A Holiday Not Particularly Good, But It Had Its Moments

The day you go back to work after Christmas, people will naturally ask if you had a nice holiday. Truth compelled me to tell people today that, no, I didn’t particularly have a good one (although I’m very good at seeing whatever good there is to see, even I can’t make a cashmere glove out of a rotten pumpkin). It started out OK, with egg nog, chocolates, holiday movie sessions, and a brief respite from work. I was cozy enough on Christmas Eve with all the afore-mentioned, but then I decided to go out on Christmas Day to see a movie and have dinner.

I decided, with some trepidation, to go see Little Women on its opening day. This was probably the first “chapter book” I read as a child, but this is the first time I’ve seen a filmed version. A previous production with Susan Sarandon just never pulled me in because none of the well-known actors in the cast corresponded to my idea of the March family and their friends. In this case, I was able to contemplate seeing the film with a reasonable level of equanimity because a number of the cast members were unknown to me. While I thought this film was well-made, and I enjoyed a number of the performances (Meryl Streep as Aunt March and Timothée Chalamet as Laurie were particularly inspired choices), the March girls seemed a little too modern and raucous to be the March girls I remember. I believe that was an intentional choice by director Greta Gerwig, and while I think she’s made a very good film, it wasn’t quite the film I wanted. (Do not, however, let that stop you from seeing it.)

After popcorn and a movie, I went to Denny’s for dinner and was told they’d had a number of workers call in. I have to cut them a little slack, because I think they were being asked to do the impossible by even being open and serving people. My choices on where to have a turkey dinner were limited (it was Denny’s or nothing), so I toughed it out, and while it was not the way I had pictured it (and I burned my mouth by eating food that was simultaneously too hot (in some spots) and too cold (in others), I did get my turkey and dressing, which was my goal.

If you want some short quotables to take with you on sort of a non-starter Christmas (that is not, however, the worst Christmas I ever had), here are my thoughts on the day, summarized.

1. If you don’t have a husband, waking up with a hot water bottle is probably the next best thing, but if I could only get my belongings out of storage, I have a fake lynx coat hot water bottle cover from Restoration Hardware that would have made it a little cozier on Christmas morning and less medicinal-seeming, but OK . . . at least I had a hot water bottle.

2. Is it my imagination, or have I gotten so used to sleeping in my car that a nearly empty hotel is no longer that much better a place to spend a holiday (except for getting to watch TV) than the back seat of my car?

3. The eggnog I got from the store was good, but I suspect they slipped non-fat milk into that carton because it didn’t taste as rich as I was expecting. Look, if I want low-fat, I’ll get it myself, OK?

4. There are certain holiday movies that, once you’ve seen them, you don’t really feel the need for repeat viewings. I watched Elf for the first time this year, and while it’s really pretty goofy, at least I had never seen it before, and somehow Will Ferrell is able to pull it off.

5. If you find yourself watching Jurassic Park on Christmas Eve, that’s probably a sign. Not a good sign, but a sign. Switch the channel.

6. Hotels shouldn’t list movies on their channel guide if you are unable to watch them. This was the first time I became aware that not all of the movies listed on the in-hotel viewing guide are actually something you can view. I’m talking about Oscar-nominated (excuse me, Oscar-winning, what was I thinking?) films, not something you need parental permission to see (though I’m past the age for parental permission in any case).

7. If you wake up to “Do You Hear What I Hear?” being played at a very high volume in the middle of the night, go back to sleep. This is probably not anything you want to investigate in person.

8. You will find that if you have a Christmas Day like I had, you will have had your fill of Christmas by the time you get back to your hotel. Travel Channel content on people who thought they were possessed by demons and others who had spooky encounters in the mountains around Asheville, North Carolina, with what may or may not have been a strange combination of scary people and weird special effects meant to make these unfortunates question their sanity will, in this case, begin to seem like something you might actually learn from, as unlikely as it may seem. Ditto, programming on Bigfoot and the Alaskan wilderness.

