Holiday Sequestration
Holidays are eclectic personal experiences governed largely by traditions and obligations. There is a lot to be expected regarding holidays. And these expectations, traditions, and obligations---once mixed with one's personal nature, situation, and sensibilities, then brewed together over the period of preparation for the holidays, can produce almost any kind of end result. Holidays can be the happiest of personal experiences or the season in which most suicides occur. And of course everything in between. Even given the power, I would not have the foggiest notion as to any universal format for how holidays should be celebrated. The usual purpose of a holiday is to resurrect deep appreciation for the person or the event for which the holiday is named. In that limited sense holidays mostly fail. There is so much else involved in pulling off a holiday that the original purpose gets pretty much shunted aside for the vast majority of people.
Given my age, single status and absence of any immediate family I can pretty much dictate the terms of my holiday festivities. There are not a lot of 'have to do's' piled on my back. Frankly, that is the key for me to a happy holiday. I really don't 'have to do' anything. And I don't. I suppose someone who likes to do so many things by his/her self might even be expected to add holidays to the list of solitary events. Over the years I have experienced many kinds of holidays in all sorts of manner, including spending the day with other people's relatives. That is the worst of all. It is kind of crazy that the kindest of invitations can produce such awful results. Of course a different person would be pleased to be included---you know, a more normal person. To be forthright, I can't stand shallow banter for hour after hour with people I will never see again. Time seems to stand still and I get restless, sleepy, annoyed, and spend time calculating the earliest possible time I can gracefully leave. Of course it is not quite as insufferable as I make it here, but it sure is no pleasant experience for me. Nor is it to the relatives who are forced to make small banter with me and each of us relate 'hilarious' or 'exciting' adventures from our past---or God forbid explain what we do on our job. I always have the urge to say I am a salesman for custom made condoms or any other assorted outrageous occupations.
Holidays for a lot of people, probably the majority, are stressful. When I observed family gatherings on holidays I got the sense not every participant was glad to be there, just felt obligated to be. And if it is just the immediate family there will be identifiable tensions somewhere between family members. Someone, it seems, is always irritated with someone about something and if it surfaces I am embarrassed to be present. And if an argument breaks out and I am asked who is right, what am I supposed to say? I usually say "I am not here to think, more like a potted plant for decorative purposes". The worst part of holidays, at least certain holidays, is the giving of presents. Having recently moved into a high rise condo from a rural home this gift giving has been a problem. After 2 years people have finally learned to understand my policy of not accepting gifts of any kind, period---and I don't give any gifts to anyone not financially destitute. First, I am basically a cheap SOB. Second I don't intend to spend any time trying to figure out what a self supporting affluent person needs, or how much I should spend on them. I just tell people: "I don't accept gifts, if I need something I buy it. And I don't give gifts either, so if you get a gift from me it is an impostor." And that includes food, I don't accept that either. Before I lived in a high rise I couldn't go out in the yard on a holiday to do anything because the neighbors would then send over mountains of food---like maybe I can't cook. Last week took the cake. Some really kind gal who lives down the hall sent me an email stating there was a package outside my door. She had been baking and made all kinds of delicious goodies, everyone of them unhealthy. I took them back to her door and told her I couldn't accept them, that she and her husband are the proper ones to eat them. "Oh no" she replied, "he won't eat any of it, the doctor won't let him because it is bad for his heart". Thanks lady, would you and he like to come down and watch me eat then, and wait to observe my heart attack?
