Such a Time as This

It’s the holiday season. That time of year when Mariah Carey takes over the airwaves and your credit card gets burned. For as long as I can remember, this time of year has never been a great time for me in the United States. Growing up in the southern hemisphere, Christmas was a time of house parties—sans decorations—where people ate copious amounts of food, drank to oblivion, and listened to loud Zaïko in the warm sun. We didn’t really do presents, with people putting most of their hard-earned cash into ornate outfits and special food and booze. It was the best.
When I moved to the States, Christmas was about Santa Claus, the mythical creature I knew about though didn’t realise the whole month revolved around him and some happy reindeer. And the presents, the shops and the endless rotation of cheesy music, it was all just a bit too overwhelming for my little brain. Where are the parties? I asked my Mum. Why is there scheduled rigidity to the whole festivities, with everyone going home sober Christmas Eve night after a dour church service? That’s how Christmas works in the States, I was explained, with most of the fun happening at the base of the Christmas tree on the morning of the 25th. It was all bizarre to me, and I’ll never forget the year I decided to poo-poo a gift that was given me, after watching a child do it on television. It didn’t go so well. Neither did it go well the time I decided to skip church—and the fake enthusiasm--and stay home to watch Tomorrow Never Dies, where when everyone returned home, I was bitched out by Uncle for watching unsavory programs.
I’ve never been able to win at Christmas in the States, and as the years have gone by I’ve paid less and less attention to it. Only one Christmas has lasted in my mind these 30-odd years, and that’s the one I spent in Austria. Never had I been in a place where the spirit of family and the christ mass flowed seamlessly without pretention. There were the wonderful christkindlmarkts of Vienna and Salzburg, where I go to enjoy the deliciousness of glühwein and lebkuchen.  And in retrospect, there was a reason why my boyfriend at the time felt the need to throw me into the throng of mädchens being chased by Krampus, he was slyly telling him he was one of them under his good boy exterior. Still, that holiday season with him instilled a deep understanding of what the holidays and Christmas is really about: family.

I am 38 now, and my favorite Christmas was well over a decade ago. Since then, I’ve tried to replicate the warmth and comfort I felt all those years ago—during my early years and in Austria—but it just can’t be done. I’ve tried, but when you have a Mother who can’t see past the gluttonness disgust of so many presents at Christmas (really, the presents mean nothing), and shuns everyone who participates, the holiday becomes depressing. So, since the pandemic, I’ve begun having solo Christmas’ where I cook a special meal, drink a curated wine and cocktail menu, and listen to Handel’s Messiah. Now that I have Mookie, I also make her a special meal, and before we tuck in, I make sure to say a prayer of thanks. I may not be having the Christmas of my dreams, but I’m fed, clothed, with a fun furry partner in crime, shelves full of books and music, and a warm place to lay my healthy head.
If I have any readers out there, I’d like to wish you all a very content and peaceful holiday. Remember—whether you’re Christian or not---that Christmas is about miracles and the hope that comes from them. A reminder to us that as alone as we may feel, we are not alone in our struggle. Salvation is never too far away, just look to the stars.

With infinite gratitude,
m

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