Not really a Grinch

Christmas doesn't mean much to me any more.  It used to.  I can vividly recall that bubbling, sparking feeling of anticipation I got throughout the holiday season when I was a child.  I loved the lights, the colors, the movies, the rituals, the cookies, the presents, the tree.  That feeling, that excitement and joy, the weepy, gooey emotions that make up Christmas spirit were in fact themselves my favorite part of the season.

Then, when I was a young adult living on my own in Los Angeles, desperate to become a working actress, desperate to be loved, surviving on next to nothing, Christmas became a time of spending money I didn't have and time I couldn't spare on trying to think of, find, and buy presents for the first tier people in my life.  And I am just terrible at thinking of and finding the right present for anybody.  My history of gift giving is full of failures and embarrassments and letdowns.  There is also the fact that I began to be oddly repelled by 'stuff'.  I wanted to declutter my life, live more simply.  I couldn't stand going into stores and seeing all the rows and aisles and shelves and rooms jammed with stuff and more stuff and even more stuff.

I finally declared that I was simply not going to give Christmas presents any more, and requested, begged even, that people not give presents to me.  (Some still did, and some of those presents were lovely, but some just became more clutter in my life.  Several times a gift didn't fit into the suitcase I had taken to wherever the family gathering happened to be, leaving me to hold it on my lap on the flight home, or mail it to myself.  I guess I'm not the only person who isn't good at choosing gifts to give.)  I did begin to enjoy Christmas a bit more after that declaration,  I'm not so much of a Grinch that I couldn't still take pleasure in the classic holiday movies looking at light displays, singing carols.  But those bubbles, those sparkles, that poignant, happy feeling in my stomach was still missing.  Without that and without presents, Christmas just doesn't feel all that special.

Still, when I woke up yesterday, Christmas morning, I discovered that Sweet Hubby had opened our boxes of decorations and hung them around the house.  He made us French toast and sausage for breakfast.  We took a walk out in the brisk air, then watched "Miracle on 34th Street".  We Zoomed with my family for a while, then I made us chicken and dumplings for dinner.  By the end of the day, I noticed I was feeling sort of Christmas spirit-y.  Not the bubbles and sparkles of a child, but the sweet happiness of an aging woman who loves her life.  And it was good.