling blue
and makes my muscles tight.
Sometimes it seems that what gets done
is only what I must -
more complicated tasks I'll shun
until list gathers dust.
When my surroundings grow unkempt
and chaos rules the day
I'll once more make a brave attempt
to clear debris away.
Still other times, consumed by guilt
I'll formulate a plan -
then get to work and go full tilt
to finish all I can.
Yet even then it seems that list
is never quite complete.
I'm bound to note some item missed
and slump in self defeat.
...and that's where the poem fizzled out, with me being annoyed with myself for not doing everything I thought I needed to do. I had left more room on the page, expecting more inspiration to come to bring said poem to some satisfactory conclusion. But instead it stopped right there - an unfinished poem about list items that never get checked off. A sad and dreary little ode that, like "Holiday Dreams Sharon" needed to be given a happier twist.
I've come to realize that nobody has higher expectations of me than me. My husband and sons are usually pretty happy with my efforts. I don't get a lot of complaints about the quality of meals I serve or the state of the house. My time is pretty flexible - I get to choose what I do when. Nobody berates me when I don't accomplish everything I've put on my checklist for that day, or that week, or even that year - except me.
And nobody can change that behavior but me. So a few weeks ago, after I'd decided to re-brand my holiday persona, I found that poem and finished it like this:
But then I cut myself some slack -
that list is just a guide;
suggestions to keep me on track -
I'll take it all in stride.
And if today I need some fun
because I'm overtaxed,
tomorrow more things will get done
when I feel more relaxed.
As January nears, many of us will be setting goals for 2015. I'm sure I will make a few lists of my own, but I will keep in mind that these jottings are "just a guide" - some suggestions to myself about what I might want to work on. Nothing is written in stone, and the vast majority of "to-do" items on any list I write don't have to be completed by a set date. Probably most of your goals have some flexibility too, so cut yourself some slack. Strive for a realistic pace.
This will be the year I remember that everyone navigates the world differently, and that I too will need to adjust my gait on a daily basis. Some days I'll run, and others I'll rest.
Stride: By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Some trudge, some tramp, some toddle,
some tread at plodding pace -
and there are some who dawdle
while others always race.
Some stroll or strut or sidle -
some saunter and some stalk;
still others just stand idle,
preferring not to walk.
Some limp, shuffle or hobble -
their movement isn't swift;
and some from drink may wobble -
may teeter or may drift.
Some march like they're on parade,
goose-stepping to a beat;
others gad and promenade
and flutter on their feet.
Some adopt an easy gait,
some set off at a clip -
not content to sit and wait
'til someone cracks the whip.
Perambulations vary.
At times we leap and bound,
but there are days we tarry;
we loll and laze around.
As we step our way through life
we must adjust our speed -
circumnavigate the strife
and pause to beauty heed.
Jogging, dashing, making haste;
always in a hurry.
So much energy we waste
when like mice we scurry.
En route to a distant place
we'll falter, slip and slide -
and lament our lack of grace
until we hit our stride.
Life isn't a race, or a series of mazes we need to run ratlike through in order to win a prize. Our days are a series of events - some requiring a speed and others testing our endurance. Some days very little will be required of us except our presence. I vow I will aim to be more present in my life; to live each moment more mindfully and to pay more attention to "here and now", and to who is here, now. I'm not going to beat myself up for walking a leg or two of what seems like an epic marathon, for not making the best time or winning a big trophy. I'm not going to worry about who is faster or has better form.
I'm learning the importance of pacing myself, and this just might be the year I hit my stride.
Friday, 26 December 2014
Thursday, 11 December 2014
Alcoholic "Christmas Cheer"? - Not Here! by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Candy is Dandy, Thanks!
If liquor is quicker
it still makes you sicker
and candy won't judgment impair -
for those who go drinking
do not do much thinking
'til they're too hungover to care.
For me candy's dandy
and I keep some handy
to give sagging spirits a lift.
It might make me rounder
but my mind stays sounder
and rational thought is a gift.
I won't take up boozin' -
it's not of my choosin',
I like knowing what I did when.
And if I act crazy
but mind is not hazy
I'll likely NOT do so again.
You might think I'm hasty,
but sugar is tasty
while liquor offendeth the tongue -
and I like to know
when I'm ready to go
I'll leave with the person I brung!
While I don't mean to trash
our old friend Ogden Nash,
I'd rather a good sugar buzz.
Choc'late's serotonin
will not leave me groanin'
and I'll always know where I was.
