Note: This column appears in the 12/16 issue of The Glendale Star and the 12/17 issue of the Peoria Times
Our entire family recently became involved in a long, drawn-out email discussion regarding Christmas gifts.
I started it. For the seventh consecutive year I attempted to, with the help of my courageous wife, steer the rest of the family away from an all-encompassing gift exchange and relegate things to a one-gift grab bag. For the seventh consecutive year, it did not work. Last year, before our own valiant attempts, my sister had taken the reins and suggested that donations be made in lieu of gifts, and she was excommunicated from the family for three days.
I realize that my attempts to shun gifts are sometimes viewed as self-righteous, but they are really not. If anything they’re a result of selfish laziness. You see, gifts are things, and things bother me. Especially now that we live far away from everyone else, and each gift is a package—a package that arrives at the front door while the dog barks like a maniac, and that I must first check for scorpions before opening. Then I open it and Styrofoam thingees go everywhere, and I discover that the gift is neither a thing I can eat or use as currency, so I must find a place to store it. That place will be the kitchen table for six months until I figure things out. Then I must remove our address label from the box and shred it—those labels are difficult to remove—and then break the box down for recycling, so as to make for a green and identity theft-free Christmas. The joy.
That’s just the burden of receiving gifts. Nevermind the hassle of purchasing gifts for others. This became an interesting aspect of family discussions for Christmas gifts in the year of 2010.
Compromise was in order, and we did just that, agreeing to a grab bag but also to traditional gift exchanges for those who wanted to take part. With regards to the grab bag, we struggled to decide whether the gift-getter should let it be known what he or she wants, or if it should be left to the gift-giver to determine.
I argued for the latter. I never really grasped the whole, “Get me this, and I’ll get you that,” aspect of a holiday gift-exchange. What’s the point? Why should Christmas be the middleman? I believe that if we really know and love that person, we should be able to figure out what to get. As part of the compromise, it was decided we do things my way.
For the grab bag, I drew a person who is obviously very near and dear to me, and who I know extremely well. And…I had no idea what to get. Foiled by my own mentality, I realized that knowing a person well does not necessarily mean that you know what that person wants or needs at a particular moment in time. In arguing my point, I ironically paved the way for the pointless gifts that I annually rally against. I now look forward to watching this person open their gift over video-chat on Christmas, as Styrofoam thingees go everywhere and they pretend to be excited. I will do the same.
This will all change next year. I’ve got some new ideas, and I think everyone should hear me out.
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Holiday TV specials inspire nostalgia, teach about love, war
Note: This column appears in the 11/24 issue of The Glendale Star and the 11/26 issue of the Peoria Times
Television is a big part of my annual holiday experience.
For me, much of the nostalgia that surrounds this season revolves around movies and specials that I continue to watch on TV, even if those movies/specials have nothing to do with the holiday itself. For example, this Thanksgiving I will be greatly upset if I do not see two movies that have come to define this holiday: the original Willy Wonka and Home Alone. The former aired for whatever reason during a few Thanksgivings of yore, and I steadfastly continue to search for it on TV each year, even though I don’t really like the movie and find it bizarre and disturbing. The latter traditionally airs every Thanksgiving night, and I will not be able to sleep unless I see Joe Pesci fall and hurt himself 80 times. Again.
This week will also unleash the flood of Christmas specials, few being as special as A Charlie Brown Christmas. This is by far the best Peanuts special ever. (A close second being the one where they all went to France. Remember that one? No? Whatever.) It has, however, been tarnished in recent years by CBS’ decision to air a more contemporary Peanuts special afterwards, with slightly different voices and more nonsensical yet not-as-endearing plotlines. (They did this with Frosty, too.) But it’s still worth it.
(Speaking of nonsensical—I could never quite figure out the drawn-out sequence of Snoopy being a WWII fighter pilot. What is that all about? Where does it fit in? I do not understand.)
I am not one of those people, however, who cling to the oldies while ignoring the new stuff. In fact, a more recent holiday obsession of mine involves Lifetime holiday movies, which are all spectacularly bad in a great kind of way. They all have the same exact plot and simply feature different sitcom castoffs. Two years ago we watched a Lifetime special that featured Uncle Joey from Full House, except in the movie he despised kids, until those very kids showed him the true meaning of Christmas. It was terrible, and I have been desperately searching for it ever since.
