"What can I say except that it's Christmas and we're all in misery."

Helen Griswold

I almost always wake up the day after Christmas with a mixed bag of relief and disillusionment.  After a long debriefing phone call this morning with Jackie, my favorite mother of four and who swears that December 26 is the best day of the year, I have spent some time unpacking the post-Christmas hangover.  

As I wander about the quiet house, picking up scraps of wrapping paper and peeling tape off the bottom of my slippers, I ask...what is the motivation for the commercial aspect of Christmas?  Why do I buy gifts for people?  I send gifts to kids who seriously do not need another present, so why bother?  Is it obligation, and if so, is this obligation soulless?  As I ponder raising a child, I am trying to imagine ways to give her a well-rounded Christmas experience outside of a frenzy of gifts that make her greedy for more and more and more.  

I want her to know magical evenings looking at the fire and listening to carols and watching snowfall.  

I want her to find giddy pleasure in twinkle lights.

I want her to ponder the cultural significance of the Christ story.

I want her to contemplate the love and goodness in her life.

I want her to know how deeply satisfying it is to do something for someone else.

I want her to believe in all the magic the season has to offer.

I want her to know the moving story of the gift Gpa bought for Gma when they were newlyweds and had no money.

I want her to listen for reindeer. 

I want her to dream about peppermint candies and whipped cream and hot chocolate.

I want her to know the security that there will always be something for her to open on Christmas morning, that she will never be hungry or cold.

I don't want to demonize gifts or the awesome feeling of tons of presents.  But any time, as with any aspect of life, if balance isn't restored, the meaning behind our actions and traditions will be lost.

And we all know what a meaning whore I am.

So what are gifts for?  What part do they play in Christmas?  For me, I send these gifts to my nephews and nieces (who don't need another gift by any means) because I want them to know their Aunt Candi.  I want them to know how I regret not being in their daily lives.  I want them to look back on birthdays and holidays and remember that Aunt Candi, even though she was far away and could have easily forgotten and they wouldn't have noticed, always remembered and celebrated.

They are an intimate gesture, hopefully an entirely selfless one, of "I know you of old" and nothing feels better than the reciprocity of intimacy from someone you have poured your precious one life into loving...that they indeed know and love you back.  They are intended to bring joy, wonder, surprise   They are there to fulfill a need, to remove another item from someone's 'to do' list.  They are way to express support, to say I love you, therefore I love what you love by spending my precious time and hard-earned money to learn about your interests and get you something you would like in an effort to remind you of the secure and certain place you and only you hold in my heart. They are there to encourage your sister whose life has been inordinately hard the past few years.  They are there to soften an old man's hard heart because he lost his wife to cancer.  They are given to remind your best friend to take care of herself. They are there to tell your daughter that your life isn't the same when she's away at college and you are so glad she's home.  They are there to restore a clergyman's teetering faith because someone was listening to his homilys all those Sundays to give generously and love unquestioningly.  They are given to tell your wife that all the hours at the office were only and always for her. They are a bridge between a brother and sister who have never understood each other.  They are there to make your over-worked father laugh. They are a lesson to your niece that imagination is her best friend.  They provide a way for a man to say to his brother and best friend, "I've missed you!"

Yes, we could say all of these things to the people we love, but I think presents express for us what we have no words to say.  There is a difference between telling your niece to pretend to be a prima ballerina and buying her a tutu to do just that.  Gifts are tangible, solid gold love.

Gifts bring into strong focus the people in our lives, the people we look at and interact with and have baggage with, but with whom we often forget to truly see in the murk of daily life. Our lover who we would commit to all over again in a heartbeat.  Our friends who guide us toward self-forgiveness and kindness.  Our pets and children who break down our calloused, protected hearts and make us into saps.  Our parents who break their backs to connect with us - even if it doesn't always work.  Our siblings who travel to us, text us, Skype us, and email us in order to make sure the relationship stays strong.  Our grandparents who have hugged us harder than anyone in our whole lives.  Our coworkers who sneak into our hearts and become friends that make you laugh and think.  Our postman who carries our business daily.   Our barista who happily makes our Americano.  Our massage therapist who helps your body heal itself.

But how can we spend the necessary time and money on people if our holiday seasons are too busy?  Aren't the activities of this season supposed to be fun and not stressful?  I am reflecting today on how I can make my holidays even more simple, more soulful.  I think the answer lies in the art of saying no.

All I want for Christmas is peace.  

Make it so,

How much of this existence is the managing of time?  And time is such an illusion, a way to mark the turning of the planet.  It's panic upon our day is nothing short of self-inflicted. There is the negotiating with self for the permission to relax and the motivation to work. If there is too much to do and not enough time to do it, then you have too much to do...as in those tasks do not belong in your hands or mind today.  And so we must open our grabby little hands, those hands of hubris that demand we show people that we are more than we truly are, those hands must release time and tasks and duty and ideals.

