It's beginning to smell a lot like Xmas: Favorite Things #6
because you wanted a little diversion, not a part-time job
I don’t know about you, but I get very overwhelmed by long-ass lists:
TWENTY BEST Places to Eat…!
55 Products You Can’t Live Without!!
101 BOOKS YOU MUST READ BEFORE YOU DIE!!!
No, thanks. Even 10 can be a bit much sometimes.
Here are a FEW of my favorite things, because that’s how the song goes…
There will be no Christmas tree at Casa Ford this year; has not been one since we sold everything and moved to Spain. Correction: We GAVE AWAY all of our Xmas decorations, and this was no small coup for the lady who swooped in and took our giant bin of goodies—the salvage and punchline of the Great Christmas Tree Disaster of 1996 which I am about to relate.
Let me be clear: I am NOT a Christian! 😈 I was never even baptized despite a sneak attack in the bathtub by my lapsed Catholic husband trying to pull a fast one just to be safe. Ours was not a Christian family so much as a “Christ+mas” family—all of the MÁS, none of the CHRIST. Yes food, yes presents, yes tree and carols; no church, no prayers, definitely no peace or goodwill toward men.
Nevertheless, I once had a boyfriend with champagne taste on a credit card budget, and our first Xmas together, we went nuts, especially with those Dept 56 painted mercury glass ornaments that were just too pretty to resist. A giant Santa head, matching giant and baby teddy bears, a star, gingerbread house, sparkling fruits and sundry other sugarplums—at $30 to $100 a pop (in the 90s) this added up to about $1000 worth of big, gorgeous—and heavy!—tree.
Cut to Xmas 1996. The boyfriend was gone, but in the break-up I kept all of the ornaments financed on my Visa, and put up my very own Christmas tree with all the trimmings. I was living in San Francisco in a one bed/bath apartment I shared with my friend, and since her bedroom was the living room, up the tree went in mine.
I made a very gay night of it—singing along with Mitch Miller & the Gang on the stereo, bottle of Scharffenberger, and plate of cookies just for me.
I had the brilliant idea to lift the tree up on a box so the ornaments on the lower branches wouldn’t drag on the floor. Lights twinkling, tree loaded up with enough bling for a Queen on Coronation Day, I drifted off to sleep gazing at my icon to festive spirit.
I’m sure you’ve already guessed what happened.
I had barely drifted off to sleep when the whole great edifice of my holiday tableau, destabilized by the enormous weight of it all, crushed the box and came crashing spectacularly, heartbreakingly down. Glass everywhere, hundreds of dollars worth of ornaments in pieces—my long winter’s nap come to a premature, earsplitting end. I’ve never recovered.
Fuck Christmas. 😵😶🥺
How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966)
Please never speak to me about the live-action remake, an atrocity.
Long before my Xmas heartbreak turned me a little Grinchy, I loved this Dr. Seuss classic with its silly villain and adorable poppets, one of the first modern and most original takes on Christmas, minus the saccharine and Jesus nonsense. Boris Karloff’s narration may in fact be the greatest vocal performance of all time, and the uncredited singing of Thurl Ravenscroft on “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” produced my absolute favorite Christmas carol, bar none. This short 25 minute TV-movie is a masterpiece. ❤️🦌🐶
Santa Claus 🎅🎅🏻🎅🏼🎅🏽🎅🏾🎅🏿
He’s mature but young of heart. Nonfrontational: an alpha male minus the toxicity. Firm, but not preachy—the lay person’s savior. He’s got an army of elves, but by all accounts is a generous and kind employer/entrepreneur. Loves animals, great work schedule (one night a year.) A competent cuddler, one assumes—Mrs. Claus seems well pleased, anyway. He lives life to the fullest, caring little for superficial things like waistlines, varied wardrobes, or a clean shave. The original cookie monster. Infectious laugh. Drives a green vehicle. Consummate giver.
BONUS: Love a good evil twin.
I told Eleanor a while back that every one of her Recovery Diaries posts feels like a Buddhist koan, a short but sweet guide to deeper understanding. I’m also calling it a memoir-in-flash, brief episodes that build up, layer by layer—a life, a heart, a woman of courage, wit, and intelligence. She’s wrapped this series up now, but you could certainly dip in and taste any of her 108 daily meditations, starting below.
Her serial novel, In Judgement of Others, is a hilariously biting and poignant exploration of her heroine’s mental health spiral, and the less than perfectly stable circle of friends surrounding her.
#105 Some Places - The Recovery Diaries was a particularly moving—and seasonal—late entry in the series, one that evoked both bittersweet memories of family complexities, and warm holiday traditions.
I admire her writing enormously.
Haha! Slowly catching up on reading, so a bit late to this one. But love it! “Glass everywhere, hundreds of dollars worth of ornaments in pieces—my long winter’s nap come to a premature, earsplitting end. I’ve never recovered.” Oh my! Fuck Christmas indeed.
I, too, love Eleanor’s writing.
Thanks for a wonderful, perfectly sized list.
My poor darling, I'm sorry you had such a fiasco with Christmas then. I wish this year, sans tree but with plenty of cheer, I hope, you and your husband are enjoying great festivities and laughing lots. :-*