The truly great ones hold a special place in my heart though. As a family, we used to sit together on Christmas Eve and watch my parents’ favorite version of A Christmas Carol on TV—the one starring Alastair Sim from 1951. I too believe that no version is better. Until, of course, Lifetime premieres its own version starring Tony Danza and Delta Burke.
The night before Thanksgiving this year—tomorrow night!—we have plans to watch a few new holiday specials with our daughter. Maybe one day A Madagascar Christmas will be her Charlie Brown. Though I hope she likes Charlie Brown too, if only because it’s her parents favorite.
When she develops her sense of irony, we will introduce her to Lifetime. In the meantime, the crime, violence, and terrible parenting portrayed in Home Alone should do.
Happy Thanksgiving.
This is going to be the chocolatiest Thanksgiving ever!
Television is a big part of my annual holiday experience.
For me, much of the nostalgia that surrounds this season revolves around movies and specials that I continue to watch on TV, even if those movies/specials have nothing to do with the holiday itself. For example, this Thanksgiving I will be greatly upset if I do not see two movies that have come to define this holiday: the original Willy Wonka and Home Alone. The former aired for whatever reason during a few Thanksgivings of yore, and I steadfastly continue to search for it on TV each year, even though I don’t really like the movie and find it bizarre and disturbing. The latter traditionally airs every Thanksgiving night, and I will not be able to sleep unless I see Joe Pesci fall and hurt himself 80 times. Again.
This week will also unleash the flood of Christmas specials, few being as special as A Charlie Brown Christmas. This is by far the best Peanuts special ever. (A close second being the one where they all went to France. Remember that one? No? Whatever.) It has, however, been tarnished in recent years by CBS’ decision to air a more contemporary Peanuts special afterwards, with slightly different voices and more nonsensical yet not-as-endearing plotlines. (They did this with Frosty, too.) But it’s still worth it.
(Speaking of nonsensical—I could never quite figure out the drawn-out sequence of Snoopy being a WWII fighter pilot. What is that all about? Where does it fit in? I do not understand.)
I am not one of those people, however, who cling to the oldies while ignoring the new stuff. In fact, a more recent holiday obsession of mine involves Lifetime holiday movies, which are all spectacularly bad in a great kind of way. They all have the same exact plot and simply feature different sitcom castoffs. Two years ago we watched a Lifetime special that featured Uncle Joey from Full House, except in the movie he despised kids, until those very kids showed him the true meaning of Christmas. It was terrible, and I have been desperately searching for it ever since.
The truly great ones hold a special place in my heart though. As a family, we used to sit together on Christmas Eve and watch my parents’ favorite version of A Christmas Carol on TV—the one starring Alastair Sim from 1951. I too believe that no version is better. Until, of course, Lifetime premieres its own version starring Tony Danza and Delta Burke.
The night before Thanksgiving this year—tomorrow night!—we have plans to watch a few new holiday specials with our daughter. Maybe one day A Madagascar Christmas will be her Charlie Brown. Though I hope she likes Charlie Brown too, if only because it’s her parents favorite.
When she develops her sense of irony, we will introduce her to Lifetime. In the meantime, the crime, violence, and terrible parenting portrayed in Home Alone should do.
Happy Thanksgiving.
This is going to be the chocolatiest Thanksgiving ever!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
When you just can’t give something away
Note: This column appears in the 8/5 issue of The Glendale Star & the 8/6 issue of the Peoria Times
Because my wife prefers to throw away nothing, we opt to donate things when we can.
This is not to say that the act of donating things has been, in any way, easier for me than convincing my wife to throw something out. Donating old clothes is especially difficult. There is no item of clothing I can attempt to give away without her getting upset. She will literally gasp at seeing something I have placed in the bag and say to me, pleadingly, “But you wore that on Christmas Eve that year!” as if I am denouncing the fun time I had that day through my desire to donate the pants I was wearing. And God forbid I try to get rid of something she actually bought for me. It has gotten to the point where I have to donate clothes in secret. Last time I slipped up though, and she noticed one of my shirts peaking through the plastic donations bag. The next day she walked past me in the kitchen and said, “So…I see you don’t like yellow shirts anymore. I’ll remember that the next time I see a nice one at the store.”