In conclusion, Happy St. Stephen’s Day, and Wordplay will still be here this time next week, if Grandma doesn’t get run over by a reindeer.

That’s the Spirit!

How do I love thee, Christmas? Let me count down my favorite things about Christmas 2019.

1. Putting a rude customer in their place by absolutely killing them with politeness. You know that you are totally within the bounds of the holiday spirit because you are building their character even as they attempt to drag you down into the mud where they currently dwell. Perhaps they’ll thank you for it someday?

2. Looking at pictures of anything related to eggnog—actual eggnog, eggnog cake, eggnog cookies, eggnog pie, etc. Eggnog is the banana pudding of Christmas: you never see a bad picture of it.

3. Sending just the right card to family and friends and enjoying the thought of them knowing that you are thinking of them (for real). Putting on the stamps is also really fun, for some reason.

4. Going into Starbucks, because Starbucks always looks festive around the holidays and has very evocative holiday beverage names. This has not always been an unalloyed pleasure in the past, but they are doing better this year.

5. Going into the mall at off-peak hours just to enjoy the window displays and general holiday splendor.

6. Knowing that, regardless of what happens in the future, you will doubtless never, for the rest of your life, lose the attitude of superiority that comes with knowing you survived living in your car for a year and a half, including at Christmastime. You try to picture specific individuals you know doing it and nearly collapse with laughter.

7. Hearing either of these two songs come on the radio: “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” or “Last Christmas”—or any holiday song sung with true elan.

8. Looking at presents under a tree, even if only in your mind.

9. Seeing an arched doorway outlined with a string of blue lights and imagining yourself saying, “Mellon.”

10. Glowering at the person attending the Salvation Army kettle in front of the grocery store.

11. Looking forward to Christmas dinner.

12. Watching Christmas movies while tucked into bed (special treat).

13. Imagining the smell of a real Christmas tree in whatever future home you will someday have.

14. Having visions of sugar plums. (Just what is a sugar plum, anyway? Possibly there is some room for interpretation on this, but you know it has to be something good. It’s one of those poetic phrases like “cloth of gold” that instantly evoke enchantment.)

15. Hearing the song “Do You Hear What I Hear?” and wondering if in fact the mighty king, in his palace warm, does know what you know—which is in no way a problem and entirely a good thing if he does. Doubters.

16. Reminding yourself that there are always those less fortunate than you and thinking about what you would do to help them in some future life should you ever be able to do so.

Christmas Movie Extravaganza

Over the last week, I saw several different "Top Christmas Movies" lists, all of which included some films I don't really think of as holiday movies. Most of these lists had the criterion that as long as a film had a Christmas setting, it counted, whether or not the story really had a holiday theme. Since I spent several evenings watching Christmas movies this year, I came up with my own list, which is based on nothing more solid than my liking the films. I also adhere to the standard that the film should really be about Christmas.

If a child were making this list, it would, I'm sure, be different from mine. I caught bits and pieces of several movies like The Santa Clause and Elf that I thought were fine for kids, but I was going more for an "all ages" kind of appeal. I came up with a Top Five and an honorable mention category, and in trying to understand what I liked about each of them, I realized that, besides having a strong Christmas "presence," each one of them has an additional, overarching theme that gives it a depth some of the frothier holiday movies don't have.

Here's the Wordplay list, and it actually is in no particular order.

1. It's a Wonderful Life. I missed seeing it this year, but it's hard to imagine any list that wouldn't have it. Of course, it actually encapsulates a retrospective of George Bailey's entire life, but because of its Christmas Eve setting and the central role the holiday plays in the film, it's definitely a Christmas movie. The theme of decency and integrity and the difference they make in the lives of all those who know this otherwise ordinary man makes this a film for all seasons. You could watch it any time of year without it seeming out of place, but it definitely captures the holiday spirit.