Of course I genuinely appreciate the kindness of others---in these cases it really is the thought that counts. I kind of laugh because others wear themselves out for holidays and survive all sorts of squabbles, disappointments, pleasures, and complicated planning---then try to incorporate me into the middle of it. Nah. I pass. Some even get silly and ask if I do anything special for my cats? Huh? My cats are on holiday every day. Maybe I should kick them in the ass to see if they are even still capable of getting angry. This holiday I accepted only one present---sort of. The security guard informed me the cleaning gal was looking for me. She is a 30ish Hispanic gal who, combined with my hearing and her poor English, is not easy for me to converse with. So I tend not to a lot. The guard calls her on the phone and asks me to wait in the lobby for her to come down. I do, and while waiting begin chatting with others I know who are coming through the lobby. She arrives with this wrapped Christmas package. "This is for you" she says. I was especially aghast since some weeks ago she confided that it was a bad year (surprise!) for her and her husband, that the kids were not going to get a lot of presents and she couldn't send money back to Mexico as she used to. I just smiled and told her I don't accept presents, there is nothing I need, blah, blah, blah, and she should give it to someone else. "But I want you to have it. You will like it." More blah, blah, blah from me. She shuts up but looks sad or insulted or something and I fear she is going to cry. And everybody is watching me suffer through this and deciding what a jerk I am. One lady grabs the package and tells me in no uncertain terms: "You open the package, she wants you to have it". The best of policies don't always work. Part of me wants to strangle this cleaning gal. What the hell is the matter with her? Why single me out for a present? Feeling like I have a noose around my neck and the trap door will open if I don't open the present, I choose life and open the present. It was a large framed photograph of Barack Obama smiling. The frame alone must have cost at least $16.00---a large wood frame. "You like?" she says, and I feel like Jackie Gleason: "aba aba aba aba" and squirm. I did like it and even though surrounded by mostly die hard Republicans, or maybe because I was surrounded by die hard Republicans, I told her I really did like it. And I did---in fact went up and hung it prominently in my living room. Later I kept thinking about the whole thing. My guess is she heard me in political discussions with others in the lobby and my spiel about how American workers deserved living wages. This gal makes about $7 an hour, that's $42 dollars a day since she only can work 6 hours. The damn picture costs more than that. I will always treasure the picture because of the kind of Obama fan it came from. Of course I then gave her far more money for Christmas than I did the security guards (I am smart enough to yield on this practice) to be sure she didn't really have to pay for the picture. Maybe that is exactly why she gave me the picture so I would handsomely return the favor. Ah, so what. If so, smart gal---shows some initiative. But I would rather think she did it for the former reasons.
So, if one spends holidays alone, what does one do all day? Being alone on a holiday puts me into a pleasant pensive mood. I tend to think about days past, friends past, and people long gone who I really miss. The only one I really loved, and I hate using that word, has long since been gone but always remembered on a holiday. A love aborted at it's height carries none of the baggage time brings most love affairs and thus carries with it the hollywood caricature of undying intense 'love'. It gets romanticized in your mind much as a perfect sunset or sunrise.
I think my mind wanders in different directions on a holiday, and every holiday becomes a revisit to my past, mostly the many blessings. Even the music is past oriented. And the quiet becomes even quieter on a holiday. There is no way to comprehend life, but holidays make me feel more connected to the evolutionary process. One thing is for sure: there will be no fussing, no squabbles with anyone, no pressure to do this and that, no obligatory chit chat, no dealing with irritations or the feelings of others, no let downs, no wild euphoric moments either, and overall, solitary holidays are the best fit for me. Some people confuse being alone with being lonely. I am never less alone than when in nature all by myself or celebrating a holiday by myself---and never feel more alone than when in certain kinds of crowds on certain occasions. Today (Christmas) I am thinking about the usual past important people in my life, about Lincoln and Obama similarities, about the less fortunate living lives of quiet desperation, about some past pets, about Reva the Horse, about where to go for my walk on this cold day, when to watch my documentary Netflix movie on Thomas Jefferson, and at this moment, have decided, after having had a big meal, I could go for a nap before the walk. My favorite places to walk are out of the question today as walking with boots through deep snow on the trails is out---3 miles trudging through deep snow is too much for me and it is hard to judge how far from the car I dare go. So Bambi and his mom, who I like to track down, will just have to wonder where the little SOB is. They are not supposed to be in the Arboretum anyway, and they keep edging closer to some of the more treasured and expensive trees and shrubbery collections. No big deal, with time one gets used to the inevitable departure of both 2 legged and 4 legged friends.
Life is sure a lot of good-byes.