(In her defense I am somewhat flighty when it comes to my wardrobe. If I buy two new shirts at Kohl’s, the first thing I attempt to do when I get home is get rid of everything I haven’t worn in the past three weeks. “I am starting over, “ I will think to myself. “And the foundation will be my two new shirts!” I am weird like that.)
So, as you can see, it’s difficult enough for us to donate stuff as it is. Making matters more complicated is the fact that, apparently, no one else wants our stuff either.
Every month or so, we receive a card in the mail specifying when a certain charitable organization will be in the neighborhood to pick up any unwanted items. The process, ideally, is that you place your items at the front of your house with the card attached and they pick it up. The process, for us, is that we place our items at the front of our house and nobody picks them up.
Now. I leave early for work in the morning, so I always want to put the stuff outside before bed. My wife refuses to allow me to do this, stating that “people could steal it,” a point which I do not understand as it equates to us saying, “Here, take it. No, not you!” My wife however, is convinced that these potential thieves will sell our stuff to buy drugs. And nobody wants that. Except the thieves.
So, I have to lug everything outside in the morning before leaving for work. Then -– as has been the case the last three times we have attempted to donate to three different organizations –- as I drive towards the house after work, I slowly notice that all the stuff is still there.
I am honestly unsure if our items have been deemed not good enough for even the less fortunate, or if these organizations are that incompetent. Whatever the case, now the sun has been beating on our stuff all day, and I am forced to go out in the afternoon heat and bring it all back inside the house, at which point we need to remove everything from the bags and check for scorpions. “Hey, there are my old Christmas Eve pants!” I will say. “I wonder what kind of drugs I can get for these.”
Because my wife prefers to throw away nothing, we opt to donate things when we can.
This is not to say that the act of donating things has been, in any way, easier for me than convincing my wife to throw something out. Donating old clothes is especially difficult. There is no item of clothing I can attempt to give away without her getting upset. She will literally gasp at seeing something I have placed in the bag and say to me, pleadingly, “But you wore that on Christmas Eve that year!” as if I am denouncing the fun time I had that day through my desire to donate the pants I was wearing. And God forbid I try to get rid of something she actually bought for me. It has gotten to the point where I have to donate clothes in secret. Last time I slipped up though, and she noticed one of my shirts peaking through the plastic donations bag. The next day she walked past me in the kitchen and said, “So…I see you don’t like yellow shirts anymore. I’ll remember that the next time I see a nice one at the store.”
(In her defense I am somewhat flighty when it comes to my wardrobe. If I buy two new shirts at Kohl’s, the first thing I attempt to do when I get home is get rid of everything I haven’t worn in the past three weeks. “I am starting over, “ I will think to myself. “And the foundation will be my two new shirts!” I am weird like that.)
So, as you can see, it’s difficult enough for us to donate stuff as it is. Making matters more complicated is the fact that, apparently, no one else wants our stuff either.
Every month or so, we receive a card in the mail specifying when a certain charitable organization will be in the neighborhood to pick up any unwanted items. The process, ideally, is that you place your items at the front of your house with the card attached and they pick it up. The process, for us, is that we place our items at the front of our house and nobody picks them up.
Now. I leave early for work in the morning, so I always want to put the stuff outside before bed. My wife refuses to allow me to do this, stating that “people could steal it,” a point which I do not understand as it equates to us saying, “Here, take it. No, not you!” My wife however, is convinced that these potential thieves will sell our stuff to buy drugs. And nobody wants that. Except the thieves.
So, I have to lug everything outside in the morning before leaving for work. Then -– as has been the case the last three times we have attempted to donate to three different organizations –- as I drive towards the house after work, I slowly notice that all the stuff is still there.
I am honestly unsure if our items have been deemed not good enough for even the less fortunate, or if these organizations are that incompetent. Whatever the case, now the sun has been beating on our stuff all day, and I am forced to go out in the afternoon heat and bring it all back inside the house, at which point we need to remove everything from the bags and check for scorpions. “Hey, there are my old Christmas Eve pants!” I will say. “I wonder what kind of drugs I can get for these.”