2. Miracle on 34th Street. It had been a while since I'd seen this one (I'm reviewing the 1947 version, the only one I've seen). With the plot revolving around the real identity of a Mr. Kris Kringle, drafted at the last minute to play Santa Claus in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, it's about as Christmasy as they come. What elevates this movie is the fact that while it's ostensibly about whether or not Santa Claus is real (and if he is real, whether or not the jolly Mr. Kringle is the Santa Claus), it's also about saying yes to a number of things--imagination, trust, and new beginnings--that take a little faith but make life infinitely richer.

3. A Christmas Story. I had been meaning to watch this film for years but somehow kept missing it until this year. It has a quirky tone that I found I had to adjust to, since the characters in Ralphie's family are all a bit eccentric, but it hits its stride when Ralphie's quest to get the Christmas present of his dreams, a Red Ryder BB gun, starts to take on the quality of a mission. I liked the way the characters became more three-dimensional as the film went on; both of Ralphie's parents have their faults, but between the two of them they manage to give Ralphie and his brother just what they need. Above and beyond the Christmas theme, this is a nascent coming-of-age story.

4. A Christmas Carol. I've seen several versions of this story on film, including a musical one, and I don't think I've seen a bad one yet. I'm not singling out a particular version, because they all have their virtues, but I think at least one of them has to be on any top Christmas movies list. Dickens's story starts at the opposite end from It's a Wonderful Life, telling the tale of a man whom scarcely anyone loves who comes to realize how different life can be if he overcomes his own disappointments and opens his heart to others. Flashbacks, ghostly visitations, astral journeys, and a Christmas goose--what more can you ask for?

5. The Polar Express. Like A Christmas Carol, this movie is a little bit spooky; like A Christmas Story, it's a coming-of-age tale; and like Miracle on 34th Street, it's a movie that asks you to take certain things on faith. It may seem strange to call this a coming-of-age story when the plot takes a boy who is almost beyond believing in Santa on a magical journey to the North Pole with the purpose of re-awakening his belief. But is that really what's going on? While the movie insists on the importance of belief, Santa Claus is really only the vehicle, the catalyst on a voyage of self-discovery. It is, as the train conductor tells the children, their "crucial year," the one in which they are simultaneously looking backward at the children they have been and forward to the adults they will become.

And finally, in the Honorable Mention category: White Christmas. I saw this movie years ago and liked it, and although it seemed cornier this time than I remembered it, it's hard to find fault with a story that includes romance, a train trip from Florida to New England, comedy, Christmas at a Vermont inn, good deeds that almost backfire, and a number of elaborate musical numbers. It's light-hearted and sentimental and incorporates all that song and dance effortlessly into the plot, as long as you don't mind the schmaltz.

So that's my Top Five, plus one. If anyone was expecting a very quirky and unconventional list, I'm sure they're disappointed, as this list strikes even me as being very traditional. But after all, that's what we like about Christmas: the traditions.

Twelve Days of Christmas

In most of my adult experience, the week between Christmas and New Year's has been a little bit like limbo: it's not quite here, there, or anywhere. If you celebrate Christmas, the big event is over with on December 25, and the rest of it (even New Year's Eve) is kind of anticlimactic. If you're in school, you're on break. If you have a job, you may, if you're lucky, be off the entire week--but more than likely you have to work for at least a few days, though half the cubicles around you may be empty. It's an in-between kind of feeling.

After I started college, I joined the contingent that was glad to get back into the normal routine as soon as possible after Christmas Day, an attitude that holiday overload before Christmas tends to inspire. However, as I've mentioned, I've rethought that attitude in recent years, and traditional ways of celebrating the season support me in that. The Twelve Days of Christmas, for instance, as you know, are the days in between Christmas Day and January 6, the celebration of the Visit of the Magi. I like the idea of spreading the celebration out instead of having everything happen on one day, and some of the customs I've read about from people who still celebrate Christmas the old way sound like more fun than the one-day-only approach.

I don't know whether it was "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song or the Hanukkah custom of the Jewish family that lived near us when I was a kid that inspired me, but I have started opening gifts in the days after Christmas. I wrap up little things that I would have bought for myself anyway, like a calendar or a small package of chocolate, put them under the tree, and open them one by one. I'm not in a hurry to open those packages since they look so pretty sitting under the tree, and this year, with all those hand-made bows on them, I'm in less of a hurry than ever.

