For Christmas this year we decided as a family to spent our money and time together on a day trip to San Francisco. We pondered where to go, and what to see. Our lovely neighbor, who yearly travels on a charter with friends, shared her experience at the Dickens Christmas Faire along with her newspaper from London,
which encouraged us to give it a go! So, jolly well, we did!!!
Every year after Thanksgiving, a portion of the Cow Palace in Daly City travels through time arriving at London town during the Dicken's era. Players in costume and character, perform, sell their wares, and celebrate the beautiful giving spirit of Christmas! On stages through out the exhibition, live enactments offer frivolous fun. Skits, songs, dances, & jugglers engagedly took us to another place in history. This did not appear laborious for them, even though we chose to go on the day before the end, when the energy and passion for a stage run loses energy and steam. No, these folks were really enjoying the moment! And so did we!
I could give you a blow by blow review, but that is not my purpose. (Though the Turkish coffee in Golden Square deserves an honorable meantion.) As my husband and I rested near the roasted chestnut vender, we noted how our daughter and her friend had truly entered interactively in the occasion, like so many other guests, dressing up on period clothing. When we were their ages, in the 60's and 70's life was different in America. Dressing up as Hippies and protesting, any and everything, was the role play of the time. Today, it isn't unsual to see youth and adults alike, step into fantastic alter egos. The gray headed actors, along with college students, even mother and child duos make up the troupe of actors participating in this event! Christmas here is about the fellowship, and the activities are relational. Games, dancing, art lessons, dressing up, hand-on crafting booths, and of course, eating and drinking are the communal focus of the holiday celebration. It was quite appropriate our adventure to commemorate Christmas, away from gifting, would land us at the Dickens' Christmas Fair!
As we dined at Red Robin in Fairfield on our trip home, we discussed our costumes for next year. Our newest annual jollity will be visiting London town, via the bay area.
As they say in Old London,
"A Happy Christmas to all!"
It was Christmas 2000. For 23 years of marriage I had collected, gathered, and hoarded anything Christmas. It was my holiday! I loved anything Christmas, but especially Santas. The magic Santa promised to bring on Christmas I was forever seeking. Each room had a theme. Ascending the apartment stairs, trees sang and escorted you. Polar bears in the master bedroom, snowmen in the girl's room, the boys had a lodge look; but the living room was Santa's, I was making cross-stitched Christmas stockings with a different style of St. Nick on each one! My tree was covered with gifted ornaments from the school children of the private school I'd taught in for 20 years. I hoped my living room gave the growing youth that tingling feeling, when viewing their art work chronicled on the tree.
Despite my husband's objections, this year I was adding collectables in an effort to upscale my decor. "We have too many children for those fragile ornaments. Someone is going to knock them off the tree and you'll get upset and angry." In my enthusiasm, I couldn't see how my children were actually beginning to dread the season. My efforts to emphasis serving and giving to others during the holidays was actually wearing them out. I was so caught up, I didn't realize my efforts were taking the joy out of the season I so loved. I couldn't see myself as an angry bear if everything wasn't just right. I didn't see the disappointment in the children's eyes when I rearranged the ornaments they had hung, rearranged because it wasn't balance, or good enough for mom. I was doing what my mom had always done, not learning from her mistake, but entitled to repeat it.
The apartment was decorated, but I was still tweaking the living room tree. My second son, Seth, 15 years old was resigned to help me. He wanted to be anywhere but there. I remember his determination to be passively submitted, because no one could win in a battle with MOM. I felt the tree was off center from the window about 3 inches. For the final decorating act, I wanted him to pick it up and move it by reaching within the branched to grab the trunk. Seth was cooperating the best a 15 year old boy can. But something happened when he reached within the tree. Some how this artificial treasure of a Christmas tree broke in half and fell over in the center of the room, breaking one of my precious new collectables! Remorse, and anger came in an instant, but my ears tore my attention away as I listened to my son burst out, "I broke the Christmas tree!!!" Laughing hilariously he kept repeating, "I can't believe it! I broke the Christmas tree! I didn't mean to, but I broke the Christmas tree!!!" Seth was laughing so hard he couldn't control himself. No fear of Mom subdued him, and after all, I couldn't hurt him anymore than I already had. In that moment, I felt like the Grinch having an epiphany revelation. I could posture in anger, irrationally blame Seth and totally ruin any joy for this Christmas, or I could accept the truth. We should have left well enough alone! Seth was more beautiful and important than that tree could ever be. Nothing in my home should be of more value than the people in it. I took in the laughter, realizing the virtue of the moment. Having been critized for adoring my children even as they misbehave, I tried to pull myself back into character. I remember questioning the sincerity of his apology, as he "laughed like an idiot", I think I said. That sounds like something I would have said. But Seth's laughter cracked something in me, which needed shattering. I remember it now, trying to lean into the lesson, and relive the glory of that instant. I want love, mercy and kindness to flavor my life, more! Thank you, God, my son broke the Christmas tree of 2000! It was one of my life's highlights.
Since the day the Christmas tree broke, my definition for perfection has changed. I am told I am not as "linear" as I used to be. I find myself opposed to tight structure, or predetermined standards. God created the trees, called them good, but you'll never see an absolutely symmetrical one in nature. Maybe aligning with God views includes judging irregularities as "good and beautiful." If the neighbors are offended by my droopy lights, well, maybe they should just get over it! I have!
"Aren't they a little droopy?"
"That's the way they are suppose to be," was the demonstrative, slightly annoyed response of my 19 year old daughter.
We were inspecting her handiwork on the outdoor Christmas decorations. Our meager garage sale gathering of outdoor decorations included three strands of multicolored icicle twinkling lights. They were pitifully strung between nails placed by a previous renter.
"Aren't they supposed to be taunt?" I tried to ask in a truly inquisitive manner.
"No! This is the only way they can possible be hung! I tried to make them tighter, but it can't be done! Besides, I like them this way." We moved from simple installation into an artistic expression. This was her creation, or expression of Christmas. These lights were her crayons and she had worked hard to create this outdoor masterpiece.
"Okay! Great. Thank you! I am so happy to have lights up!"
After 35 years of marriage, and rearing 6 children, I have learned, when the kids pull out the "it's art!" card, you go with it! I smile as I remember another Christmas. The one where I first began to let go of my neurosis for Christmas decorating perfection. The year the Christmas tree broke.