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Mall Santa an initiation for every parent
Note: This column appears in the 12/23 issue of The Glendale Star and the 12/24 issue of the Peoria Times
Last weekend we took our hopefully-soon-to-be-daughter (this is how she will be referred to for the time being) to see Santa Claus.
We had heard that Santa would be making an appearance at Walmart, and so that was our initial plan, for no other reason than it was the closest stop on Santa’s world tour. But when I called ahead to make sure, I was told that he was there last weekend, and had since returned to the North Pole Walmart. In the end this was probably good news, as I wouldn’t have to resist the temptation to ask Walmart Santa if he was receiving proper health benefits. More importantly, it saved us a trip to Walmart. A little piece of me dies every time I have to go there.
Whatchu mean you ain't got no Santee Clauses?
Unfortunately, this forced us to acknowledge the inevitable: we were going to the mall. On a Saturday. Just before Christmas. To see Santa. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this, based on my vast experience of walking past the mosh pit that is the mall Santa area and thinking to myself, “I am so unbelievably happy that I am not in that situation right now. I think I’ll get a pretzel.”
Even with the dread of the impending holiday mall crowd, there was never even a consideration of not going to see Santa. My wife even mentioned that she didn’t care about the pictures -– she just wanted her to see Santa. I had to remind her that part of the allure of meeting Santa Claus is getting the proper documentation, especially when you’re dealing with a three-month old who wouldn’t know the difference between sitting on Santa’s lap and sitting on a pile of dirty laundry.
Even as we pushed a stroller down the endless mall parking lot and then weaved our way through the indifferent and inconsiderate human traffic of JC Penny, I was oddly excited. When we got to the mall and discovered that the line to see Santa Claus was eight miles long, I didn’t care. In fact, I was happy. Standing in line in a hot mall amidst a flurry of foaming-at-the-mouth children just so you can have your own child -- who will either be haunted by the experience or not remember it at all -- sit on the lap of a total, albeit jolly, stranger is a rite of passage for parents. And I think that’s what made me so happy.
I felt like a parent.
She met the big guy, and we have the pictures to prove it. Our hopefully-soon-to-be-daughter slumped over in the middle of Santa’s lap, with her big brown eyes wide open, seemingly marveling at the wonderment of Christmas, but in reality just reacting to the loud toy the camera girl was shaking to get her attention. She won’t remember it. But we will.
Another thing I’ll remember is to never go near a mall food court, especially on a Saturday during the holidays. Mall food courts make Walmart feel like a Hallmark store. I almost got killed just passing Sbarro. Stupid parents.
Merry Christmas.
Last weekend we took our hopefully-soon-to-be-daughter (this is how she will be referred to for the time being) to see Santa Claus.
We had heard that Santa would be making an appearance at Walmart, and so that was our initial plan, for no other reason than it was the closest stop on Santa’s world tour. But when I called ahead to make sure, I was told that he was there last weekend, and had since returned to the North Pole Walmart. In the end this was probably good news, as I wouldn’t have to resist the temptation to ask Walmart Santa if he was receiving proper health benefits. More importantly, it saved us a trip to Walmart. A little piece of me dies every time I have to go there.
Whatchu mean you ain't got no Santee Clauses?
Unfortunately, this forced us to acknowledge the inevitable: we were going to the mall. On a Saturday. Just before Christmas. To see Santa. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this, based on my vast experience of walking past the mosh pit that is the mall Santa area and thinking to myself, “I am so unbelievably happy that I am not in that situation right now. I think I’ll get a pretzel.”
Even with the dread of the impending holiday mall crowd, there was never even a consideration of not going to see Santa. My wife even mentioned that she didn’t care about the pictures -– she just wanted her to see Santa. I had to remind her that part of the allure of meeting Santa Claus is getting the proper documentation, especially when you’re dealing with a three-month old who wouldn’t know the difference between sitting on Santa’s lap and sitting on a pile of dirty laundry.