Now I'm done explaining
my views on abstaining -
I clearly don't sit on the fence.
This poem is ending
without more amending -
my reasons? They're just common sense!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (June 2007)
I don't drink - never have and never will. Alcohol smells gross and makes people act stupid, which I manage well enough when I'm stone cold sober. It gives people headaches and makes them sick, and I hate feeling crummy. It is expensive and caloric, and I'm a weight-watching cheapskate.
That's all the explaining I should ever have to do on the subject. But in a society - and especially in a season - where so many can't grasp the simple fact that celebrating does not equal alcohol, and that "a little Christmas Cheer" doesn't have to mean a good stiff drink, I often find myself having to offer explanations for the stand I take.
Many oversimplify my choice. They assume that because I grew up in a home where drinking was "against our religion" that I simply chose blind obedience to a church edict. I won't deny that it was easier for me to refrain from drinking in my teens because my parents didn't drink, but really there was enough rebellion in my soul that if I'd ever been tempted to drink I probably would have. I simply never felt the slightest urge to take even a sip, and my own childhood observations had a whole lot to do with that lack of desire.
Our next door neighbour was an alcoholic - a sloppy, "fall-down-comatose-and-get-carried-home" kind of alcoholic. I have vivid memories of playing in the yard with my older brother and a bunch of other kids and seeing a taxi pull up. The driver got out and asked my brother to help him carry this man into his house. (This happened more than once.) I remember thinking that if too much alcohol could do that to a person, I could happily live without it. That same neighbour fell on the ice multiple times trying to stagger home from "The Rosie" (a bar around the corner from my house). A few times concerned passers-by spotted him collapsed on the sidewalk and dragged him home. Once, someone pounded on our door and asked my parents to assist with this chore. "Marvin" (I'll call him) suffered head injuries after one bad fall. He lost his driver's license, barely kept a job, and died alone in his house, surrounded by beer cans. A concerned co-worker found him after he hadn't shown up at work in several days. His life was a perfect example to me of how not to live, and I knew I'd never fall into that kind of lifestyle if I never took a drink.
As a child, when I attended social events with my parents where alcohol was being served, I saw people behaving crudely and saying stupid things. It wasn't behavior I wanted to emulate.
When I was a teenager, I couldn't walk past the pool hall or bars on Gore St. without some tipsy Lothario giving me a leer and a "Hey Bay-beee!" (I'd often choose to walk blocks out of my way rather than pass the places where those buffoons loitered out front.) Throughout high school, I saw kids get wasted and act like idiots. I heard them talking about their drunken antics over the weekend and the hangovers that followed. I saw kids barfing into toilets at school dances and witnessed drunken brawls that nobody could explain afterward. None of these things managed to convince me that I was missing a thing by not drinking.
The funny thing is, all through my youth I was warned about peer pressure, and how other kids would try to make me drink (or smoke or try drugs), and I never experienced it at all. My friends accepted my choice to not drink and always had pop on hand to offer me. My friends could handle having an abstainer in their midst. Nobody ever twisted my arm or even offered a second time once I told them I didn't drink.
Since I've been an adult that's changed. I've been chided and treated as an oddity. I've had people try to "talk me into seeing reason" on the subject - asking "How is having a drink or two going to make any difference?" I've wondered why these adults are so much less mature and tolerant than the kids I hung around in high school, who were quick to understand that my most basic reason for not drinking has always been this - I simply don't want to. I've had to dispose of alcohol that came in "Christmas bonus" packages from my husband's employers, in spite of the fact that he's never had a drink either. (And in the politically correct time that we live in, I've wondered at the lack of wisdom shown in "gifting" people with booze when they could have a preexisting medical condition that makes drinking unwise, or have a family member battling alcoholism within their home.)
I've had people ask for a drink in my home, or ask if they could "bring their own". Both requests offend me. Am I really such bad company that a social lubricant is required to ease our interaction? Or are you simply so socially inept and alcohol-dependent that you don't know how to have fun without it? Can't you manage to abstain for a few hours while visiting the home of an abstainer?
You may try to brush off your request for a drink as a joke, but I'm not laughing. Nobody in this house thinks your request is funny. You have no idea how alcoholism has shaped our lives as we've seen its effects on someone close to us.
Over the years I've done a bit of research on alcohol, and learned enough to be absolutely convinced that abstinence was the best choice for me. Did you know that children of alcoholics are four times more likely to become alcoholics themselves? (My husband and I both have alcoholics in our family trees, so we shared this statistic with our sons at an early age.)
