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.
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