Even as we pushed a stroller down the endless mall parking lot and then weaved our way through the indifferent and inconsiderate human traffic of JC Penny, I was oddly excited. When we got to the mall and discovered that the line to see Santa Claus was eight miles long, I didn’t care. In fact, I was happy. Standing in line in a hot mall amidst a flurry of foaming-at-the-mouth children just so you can have your own child -- who will either be haunted by the experience or not remember it at all -- sit on the lap of a total, albeit jolly, stranger is a rite of passage for parents. And I think that’s what made me so happy.
I felt like a parent.
She met the big guy, and we have the pictures to prove it. Our hopefully-soon-to-be-daughter slumped over in the middle of Santa’s lap, with her big brown eyes wide open, seemingly marveling at the wonderment of Christmas, but in reality just reacting to the loud toy the camera girl was shaking to get her attention. She won’t remember it. But we will.
Another thing I’ll remember is to never go near a mall food court, especially on a Saturday during the holidays. Mall food courts make Walmart feel like a Hallmark store. I almost got killed just passing Sbarro. Stupid parents.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Christmas spirit comes better late than ever
Note: This column appears in the 12/17 issue of The Glendale Star and the 12/18 issue of the Peoria Times
It hadn’t really felt like Christmas.
For one thing, my wife and I decided weeks ago that we wouldn’t be going back east for the holidays this year. Knowing we wouldn’t be with family subconsciously and adversely affected our Christmas spirit.
Having to return our two foster kiddos just before Thanksgiving didn’t help either. And all of the chores, purchases and appointments that we’d avoided in the past months as a result of being too busy had kept us too busy to notice the holidays were, in fact, here.
(It should also be mentioned that, in my annual attempt to force myself into the Christmas mood, I started listening to the “Christmas music only” radio station way too early yet again. If I hear another version of “Jingle Bell Rock” I am going to bash my car radio with a baseball bat.)
But all that changed last Monday. We had a storm come through here that brought overcast skies, rain, wind and cold (at least by Arizona standards). I was off of work that day and my wife didn’t have to go in until the early afternoon. Our television was tuned to the holiday station and we had our coffees and all of our decorations were up.
None of those things however, served to explain why it finally felt like Christmas. Because the best part of that day was spending it with the three-month old baby girl who we hope to call our daughter one day very soon.
Allow me to explain. The week our foster kiddos went back we received the amazingly great news that we were chosen to be the prospective adoptive parents of a baby girl. The process that ensued served to explain why the holidays had gotten away from us. Of course we were thrilled at the joy this Christmas could bring, but we were also anxious to meet her and find out more about her and have her in our home.
It had been a whirlwind of car rides here and there, meetings, phone calls and paperwork. Everything felt right to us from the beginning, but meeting her was better than we ever could have hoped for. And while nothing is quite official and won’t be until at least the middle of this upcoming year, there’s no going back now. It’s already too late. There was no going back when we first laid eyes on her.
We brought her home on Sunday and last Monday was her first full day in her new home. The wind howled outside and the rain pounded the windows, but for most of the day she slept peacefully in her boppy on the couch. When my wife left for work I had her all to myself, and we played and I fed her and we watched bad Christmas movies on TV until she would doze off again.
All of a sudden it felt like the holidays more than it ever had back in the cold and snow of New Jersey. And even though we won’t be back east this year for the first time in our entire lives, it turns out we’ll be spending Christmas with our family after all.
It hadn’t really felt like Christmas.
For one thing, my wife and I decided weeks ago that we wouldn’t be going back east for the holidays this year. Knowing we wouldn’t be with family subconsciously and adversely affected our Christmas spirit.
Having to return our two foster kiddos just before Thanksgiving didn’t help either. And all of the chores, purchases and appointments that we’d avoided in the past months as a result of being too busy had kept us too busy to notice the holidays were, in fact, here.
(It should also be mentioned that, in my annual attempt to force myself into the Christmas mood, I started listening to the “Christmas music only” radio station way too early yet again. If I hear another version of “Jingle Bell Rock” I am going to bash my car radio with a baseball bat.)
But all that changed last Monday. We had a storm come through here that brought overcast skies, rain, wind and cold (at least by Arizona standards). I was off of work that day and my wife didn’t have to go in until the early afternoon. Our television was tuned to the holiday station and we had our coffees and all of our decorations were up.
