That Time of the Year

I don't know how you feel about Christmas. To some, it's a massive, almost months-long prelude to some all-consuming event. When children are involved, this is sure to be the case. But what about when there are no children around, and maybe it's just you and your partner, or, heavens forbid, just you?

Well, there are two ways to go about it; namely, do as I do and pretty much realise it's Christmas on about December 21st. It's way too late to shop for anyone, even if there were someone to shop for. And even if I did want to shop for someone, I wouldn't have a clue what to get.

I live with Brigitte, but I don't have a single clue what to get her. Perhaps if she had dropped hints for months in advance I might have an idea, but I really, really don't. Besides, if there were anything she wanted, it would be next to useless for me to get it, as I would almost always choose the wrong kind, size, shape or quality. I, of course, always know what I want, but it rarely has anything to do with whether or not I get it for Christmas. I just get it whenever I want it.

But what about the festivities, the "Christmas cheer," the "getting into it?" Well, in Christmases past there'd be no question as to how it would be celebrated: by a double Bloody Mary to start off the morning and then something along that vein all day and night. Well, this will be my first "dry" Christmas, ever since I can remember. That means at least 40 Christmases, folks. Yes, at age 20 I would have probably been zonked out on the couch by 5 p.m. Maybe not, but the point is, for the life of me, I can't remember.

When both my parents were alive, I probably only missed around 5 Christmases with them, and that's because I was in Japan. And let me tell you, being in Japan for Christmas is one of the most miserable  affairs I can imagine. Any Western-style holiday is either completely ignored or given a totally Japanese slant (sorry) or transmogrified into a grotesque approximation of the holiday, like grafting a lemon onto an olive tree; both absurd and useless at the same time.

But this year? It will be the first that I will not be spending with any family members whomsoever. Brigitte has some cousins here, but for her, that's about it. No, Christmas will just be mainly just the two of us. Maybe I'll break a rule and have a couple of Bloody Marys. Since I stopped drinking last February 1st I've discovered, much to my amazement, that I CAN have a couple of drinks now and then -- more "then" than "now" -- and not be afraid that I'm going to sink back into the abyss. In fact, it's always a good reminder of why I don't drink, or rather, shouldn't drink. For you reformed smokers, just imagine after a length of five years or so of abstinence, lighting up a cigarette and smoking the whole thing. Well, you'd be vomiting profusely within ten minutes but just getting that smoke into your chest would remind you why it's such an alien thing for a human being to do.

In my case, same goes for drinking. These days, a hangover is no laughing matter. Even a very minor one fucks me up for days. I so much prefer being "normal."

So good old Mr. Frosty won't have a big place at the dinner, or even, breakfast table.

But starting today I think I'll put my Christmas suit on and really try to make believe that everything is holly-jolly, even though my son is 12,000 miles away and my mother is 4,000.

I promised to make turkey for a couple of friends -- the Usual Suspects -- and I suppose the actual day will come and go and be enjoyable.

But you, you folk? Be of good cheer. Shed not a tear for my maudlin reminiscences. Go out and get hammered, swap presents and have a jolly old good time.

And to start it all off, why don't you take a listen to one of my favorite renditions or one of my most favorite Christmas songs ever: Chrissie Hynde and, well, have yourselves a very merry Christmas.