Christmas Visions

If I were the type of person who cross-stitched, I would totally do this.

Maybe I am that kind of person but haven't discovered it yet. I guess give it a couple of years?

"Once bitten and twice shy, I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye."

Pardon me while I wax a little poetic in honor of the Christmas season. A friend and I were talking one night about our favorite things about Christmas. When asked superficially, I usually say that I don't like Christmas, but digging deeper, I do have a thing that is my favorite thing about Christmas.

[I must interject something: of course the best and important thing about Christmas is the birth of Christ, and I recognize that. However, as this is something that we (should) try to remember and honor year-round, when I talk about my favorite thing about Christmas, I mean my favorite thing about the cultural/secular/aesthetic aspects of the Christmas Season.]

The other day, walking through Downtown Boston, I had an epiphany: the Christmas season is like a hot guy (or girl, whatever your preference) that flirts with you but doesn't mean it.

You should and do know better to fall prey to the charm and the eye contact, but involuntarily, your lips curl into a smile and eventually, you stop minding. Slowly and surely you give in to the butterflies and the stolen looks and start to entertain the thought that something real and wonderful might be happening.

Such is the case with Christmas.

As one walks through Downtown Boston, one sees lights, hears holiday music blaring and the sound of the bells playing from whatever building that is with the bells across from the Macy's (the old Filene's maybe?), smells cinnamon-roasted nuts sold on carts, sees stands selling Christmas trees and wreaths and mistletoe and Salvation Army Santas on every corner. You think, "this happens every year; it's nothing special," but somehow, the combination of all of it stirs up wells of excitement and cheer and hope that maybe this year, you'll have the kind of magical Christmas you see in the movies.

And then, either literally or metaphorically, December 25th hits you and everything you built up in your head topples over and gets tossed away with the rest of the decorations on December 26th, as if none of it ever mattered.

I have this vision of a Christmas that couldn't possibly exist: I live in a house with a fireplace* and this beautiful tree and everything is color-coordinated. I sit on my couch in an off-white cable-knit sweater that also coordinates with the house color scheme. I drink tea and look out the window, watching the snow fall perfectly to the ground. Eggnog doesn't taste gross. Mistletoe fulfills its Christmas destiny. I know how to ice skate.

I have only myself (and this song, probably) to blame for my romanticized visions of a holiday that I have never remembered going well, but I still hope. I hope that one day I'll have a fireplace and a cable-knit sweater and someone to kiss me under the mistletoe and hold my hand so I don't fall on the ice. Maybe one day there will be carols and merriment and stillness and peace. This is the hope that keeps my heart from being three sizes too small† and makes me want to bake and send cards and see if maybe this is the year I've developed a taste for eggnog.

This is my favorite thing about Christmas.

*I don't have a fireplace now and never had one growing up. When I was little I used to sit in the utility closet with a book and pretend that the pilot light was a fireplace. Were I not such an odd-looking child, this would have seemed pretty pathetic.

†Actually, right ventricular hypertrophy is what keeps my heart from being three sizes too small.