None of those things however, served to explain why it finally felt like Christmas. Because the best part of that day was spending it with the three-month old baby girl who we hope to call our daughter one day very soon.
Allow me to explain. The week our foster kiddos went back we received the amazingly great news that we were chosen to be the prospective adoptive parents of a baby girl. The process that ensued served to explain why the holidays had gotten away from us. Of course we were thrilled at the joy this Christmas could bring, but we were also anxious to meet her and find out more about her and have her in our home.
It had been a whirlwind of car rides here and there, meetings, phone calls and paperwork. Everything felt right to us from the beginning, but meeting her was better than we ever could have hoped for. And while nothing is quite official and won’t be until at least the middle of this upcoming year, there’s no going back now. It’s already too late. There was no going back when we first laid eyes on her.
We brought her home on Sunday and last Monday was her first full day in her new home. The wind howled outside and the rain pounded the windows, but for most of the day she slept peacefully in her boppy on the couch. When my wife left for work I had her all to myself, and we played and I fed her and we watched bad Christmas movies on TV until she would doze off again.
All of a sudden it felt like the holidays more than it ever had back in the cold and snow of New Jersey. And even though we won’t be back east this year for the first time in our entire lives, it turns out we’ll be spending Christmas with our family after all.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas everyone!
Keep sending your cards, letters, emails and photos in.
James Hamilton
Keep sending your cards, letters, emails and photos in.
James Hamilton
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Making holiday memories here in moderate AZ
Note: This column appears in the 12/18 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 12/19 issue of the Peoria Times
There were two reasons my wife and I thought twice about moving to Arizona. First and foremost: family. Was Arizona far away enough? (That was a joke.) The second reason was much less important -- though still relevant -- and actually in direct contrast to one of our main reasons for wanting to move here in the first place (the warm weather), and it was this: Christmas…in Arizona?
(Spoiler alert: We moved here anyway.)
Now granted, both of these issues are rendered moot when we travel back east for the holiday itself. But Christmas isn’t just a day. It’s a season, and it’s one that starts -- judging by my 2008 calculations -- three weeks before Halloween. I had my reservations about what it would be like here for those days and weeks, especially after my dreams of sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace (that we don’t have) were interrupted by the sign near our house that reads: Fire danger: Extreme.
Speaking of extreme, I wondered exactly how much I missed the extreme east coast weather as my wife and I watched the crowd at Rockefeller Center freezing their butts off during the tree lighting ceremony on TV a few weeks ago. Last Saturday night we wore jeans and a light jacket when we attended Glendale Glitters. We saw the lights, grabbed a cup of coffee, and just took in the whole holiday scene. Afterwards we went to our good friends’ house to test out their new fire pit. We had a few drinks and even made s’mores. It sure felt like Christmas to me.
A couple of weeks ago we went out to dinner with friends to a place we never would have found on our own. It was called Tutti Santi in Glendale, and, as you can imagine, it was authentic Italian cuisine. If there’s one thing a guy with Italian in-laws misses this time of year, it’s authentic Italian cuisine. Outside of the restaurant a live band played and the promenade was adorned with Christmas lights. Inside our waiter demanded that we try the crème brule. Strangely, it felt like home.
Sure, nothing is the same without family, but if you’ve noticed a common theme of our Christmas-in-Arizona experience thus far, it’s that we’ve got some great friends to share it with. Most of them are in a similar position to ours -- far from home but trying to make new memories here. Corny? Yes. Christmas-y? Also yes.
On our way home from Tutti Santi the other night my wife and I took the back roads home so we could see the lights on the houses along 91st Avenue. I have no idea how you get Christmas lights on a cactus -- or, for that matter, off a cactus -- but these people get it done. And it all looked so amazing amidst the clear, cool Arizona night sky. As we got closer to the house, our headlights revealed that the fire danger had been reduced to “moderate.” I asked my wife if we could get the fire pit going and have some hot chocolate. After all, it was a crisp 48-degrees. She said we didn’t have a fire pit.
Maybe next year.
I’m looking forward to it already.
There were two reasons my wife and I thought twice about moving to Arizona. First and foremost: family. Was Arizona far away enough? (That was a joke.) The second reason was much less important -- though still relevant -- and actually in direct contrast to one of our main reasons for wanting to move here in the first place (the warm weather), and it was this: Christmas…in Arizona?
