Why I Don't Love the Holidays

I used to blog a lot, then I got bogged down with writer's block, life, and foot surgery.  I took a series of "mirror pictures" the other day, and the metaphor of looking at myself in the mirror was not lost on me; it has, if nothing else, made me want to write again, which is a step in the right direction.

So here I am ...

 
And here goes my latest attempt at musings (I should mention that much of why I've been unable to write lately is because I have so much I want to write about--gun control, the asinine faux celebrations by some groups that are downright insulting when you get right down to it, the use of technology in schools, just to name a few).

Holidays are supposed to be a happy time, right?  I always--always--end up miserable, disillusioned, and feeling downright lonely.

I should make very clear that Christmas was wonderful and incredible for my girls, which is of course the most important thing.

In terms of me personally, though, it boils down to two main things that cause me angst around the holidays.

*  My step-father passed away on December 23 several years ago.  He was one of the best, and I miss him terribly.  My mother has it even worse, and my entire family is honestly pretty down in the dumps at Christmastime.

This year I had a new wrinkle added.

I went to the cemetery on the 23rd, put an ornament on the tree planted there along with a letter I'd written to him, and then I cried a lot.

I learned recently that my stepdad loathed Pythagorus (the blog pseudonym I use for my alcoholic, emotionally abusive ex-husband), felt from the moment he met him that he was weak and unstable.  He found Pythagorus to be completely pathetic, predicting long ago that Pythagorus would self-destruct because ... well, that's what mentally ill people unable to face their problems do when life doesn't go their own way.

I realized that I am angry with him for not telling me that his take on Pythagorus was that he was pretty much a sociopath, a person that sees life only in terms of himself (which is not to say that he didn't do good things but rather that he did them so that people would say, "Wow, what a good person he is!").

In other words, my stepdad had Pythagorus pegged perfectly, knew that he would cause me tremendous pain, yet let it happen anyway.

A sense came to me at the cemetery, a feeling that seemed like a message: "You have Belle, and you wouldn't otherwise."

That is true, and my magical Fairy girl is worth every broken glass and scream and lie and cruelty and bruise and humiliation he put me through.

Coming to terms with my stepdad--who was the best judge of character I've ever met--making a conscious choice to let life happen and the knowledge that it was the right thing to do even though it would epitomize the word "bittersweet" was exhausting, and it made me miss him even more this year.

I would have loved to have a conversation with my stepdad.  I kind of did at the cemetery (I always feel like I've spent time with him after going to his grave), but I wanted more, which made me miss him even more, and ... yeah, it snowballed.

*  I love to give.  The concept of doing things for other people--specifically taking the time to find a way to show the people I love that I care about them--is a beautiful thing to me.

I don't want anything in return.  Honestly, I don't.  And people don't understand when I tell them that.

What ends up happening is that people give me things that show that they don't understand me as well as I'd expected or know how to make me happy in a simple way, which is my preference.  With God as my witness, I'd rather get a piece of maple sugar candy than a diamond necklace.

So I get depressed on that level, which of course leads me to the obvious extension ... am I doing the same thing for other people?  Do I think that I am making them happy by spending time with them or having a lively conversation or giving a gift, and it's truly just depressing the hell out of them because it's all just showing how little I know them?

*  Something really amazing was supposed to be happening right around now.  It's not.  I'm sad.  

I'm realizing writing this post how selfish I sound (I am really and truly not selfish), but I guess I'm wondering if anyone else feels worse during the holiday season than any other time of year.

Here's a specific question for anyone reading this ... feel free to respond in the comments.  What are your thoughts on Yankee Swaps?

Me, I think they're fine for work parties and large social gatherings, but not for family.  The idea of taking the time, energy, and thought out of picking out a gift for someone (which could include a homemade coupon for a backrub or an afternoon of sledding, for example, or something like what Addie did for her grandmother, taking her to see Les Miserables the afternoon of Christmas day) in lieu of spending a little bit of money on something generic that involves absolutely no thought is just distasteful to me.  I realize that this is not a popular view; I almost caused a scene at Thanksgiving when I said I would refuse to participate in a family Yankee Swap (I did try to make clear that if everyone else was good with that, it was fine with me, but I just did not want to participate for reasons that I believe you understand if you're still reading this).