I was actually still listening to Christmas CDs the day before yesterday before putting them away, but I don't know that I won't pull one or two of them back out over the next week. I don't have "The Twelve Days of Christmas" on any of them, but I've been thinking about the song and wondering if I might do something thematic each day in keeping with the gifts listed in it. I ran into problems, though, with the very first one: a partridge in a pear tree? I couldn't quite figure out how to pull that off, at least on short notice, though it did make me think of the ornamental pear trees near the street I use to live on and the fragrance they had in the spring. Some of the other gifts promised to be difficult to actualize, too, although it seems like a worthy idea. Maybe with a little foresight I can figure out a way to do this some other time.

The idea of leaving the tree up in January came about a few years ago when I realized how pleasant it was to have a corner of the living room brightened up with a prettily decorated tree and started wondering what the rush was to get it down. Most people I know dislike January heartily and complain about how long it is, but if you've still got decorations up, the festive atmosphere lingers, and that's the point of it all anyway. I don't feel like fighting winter if I'm celebrating it.

Despite thinking that a little bit of winter sometimes goes a long way, I've developed an appreciation for some of its gifts. I think the pace of modern life, and the need to rush here and there in all kinds of weather, makes it hard to enjoy winter, and even Christmas, as much as it can be enjoyed. When you don't have to go out and scrape the ice off the windshield first thing in the morning and drive through slick streets, it's a lot easier to appreciate the beauty of sunrise on a frosty morning or a pristine blanket of snow. Winter pared down to its simplest elements and sprinkled with a little sweetness and light can actually be quite enjoyable, as I've found--somewhat to my surprise.

Mythologically Sensitive Solstice

I hope I'm not too late to wish you Winter Solstice greetings, since the day was actually yesterday, and today is officially the Day After Solstice. I guess we're all on the upswing now--before you know it, the days will be noticeably longer, though of course we still have winter ahead of us. We're just getting started on all that, but the prospect doesn't seem all that bad from where I'm sitting. I heard about how warm it is at the North Pole, and I just wish we could send some polar vortex up that way.

If you've ever felt a twinge of confusion about what you should be doing with yourself on Winter Solstice--it almost seems an anachronism in the postmodern age, doesn't it, one of those primitive nature celebrations that's been eclipsed by Christmas and Black Friday and all the rest?--you're probably not alone. If you were thinking: Should I wear twigs in my hair? Is a bear pelt the right thing? Ought I build a bonfire? Do I need a conch shell to greet the dawn?--I'd say the answer is "no."

It's only my opinion, but I don't think honoring the seasonal roots of the holidays requires literal re-enactments. Some people like 'em, but I'm not much of one for dress-up in any case, and nature worship doesn't seem quite the right attitude to take after centuries of science. What I think is sometimes missing in the present-day attitude that's supplied in abundance by mythology is an imaginative engagement with nature, a sense that the world around us is alive and that we're only a small part of something vast. It's probably just as big a mistake to think that we understand it all as it is to think that it's all beyond us, a mistake in the opposite direction. An I-Thou attitude isn't inconsistent with wanting to know how it works.

If you're thinking, well, smarty, why don't you just tell us how you resolved the Science vs. Participation Mystique dilemma, I'll tell you--but it wasn't anything special. I did the same thing I've been doing since I started my holidays, which means I went for a walk in the sun, turned on the Christmas lights when I got home, played Christmas music, baked cookies, and drank hot tea. Plus, yesterday I tried a craft activity I saw on a YouTube video: I made a paper rose to put on a package. It turned out OK for a first-time thing, and I'll tell you how I did it if you send a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a check for $49.99. Oh, and I took out a holiday pin with a broken clasp that I've never worn and discovered that it also works as a necklace. It's nice and sparkly, too.