(Spoiler alert: We moved here anyway.)
Now granted, both of these issues are rendered moot when we travel back east for the holiday itself. But Christmas isn’t just a day. It’s a season, and it’s one that starts -- judging by my 2008 calculations -- three weeks before Halloween. I had my reservations about what it would be like here for those days and weeks, especially after my dreams of sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace (that we don’t have) were interrupted by the sign near our house that reads: Fire danger: Extreme.
Speaking of extreme, I wondered exactly how much I missed the extreme east coast weather as my wife and I watched the crowd at Rockefeller Center freezing their butts off during the tree lighting ceremony on TV a few weeks ago. Last Saturday night we wore jeans and a light jacket when we attended Glendale Glitters. We saw the lights, grabbed a cup of coffee, and just took in the whole holiday scene. Afterwards we went to our good friends’ house to test out their new fire pit. We had a few drinks and even made s’mores. It sure felt like Christmas to me.
A couple of weeks ago we went out to dinner with friends to a place we never would have found on our own. It was called Tutti Santi in Glendale, and, as you can imagine, it was authentic Italian cuisine. If there’s one thing a guy with Italian in-laws misses this time of year, it’s authentic Italian cuisine. Outside of the restaurant a live band played and the promenade was adorned with Christmas lights. Inside our waiter demanded that we try the crème brule. Strangely, it felt like home.
Sure, nothing is the same without family, but if you’ve noticed a common theme of our Christmas-in-Arizona experience thus far, it’s that we’ve got some great friends to share it with. Most of them are in a similar position to ours -- far from home but trying to make new memories here. Corny? Yes. Christmas-y? Also yes.
On our way home from Tutti Santi the other night my wife and I took the back roads home so we could see the lights on the houses along 91st Avenue. I have no idea how you get Christmas lights on a cactus -- or, for that matter, off a cactus -- but these people get it done. And it all looked so amazing amidst the clear, cool Arizona night sky. As we got closer to the house, our headlights revealed that the fire danger had been reduced to “moderate.” I asked my wife if we could get the fire pit going and have some hot chocolate. After all, it was a crisp 48-degrees. She said we didn’t have a fire pit.
Maybe next year.
I’m looking forward to it already.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Holiday movies teach us important lessons
Note: This column appears in the 12/11 issue of The Glendale Star and the 12/12 issue of the Peoria Times
The theme of almost every holiday movie is finding the true meaning of Christmas. Except, of course, for the movie “Jack Frost,” in which the theme is: if your absentee father dies, be alert, because there is a good chance he will come back to life in the form of a snowman, and finally teach you how to play hockey. This is another important holiday lesson.
Anyway, the true meaning of Christmas in these movies usually proves to be quite elusive at first, but is ultimately found in some form of non-materialistic love. That is why, I am sure, so many people like myself are suckers for holiday flicks -- because they make you feel good, and reaffirm what you already know to be true.
But let me ask you this: Have you ever tried, in real life, to execute a non-materialistic Christmas? Contrary to what the movies would imply (gasp!), it is quite difficult.
A few years ago, on the heels of Hurricane Katrina, my wife and I decided that we really didn’t need presents that year. So in lieu of gifts we asked some of our family to simply donate to a particular school in New Orleans. A part of us imagined that everybody would follow suit when it came to their own gifts, and we would all have one, big, giftless Christmas. But it didn’t necessarily go down like that, and two days later we were in Victoria’s Secret searching for those pajama pants that say “Pink” on the butt. It was almost as if our family learned nothing from the movie “Jack Frost.”
And what example is Santa Claus setting in all of this? I have yet to see him denounce the materialism of the holidays by replacing Xboxes with $100 United Way donations. (Plus he was a total insensitive jerk in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”) That’s why I often prefer to take it upon myself to force my agenda on others by making donations on their behalf without their consent. Take that, loved ones!
Rudolph, you idiot -- your hoof is on my toe! Your father should be ashamed...