Did you know that recent studies have shown that a single drink can render you unfit to drive if you're over the age of fifty-five? (Google it.)
Do you ever read news stories about drunk drivers - and how many lives are lost because people hopped behind the wheel when they thought they were okay to drive home?
Do you know how many lives and families are destroyed by alcohol?
Do you know how much alcohol-related illnesses and accidents cost our health care system?
Do you still need to ask me why I choose not to drink?
I'm not going to criticize you or tell you I think you're morally or intellectually inferior because you enjoy a social drink now and then. I know many very fine people who don't share my views on the use of alcohol. What you choose to do within your house is your business, as is your choice of beverage when you eat out or go to a bar. As long as your drinking doesn't affect me in any way I can live with it. Just don't offer me a ride when you've been drinking, don't belittle me for not drinking, don't assume I'll find your drinking antics amusing, and don't ever expect me to offer you alcohol.
If you're looking for a bit of Christmas cheer I have plenty to offer. I'll pull out a platter of cookies and put on some awesome Christmas music. We'll laugh together and enjoy good conversation. If you want to be sipping a drink while we do this we'll meet up at a restaurant.
But if your definition of "Christmas Cheer" is an alcoholic beverage, you won't find it here.
If liquor is quicker
it still makes you sicker
and candy won't judgment impair -
for those who go drinking
do not do much thinking
'til they're too hungover to care.
For me candy's dandy
and I keep some handy
to give sagging spirits a lift.
It might make me rounder
but my mind stays sounder
and rational thought is a gift.
I won't take up boozin' -
it's not of my choosin',
I like knowing what I did when.
And if I act crazy
but mind is not hazy
I'll likely NOT do so again.
You might think I'm hasty,
but sugar is tasty
while liquor offendeth the tongue -
and I like to know
when I'm ready to go
I'll leave with the person I brung!
While I don't mean to trash
our old friend Ogden Nash,
I'd rather a good sugar buzz.
Choc'late's serotonin
will not leave me groanin'
and I'll always know where I was.
Now I'm done explaining
my views on abstaining -
I clearly don't sit on the fence.
This poem is ending
without more amending -
my reasons? They're just common sense!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (June 2007)
I don't drink - never have and never will. Alcohol smells gross and makes people act stupid, which I manage well enough when I'm stone cold sober. It gives people headaches and makes them sick, and I hate feeling crummy. It is expensive and caloric, and I'm a weight-watching cheapskate.
That's all the explaining I should ever have to do on the subject. But in a society - and especially in a season - where so many can't grasp the simple fact that celebrating does not equal alcohol, and that "a little Christmas Cheer" doesn't have to mean a good stiff drink, I often find myself having to offer explanations for the stand I take.
Many oversimplify my choice. They assume that because I grew up in a home where drinking was "against our religion" that I simply chose blind obedience to a church edict. I won't deny that it was easier for me to refrain from drinking in my teens because my parents didn't drink, but really there was enough rebellion in my soul that if I'd ever been tempted to drink I probably would have. I simply never felt the slightest urge to take even a sip, and my own childhood observations had a whole lot to do with that lack of desire.
Our next door neighbour was an alcoholic - a sloppy, "fall-down-comatose-and-get-carried-home" kind of alcoholic. I have vivid memories of playing in the yard with my older brother and a bunch of other kids and seeing a taxi pull up. The driver got out and asked my brother to help him carry this man into his house. (This happened more than once.) I remember thinking that if too much alcohol could do that to a person, I could happily live without it. That same neighbour fell on the ice multiple times trying to stagger home from "The Rosie" (a bar around the corner from my house). A few times concerned passers-by spotted him collapsed on the sidewalk and dragged him home. Once, someone pounded on our door and asked my parents to assist with this chore. "Marvin" (I'll call him) suffered head injuries after one bad fall. He lost his driver's license, barely kept a job, and died alone in his house, surrounded by beer cans. A concerned co-worker found him after he hadn't shown up at work in several days. His life was a perfect example to me of how not to live, and I knew I'd never fall into that kind of lifestyle if I never took a drink.
As a child, when I attended social events with my parents where alcohol was being served, I saw people behaving crudely and saying stupid things. It wasn't behavior I wanted to emulate.
When I was a teenager, I couldn't walk past the pool hall or bars on Gore St. without some tipsy Lothario giving me a leer and a "Hey Bay-beee!" (I'd often choose to walk blocks out of my way rather than pass the places where those buffoons loitered out front.) Throughout high school, I saw kids get wasted and act like idiots. I heard them talking about their drunken antics over the weekend and the hangovers that followed. I saw kids barfing into toilets at school dances and witnessed drunken brawls that nobody could explain afterward. None of these things managed to convince me that I was missing a thing by not drinking.