Anyway, I'm rambling ... but at least I'm writing :-)

The next post will be tighter, better organized, and hopefully more thought-provoking instead of me wondering if I'm the only one to wallow in self-pity at Christmastime.     

On Tattoos

It seems like everybody has a tattoo today, and the view of them as "tacky" or "low class" that people like my mother have has lessened. Sort of.

There's still a "tattoo taboo", though. The best example I can think of is when I was fooling around with a guy, we were at the point where his shirt was coming off, and he interrupted the festivities to say, "Just so you know, I have a full-sleeve".

I've thought a lot about that moment, actually, mostly because I was pretty shocked to hear that. He was not, after all, what I'd consider a full-sleeve kind of guy. And then, of course, the very idea that I'd divide people into "possible full-sleeves" or not bothers me quite a bit.

I have two tattoos.

I got the first one when I was eighteen, a small dolphin on my upper leg that can only be seen if I'm wearing a bathing suit (or ... you know, naked). I love that little dolphin, and I've never regretted that tattoo.

I grew up on the ocean, am happiest when in the water, and it was the first present I gave myself after Addie was born. It is meaningful, private, and not something I've ever been sorry about.

Second tattoo? Stupid drunken college-era error. And it's visible. Very visible. Sigh ...

The stupid sun tattoo, as I call it, is located on my lower right leg, just above the ankle bone. If I wear a skirt, dress, shorts, culottes, anything but full-length pants, there it is.

I hate that thing.

The thing is, I have no argument with tattoos that mean something. What I don't like are bandwagon tattoos (the so-called "tramp stamp" is a perfect example of that), where a lot of people have a similar-looking tattoo in a similar location.

My stupid sun tattoo is vintage bandwagon, and that bothers me. That it's the one that people see and comment on makes it even more frustrating.

I also appreciate the artistic value of tattoos. It's a skill I myself could never possess, and I think the different approaches and techniques are just amazing when done correctly.

So, yeah, I think tattoos should be meaningful and attractive and preferably not on a person's face. Otherwise, I have kind of a "live and let live" attitude about them.

There is one other thing.

Addie has requested as an early birthday gift/payment for bringing her sister to camp each morning that I take her to get a tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol. She wants it on her hipbone, where it would not be seen, and she wants me to get one, too.

Because she's under eighteen, I would have to take her, and I'm actually (I can't believe I'm saying this) considering it. The thing is, it would be meaningful (as she tearfully pointed out at 2:30 in the morning after leaving the final movie, "My childhood is over"), it would be private, and it would be attractive.

What are your thoughts on tattoos?

Offensive in the Name of Religion

I'm not an easily offended person. Well, at least not easily offended by things that I happen to lay eyes on. However, I've seen a couple of t-shirts the last couple of days that cannot be described in a way other than offensive. Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive here. I'm curious for your input.

The first one (and less offensive of the two, in my humble opinion):



Now, I've said before in this blog that I have a close relationship with my view of God. I've read The Bible extensively and was raised with a great deal of formal religious training. I am 100% for people coming to terms with their spirituality, finding peace and comfort from a higher power, and having a solid belief system ... and if wearing something like a crucifix necklace or Kabbalah bracelet is important to them, more power to you.

That being said, however, my spiritual self takes major issue with the likeness of Jesus Christ replacing the Starbucks siren. As one who tries to live life in a way that mirrors Christ's teaching as set forth in The Bible, I think this sort of cheap commercialism is just ... tawdry.

That one bugged me, but what really drove me over the edge was:



To be completely honest with you, I really liked this shirt when I first saw it. In fact, I kind of wanted to get one of my own. Why? Because my life was saved by a blood transfusion after I experienced serious internal bleeding following surgery. It took me a few minutes to realize that, like the Starbucks rip-off, this shirt was commercializing religion. In my eyes, it was twisting something visually identifiable as one thing (donating blood through the American Red Cross, Starbucks, et cetera) into a religious farce. Because of my personal experience with blood transfusion, it hit me especially hard.

Perhaps I'd feel a bit mollified if I knew that the proceeds from these utterly tasteless mass-produced t-shirts were going to a cause that would be sanctioned by Jesus Christ Himself rather than going into the already deep pockets of enterprising and opportunistic companies.

Am I being overly critical here? Should I just get over it? Why am I so deeply offended here when I'm really pretty easygoing about most things? What does it mean that this is making me examine my own religious feelings?