Only a holiday movie can help us. I choose “Once Upon a Christmas,” in which former swimsuit model Kathy Ireland plays Santa Claus’s daughter and she has to save Christmas because her parents – Mr. & Mrs. Claus -- went on vacation to Hawaii (again, nice example, Santa.) Not that there is a lesson to be learned from that movie -- it is horrible – but if you buy it on DVD for someone they probably won’t want a gift from you next year. And that’s a start.
But, believe it or not, I have learned something over the years. While an all-out non-materialistic holiday would be quite a thing to experience, it’s not a reality, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. For one, it could actually deprive others of the joy they derive from giving. For them, the look on your face after opening a thoughtful gift they couldn’t wait to give you is often the gift itself. And let’s face it -- gift-giving is part of our holiday culture, and the ultimate reason behind that is a good one. Finding the balance between helping those who really need it and giving to those you love may be the true, true meaning of Christmas.
That, or, spirit-inhabited snowmen. Either one.
You're right Snowdad -- this isn't weird at all!
The theme of almost every holiday movie is finding the true meaning of Christmas. Except, of course, for the movie “Jack Frost,” in which the theme is: if your absentee father dies, be alert, because there is a good chance he will come back to life in the form of a snowman, and finally teach you how to play hockey. This is another important holiday lesson.
Anyway, the true meaning of Christmas in these movies usually proves to be quite elusive at first, but is ultimately found in some form of non-materialistic love. That is why, I am sure, so many people like myself are suckers for holiday flicks -- because they make you feel good, and reaffirm what you already know to be true.
But let me ask you this: Have you ever tried, in real life, to execute a non-materialistic Christmas? Contrary to what the movies would imply (gasp!), it is quite difficult.
A few years ago, on the heels of Hurricane Katrina, my wife and I decided that we really didn’t need presents that year. So in lieu of gifts we asked some of our family to simply donate to a particular school in New Orleans. A part of us imagined that everybody would follow suit when it came to their own gifts, and we would all have one, big, giftless Christmas. But it didn’t necessarily go down like that, and two days later we were in Victoria’s Secret searching for those pajama pants that say “Pink” on the butt. It was almost as if our family learned nothing from the movie “Jack Frost.”
And what example is Santa Claus setting in all of this? I have yet to see him denounce the materialism of the holidays by replacing Xboxes with $100 United Way donations. (Plus he was a total insensitive jerk in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”) That’s why I often prefer to take it upon myself to force my agenda on others by making donations on their behalf without their consent. Take that, loved ones!
Rudolph, you idiot -- your hoof is on my toe! Your father should be ashamed...
Only a holiday movie can help us. I choose “Once Upon a Christmas,” in which former swimsuit model Kathy Ireland plays Santa Claus’s daughter and she has to save Christmas because her parents – Mr. & Mrs. Claus -- went on vacation to Hawaii (again, nice example, Santa.) Not that there is a lesson to be learned from that movie -- it is horrible – but if you buy it on DVD for someone they probably won’t want a gift from you next year. And that’s a start.
But, believe it or not, I have learned something over the years. While an all-out non-materialistic holiday would be quite a thing to experience, it’s not a reality, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. For one, it could actually deprive others of the joy they derive from giving. For them, the look on your face after opening a thoughtful gift they couldn’t wait to give you is often the gift itself. And let’s face it -- gift-giving is part of our holiday culture, and the ultimate reason behind that is a good one. Finding the balance between helping those who really need it and giving to those you love may be the true, true meaning of Christmas.
That, or, spirit-inhabited snowmen. Either one.
You're right Snowdad -- this isn't weird at all!
Monday, December 1, 2008
Christmas trees in Toronto
Big, bright beautiful Christmas trees continue to pop up around the downtown core of Toronto. Besides the occasional Santa and his reindeer the tree seems to be the most visible icon of Christmas.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Maple Leafs hockey game
We caught the Toronto Maple Leafs playing the Atlanta Thrashers at Toronto's Air Canada Centre (ACC) and I don't think they are on the way to the Stanley Cup! It was a fun night anyways. We were in the golds courtesy of Dufferin Aggregate's Acton Quarry.
The crisp air blowing through Toronto and the fantastic decorations around town remind us that Santa will soon be here.
The crisp air blowing through Toronto and the fantastic decorations around town remind us that Santa will soon be here.
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