The funny thing is, all through my youth I was warned about peer pressure, and how other kids would try to make me drink (or smoke or try drugs), and I never experienced it at all. My friends accepted my choice to not drink and always had pop on hand to offer me. My friends could handle having an abstainer in their midst. Nobody ever twisted my arm or even offered a second time once I told them I didn't drink.
Since I've been an adult that's changed. I've been chided and treated as an oddity. I've had people try to "talk me into seeing reason" on the subject - asking "How is having a drink or two going to make any difference?" I've wondered why these adults are so much less mature and tolerant than the kids I hung around in high school, who were quick to understand that my most basic reason for not drinking has always been this - I simply don't want to. I've had to dispose of alcohol that came in "Christmas bonus" packages from my husband's employers, in spite of the fact that he's never had a drink either. (And in the politically correct time that we live in, I've wondered at the lack of wisdom shown in "gifting" people with booze when they could have a preexisting medical condition that makes drinking unwise, or have a family member battling alcoholism within their home.)
I've had people ask for a drink in my home, or ask if they could "bring their own". Both requests offend me. Am I really such bad company that a social lubricant is required to ease our interaction? Or are you simply so socially inept and alcohol-dependent that you don't know how to have fun without it? Can't you manage to abstain for a few hours while visiting the home of an abstainer?
You may try to brush off your request for a drink as a joke, but I'm not laughing. Nobody in this house thinks your request is funny. You have no idea how alcoholism has shaped our lives as we've seen its effects on someone close to us.
Over the years I've done a bit of research on alcohol, and learned enough to be absolutely convinced that abstinence was the best choice for me. Did you know that children of alcoholics are four times more likely to become alcoholics themselves? (My husband and I both have alcoholics in our family trees, so we shared this statistic with our sons at an early age.)
Did you know that recent studies have shown that a single drink can render you unfit to drive if you're over the age of fifty-five? (Google it.)
Do you ever read news stories about drunk drivers - and how many lives are lost because people hopped behind the wheel when they thought they were okay to drive home?
Do you know how many lives and families are destroyed by alcohol?
Do you know how much alcohol-related illnesses and accidents cost our health care system?
Do you still need to ask me why I choose not to drink?
I'm not going to criticize you or tell you I think you're morally or intellectually inferior because you enjoy a social drink now and then. I know many very fine people who don't share my views on the use of alcohol. What you choose to do within your house is your business, as is your choice of beverage when you eat out or go to a bar. As long as your drinking doesn't affect me in any way I can live with it. Just don't offer me a ride when you've been drinking, don't belittle me for not drinking, don't assume I'll find your drinking antics amusing, and don't ever expect me to offer you alcohol.
If you're looking for a bit of Christmas cheer I have plenty to offer. I'll pull out a platter of cookies and put on some awesome Christmas music. We'll laugh together and enjoy good conversation. If you want to be sipping a drink while we do this we'll meet up at a restaurant.
But if your definition of "Christmas Cheer" is an alcoholic beverage, you won't find it here.
Monday, 1 December 2014
Holiday Serendipity - Or How I'm Learning to Desist with Lists (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg)
Listing
Each year just as November's done
I sit with pad and pen -
prepared to make the perfect plan -
it's Listing Time again!
I start by listing all the lists
that I will need to make
to get me through 'til end of year
when I can take a break.
I make a list of what I'll need
so that I can prepare,
and itemize small chores to do
in moments that are spare.
I make a list of treats to bake
and how I'll tins disperse.
I make a list of who likes what
since tastes are quite diverse.
I make a list of cards to mail
and emails to send out.
(But somehow I'll forget someone,
of this I have no doubt.)
I make up lists of odds and ends;
of errands to be run.
I spend the season making lists
and miss out on the fun.
I make a list of things I want
to help the fam'ly shop -
by then I'm sick of making lists,
but don't know how to stop.
And once festivities commence
I'm listless, one could say -
and Christmas finds me all a-tilt
as I list through the day.
I check last items off last list
and heave a weary sigh.
My perfect plan somehow fell flat -
I have an inkling why.
That's why this year I'll take some risks
and leave more things to chance.
I'll formulate no perfect plan
and fly by seat of pants.
If I break down and write a list
it will look more like this:
- Give gifts of love (and worry less)
- Buy mistletoe and kiss!
