Celebrate simply

It is December and the weather has turned cold.  You would think I lived in Denver and was writing about snow and below zero temperatures.  But no, I am here in the Philippines, surprised that I can feel our “winter” on my skin. The weather is cold and dismal, I think anyway, and I am in another of my in-between moods.  In between thank-God-I’m-done-with-selling mood and what-will-I-do-next mood.  I know I have to do something.  Otherwise what does an old retired woman do with her life?  Am I expected to twiddle my thumbs until I die of boredom?

 To change my mood ordinarily I invent an activity that puts me in touch with a lot of people. Like my writing classes. I always enjoy those but can’t have them during the holiday season, which is the busiest time of year for people who still get really excited over Christmas. I know. 

If at least 10 people are interested then that will move me to tinker with my computer and see what kind of art I can come up with to give you something nice to put under the tree.  Yes, and I can use those lovely envelopes I could not resist that are a cross between red and fuchsia and... There I’m excited already.  Let’s hope it works.

But that will mean that after I come up with the gift certificates, which should take no more than three days max, and that means a lot of lingering in between, I will have nothing more to do.  I must find something more to do.  And it must be something I can do alone because the traffic outside is enough to make me crazy.  And the lights at night on Ayala Avenue make me want to pretend I am transitionally blind through this holiday season. 

 The older I get, the more I long for the Christmases of my childhood.  The house would smell of Baguio pine, the most heavenly Christmas scent.  The tree was simple, just a small to medium pine from Baguio, which you can buy from some streetcorners.  Then you trimmed it with a collection of Christmas balls from holidays past and with those pointy but big colored Christmas lights.  At the top of the tree you would put either an angel or a star.

 We didn’t put up a tree until after the Dec. 15.  And we kept it until Jan. 7.  By then the tree would be wilting but through the three weeks I would wake up in the morning and smell the pine.  It would intoxicate me.  I would be drunk on Christmas, looking forward to Santa and his gifts.

 And on Christmas morning, what did he bring?  Six big tubes of plastic balloon that I loved blowing up and playing with all through the holidays.  There were other little gifts but I remember the plastic balloon most of all.  How old was I then?  Maybe 10.  And now, 60 years, later I can still recall the smell of Christmas when I was small and the thrill of seeing the gifts that Santa brought me.

 I grew up, grew older.  In my 30s Christmas was such a creative exercise.  Buying expensive toys for the children.  Having three Christmas trees in the house.  Wrapping all those gifts.  Working myself to the bone just to give the children a merry Christmas.  And now?

I’m sorry but I am old and tired.  When I think of all the Christmases past, I sigh — Please, God, do we have to do it again?  Can I not just light a simple candle and think about the night you were born and celebrate it simply?  Forget the relleno or the turkey or the ensaymadas and fruit salad?   Without the queso de bola and castañas and the elaborate Chinese ham that I used to soak for days then cook in pineapple juice and beer sweetened with panotsa, which in the US I substituted with caramel blocks that I bought in Chinatown? 

I think I can have a simple celebration once again.  Forget the gifts and the food.  Spend the day remembering Mary and Joseph trying to find room at the inn and failing.  Until they see a stable and decide to rest there.  And there they have their son, a beautiful baby.  God.  I will worship Him.  See?  It’s that simple.

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I will try to organize a class that begins on the third Saturday of January, Jan. 18, 2014.  Is that a Christmas gift you want to give your mother, grandmother, sister, father, grandfather, brother or child?  It will cost you P8,000 for seven full sessions I am sure they’ll enjoy and they will learn how to write.  I call my writing classes the Joy of Writing and they are equally fun for the students and for me.  Send me a text if you’re interested.

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