How much of this existence is release of control?  And control is such an illusion, simple decision-making.  The panic upon this loss of control is nothing short of self-inflicted.  Even the comforts of control I can give myself are not true control.  The attempt to control items, people, outcomes, and situations were long-since established coping mechanisms for managing anxiety..that continued pit of knots in my soul's stomach that won't release unless I can somehow protect them from bad things.  Only this does not work anymore.  So what does one do when a once-working coping mechanism no longer performs its designated task?

How much of this existence is tasks? The living gets lost in the doing.  We do, but we cannot see.  We change diapers and forget to look into eyes.  We make love and forget to connect.  We pay bills and forget to see money for what it is instead of the power it has over our choices.  We attend holiday parties but forget to celebrate the magic of the season.  We read life-changing words but forget to let them penetrate our insides toward real progress. We bicker over holiday plans, plans intended to foster a connection with friends and family, but we forget to have generosity of spirit.  We purchase gifts for these people, often without deeply considering them.   We do and do and do.

No, I am not speaking of the ominous villain in Doctor Who (I love you if you get that reference), but I am speaking of the strange periods of silence I've recently endured.  Times in life where one desires no company other than a spouse, no conversation other than with beautiful films, and more sleep than most people dream of.

Perhaps this silence is due to my being sick for almost 9 days now.  I've left the house only 3 times in that stint, and just when I thought I was getting better, I woke up this morning with what I can only guess is a different cold.  How festive.

Despite feeling strange, solitary, and rather disabled, I've been enjoying the energy, the Feng Shui, of being in a house that has been lived in so well.  I've cooked several amazing meals, had countless cups of tea, snuggled with Joel any old time I wanted, stewed cider, and baked an apple pie.  I suppose I am saying that I am thankful for being ill in that it has demanded sleep and nourishing food and soul-giving solitude.  I am thankful for a body.

Let me explain.

The Universe and I have been at odds lately.  We've been in discussion about endings.  I am fighting this impossible battle between the biological need to survive and the inevitable truth that we all die, and must.   The human race will most likely be entirely wiped out in the next million years, with nothing to offer the cosmos or other lifeforms elsewhere (except The Voyager, Joel comforts me).   Moreover, I suppose the real struggle is that I cannot control either. I wish I could be obsessed with beginnings, but instead I've been struggling so much with the fact that life ends.  Just when bliss introduces herself to me with a jarring handshake, she slips through my fingers because I think of when it will end. I am trying to accept that this issue has been brought to me to examine and chew on, trying to see its essence instead of its shadow, but I have a distrust of the temporary.

Simply stated, I am trying to reconcile death with life, and it seems everyone has some sort of lovely answer for how they have arrived at their own particular version of peace. I suspect that most deal with it by ignoring it, or praying a lot, or distracting themselves with the busyness of life.  I bring up this comparison to others because I believe our notions of personal happiness are based largely on how we see others living and what they chose to pour their precious lives into.  I am clinically depressed, so it makes sense to me that I would wonder why everyone is so darn happy all the time, expressing how they find certain weather patterns, particular bowls of fruit, or long vacations nothing but entirely rewarding, afraid to express anything negative because of what that might mean, or what others might think.  In the end, when we do not take the time to express all parts of life - the good and the bad, and express both with tact and love - I feel we are performing a great disservice to those in our care, who listen to us and glean inspiration from us.  If we are only expressing good, those who feel badly about life will feel ashamed that they can't just feel good like so and so does all the time.  This is a complete rabbit-trail, I might add.  All of this to say that it often feels as though I am the only one thinking about the inevitable end of the Universe, and balancing the desperate desire to stay alive with the intellectual acceptance of death.  Of course I'm not.

Back to feeling thankful for the human body I have.

Therefore, in the midst of this very confusing mental dialogue, I find it especially rewarding when I am made newly aware of the awe of the human body, decaying and fleeting though it be.

I simply HAD to partake in this most important of holidays.  See how patriotic I am?

Happy National Donut Day!
Happy Weekend!

I came home from work on Friday, not only to these gorgeous earrings made by my soul-friend, UmberDove...but also to an ENTIRE evening of solitude.  I took a quick run, I bought a bottle of wine, I made myself some ravioli, I watched an inordinate amount of trash TV, I journaled, I cried over videos of my niece, and I bought my sister a plane ticket to come up to Seattle and see U2 with me this weekend.

A leisurely Saturday morning with tea and ElleDecor...this picture is also starring my new coffee table...which I am absolutely enamored with!  I do love craigslist.
































Then it was a walk to the farmer's market, a stop for our favorite spinach smoothies, and then we simply
couldn't resist the temptations of a lamb schwarma and some ginger iced tea.  Oh dear delicious gods.  If you ever find yourself wandering Seattle's University district, hungry and thirsty, aimlessly hoping to find the perfect sandwich, let's talk about Schwarma King.





 After all that walking in my heels, home felt amazing.
















We came home to watch several episodes of Doctor Who and plopped into bed happy and wishing every week could be Monday's off.

Don't you????