- Admire the lights on moonlit walks,
- Enjoy the carols sung;
- Make time for silliness - and friends!
- and DON'T come all unstrung!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (November 30, 2014)
I love Christmas, but almost without fail my perfectionism around the season yields a minor meltdown. By mid-November that perfect plan is taking shape in my obsessive noggin. I have dates circled on my brain's calendar (the one that doesn't exist anywhere else - the one I know is utterly ridiculous in its optimism.) Rational me knows meeting these deadlines is impossible, but there's this other, more manic side of me that shows up around this time of year who I'll call "Holiday Dreams Sharon". She doesn't always see things terribly rationally. (She's kind of like those fluffed up holiday fashion dolls, but in her case it's not her proportions that are out of whack - just her expectations.)
"Holiday Dreams Sharon" comes with reams of paper and a full box of pens because she's always making lists. She also comes with an apron so that she won't get too mussed up when she bakes her countless tins of cookies. And she comes with kleenex boxes that are very useful when the imaginary circled dates come and go and her lists have too many unchecked items on them and her cookies burn or get dropped on the floor. I fear "Holiday Dreams Sharon" is a tad unstable, and next year she may be available with a new accessory - a wee bottle of Xanax. That is, if she doesn't get a complete redesign between now and then.
I think maybe "Holiday Dreams Sharon" needs to be re-branded. Maybe she should become just "Holiday Sharon", who comes with a tin of cookies and some dancing shoes. Maybe she should come with a down-filled jacket and a good set of walking boots for those chilly nights when she'll walk under the stars to admire the Christmas lights. Maybe she'll come with a sprig of mistletoe and a "come hither smile"? (Unlikely, as she'd have to figure out how to make "the smile" look like it suggests something other than slight craziness.) I'm just throwing out options and trying to make the point that "Holiday Dreams Sharon" could possibly benefit from a make-over.
This year "Holiday Sharon" is going to get a pull cord installed that says "Falalalalaaa" and "Hohoho" when she drops a tray of cookies instead of the kind of nasty words a nice doll shouldn't utter. She's going to conveniently forget to make endless lists. She's going to forgive herself for not sending a card to someone, or for sending all of her cards out late, and for over- (or under-) cooking the turkey and for sitting in a chair listening to John Rutter's Christmas carols when she should be doing something "useful". She's going to laugh more, and let her picture be taken, even though the camera adds twenty pounds that are hard on her flagging self esteem. She's going to stop nagging. She's going to stop stressing over the minutia, and start celebrating the marvelous.
Perfect holidays are serendipitous. They don't happen because every item on your list has been checked off and your cookies are perfectly decorated. Perfect gifts are the ones that amaze you because you had no idea that something so lovely could be associated with you in someone's mind. They are incredibly intuitive - the giver found something you absolutely love but never realized you wanted. Perfect gifts are practical and useful. They are frivolous and amusing. They are tangible, and intangible. Perfect gifts are phone calls you didn't expect, guests you wanted to see, but didn't invite and stars you forgot were so bright. Perfect gifts are hugs and kisses, and all the words that express appreciation and love.
Perfect gifts were never on your list at all.
Perfect days are full of unexpected wonder - you could never make them happen - they just do.
"Holiday Dreams Sharon" is about to be retired, before someone needs to add that bottle of Xanax to her accessory package. She's forgetting about deadlines and making shorter lists - and those only because her middle aged brain really does require a nudge or two. She's focusing more on hopes than dreams this year. She's hoping that she'll be kinder, happier and less inclined to grumble. She's hoping to be hospitable and helpful. She's hoping to become less rigid and more forgiving. She's hoping she manages to give some perfect gifts, and to be part of someone's perfect day.
Merry Christmas to all of you from Sharon and her gloriously imperfect muse. May you enjoy the peace that comes from hope and the goodwill that springs from true optimism. May you all enjoy a generous dose of serendipity and be part of someone's perfect day.
Each year just as November's done
I sit with pad and pen -
prepared to make the perfect plan -
it's Listing Time again!
I start by listing all the lists
that I will need to make
to get me through 'til end of year
when I can take a break.
I make a list of what I'll need
so that I can prepare,
and itemize small chores to do
in moments that are spare.
I make a list of treats to bake
and how I'll tins disperse.
I make a list of who likes what
since tastes are quite diverse.
I make a list of cards to mail
and emails to send out.
(But somehow I'll forget someone,
of this I have no doubt.)
I make up lists of odds and ends;
of errands to be run.
I spend the season making lists
and miss out on the fun.
I make a list of things I want
to help the fam'ly shop -
by then I'm sick of making lists,
but don't know how to stop.
And once festivities commence
I'm listless, one could say -
and Christmas finds me all a-tilt
as I list through the day.
I check last items off last list
and heave a weary sigh.
My perfect plan somehow fell flat -
I have an inkling why.
That's why this year I'll take some risks
and leave more things to chance.
I'll formulate no perfect plan
and fly by seat of pants.
If I break down and write a list
it will look more like this:
- Give gifts of love (and worry less)
- Buy mistletoe and kiss!
- Admire the lights on moonlit walks,
- Enjoy the carols sung;
- Make time for silliness - and friends!
- and DON'T come all unstrung!
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (November 30, 2014)
I love Christmas, but almost without fail my perfectionism around the season yields a minor meltdown. By mid-November that perfect plan is taking shape in my obsessive noggin. I have dates circled on my brain's calendar (the one that doesn't exist anywhere else - the one I know is utterly ridiculous in its optimism.) Rational me knows meeting these deadlines is impossible, but there's this other, more manic side of me that shows up around this time of year who I'll call "Holiday Dreams Sharon". She doesn't always see things terribly rationally. (She's kind of like those fluffed up holiday fashion dolls, but in her case it's not her proportions that are out of whack - just her expectations.)
"Holiday Dreams Sharon" comes with reams of paper and a full box of pens because she's always making lists. She also comes with an apron so that she won't get too mussed up when she bakes her countless tins of cookies. And she comes with kleenex boxes that are very useful when the imaginary circled dates come and go and her lists have too many unchecked items on them and her cookies burn or get dropped on the floor. I fear "Holiday Dreams Sharon" is a tad unstable, and next year she may be available with a new accessory - a wee bottle of Xanax. That is, if she doesn't get a complete redesign between now and then.
I think maybe "Holiday Dreams Sharon" needs to be re-branded. Maybe she should become just "Holiday Sharon", who comes with a tin of cookies and some dancing shoes. Maybe she should come with a down-filled jacket and a good set of walking boots for those chilly nights when she'll walk under the stars to admire the Christmas lights. Maybe she'll come with a sprig of mistletoe and a "come hither smile"? (Unlikely, as she'd have to figure out how to make "the smile" look like it suggests something other than slight craziness.) I'm just throwing out options and trying to make the point that "Holiday Dreams Sharon" could possibly benefit from a make-over.
This year "Holiday Sharon" is going to get a pull cord installed that says "Falalalalaaa" and "Hohoho" when she drops a tray of cookies instead of the kind of nasty words a nice doll shouldn't utter. She's going to conveniently forget to make endless lists. She's going to forgive herself for not sending a card to someone, or for sending all of her cards out late, and for over- (or under-) cooking the turkey and for sitting in a chair listening to John Rutter's Christmas carols when she should be doing something "useful". She's going to laugh more, and let her picture be taken, even though the camera adds twenty pounds that are hard on her flagging self esteem. She's going to stop nagging. She's going to stop stressing over the minutia, and start celebrating the marvelous.
Perfect holidays are serendipitous. They don't happen because every item on your list has been checked off and your cookies are perfectly decorated. Perfect gifts are the ones that amaze you because you had no idea that something so lovely could be associated with you in someone's mind. They are incredibly intuitive - the giver found something you absolutely love but never realized you wanted. Perfect gifts are practical and useful. They are frivolous and amusing. They are tangible, and intangible. Perfect gifts are phone calls you didn't expect, guests you wanted to see, but didn't invite and stars you forgot were so bright. Perfect gifts are hugs and kisses, and all the words that express appreciation and love.
Perfect gifts were never on your list at all.
Perfect days are full of unexpected wonder - you could never make them happen - they just do.
"Holiday Dreams Sharon" is about to be retired, before someone needs to add that bottle of Xanax to her accessory package. She's forgetting about deadlines and making shorter lists - and those only because her middle aged brain really does require a nudge or two. She's focusing more on hopes than dreams this year. She's hoping that she'll be kinder, happier and less inclined to grumble. She's hoping to be hospitable and helpful. She's hoping to become less rigid and more forgiving. She's hoping she manages to give some perfect gifts, and to be part of someone's perfect day.
Merry Christmas to all of you from Sharon and her gloriously imperfect muse. May you enjoy the peace that comes from hope and the goodwill that springs from true optimism. May you all enjoy a generous dose of serendipity and be part of someone's perfect day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)