Today, it was more of the same. By chance, the sun came out from behind the clouds just as I was starting out on my walk, and it was a beautiful afternoon. I passed both holly and ivy, and I saw a lot of birds--it may have been my imagination, but it looked like they were enjoying the sunshine, too. I admired other people's Christmas decor and door decorations, and I drank some eggnog when I got back. I'm thinking about making another of those flower bows, but the first one was kind of small, so next time I'm going to use a saucepan to trace an outline instead of a mug.

That's about all I can suggest on mythologically sensitive ways to celebrate the season. Stay warm (with sweaters as opposed to a high thermostat setting), get outside as appropriate, maintain good hydration, be festive, and eat cookies. I've already mentioned that I like to mix holiday tunes with other music to keep everything fresh. I know people who can start with Christmas music full blast on December 1st and keep it going all through the month, but I like to sprinkle it around a bit as opposed to pouring it on.

If you're curious, I will tell you that I'm a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas songs. I like a lot of the crooners of my parents' generation, and I love those records that have a variety of artists on them. I have a few CDs that are sort of New Age- or World Music-inspired, and I have one with traditional songs done by (in some cases) non-traditional artists whose interpretations have a little bit of what I would call "edge"; those are interesting, and they get some rotation. But my favorites are in many instances "throwbacks" or people whose style hearkens back to what I might call a less cynical age.

I wouldn't be surprised if someone's reading this and thinking, "Oh, I like that kind of music, too, but if I showed up at someone's holiday party with a CD like that, they'd make fun of me! Everybody's so deconstructionist these days." Here's what you do: Just say, "Dang, I'm sorry, I left my Tom Waits hipster downer Christmas CD at home, but what I do have here is Michael Bublé." And be sure you turn it up . . . he and Thalia really rock Feliz Navidad, and everybody will be better for it. Sabe?

Deck the Halls Right

Well, my decorations are up, and there were no casualties except for some stray Styrofoam bits that had to be corralled. Unlike most of the other holidays, Christmas is one for which I do have a certain amount of decor, including lights, gingerbread houses, and snow globes. I even put my Christmas bulb nightlight up in the bathroom, and because I came across my snowflake throw pillow while looking for something else, even the bedroom got dressed up a little.

Before I put the tree up, I started thinking about decorations I thought I remembered owning but hadn't seen in a long time. For instance, did I or did I not at one time have a Neapolitan papier-mache angel that I bought from the Smithsonian catalog? I knew I remembered a white-robed angel tree topper that always sat a little awkwardly on the tree, but I thought perhaps I had thrown it away. Getting down the decorations is always a bit of a job, since they're packed away on closet shelves amidst shoe boxes and whatnot, but I decided to search as best I could to see if I could find any stray angels, though I had a feeling both were long gone, that the Neapolitan might have gotten broken, and the white angel might have fallen victim to a lack of space.

I didn't come across either of them, which seemed a shame, because I was in the mood to do something a little different with the top of the tree, but it didn't matter in the end. Once all the branches were laden, I had to admit that the silver butterfly sets off the other decorations nicely and is elegant without being overwhelming. I set up my Nativity scene, put a pine-scented candle out, and spent some time figuring out where to place the bric-a-brac around the room. It was fun afterward to sit down and admire everything with a cup of hot tea while some low-key Christmas music played on the stereo. (I purposely mix holiday CDs with non-seasonal music to keep from getting Christmas Carol Overload.)

I wasn't in a hurry to decorate because--as I think I've mentioned before--I've started leaving the tree up longer, usually throughout the month of January. After all, what else is it for but to add sparkle and cheer to winter nights, and why limit the fun to a few weeks around Christmas? Growing up, I always liked live trees, but as an adult I discovered the hassles involved in setting one up, keeping it fresh, and getting the decorations to stay on, so I'm living pretty happily with an artificial tree that's just the right size for the living room. And I'm glad I thought of the candle, because the scent of pine is the real smell of Christmas to me.

Now that the halls are decked, it's started to feel like the holidays have officially begun. I was in the store today and was pretty focused on remembering what I needed to get (well, I didn't actually need Ghirardelli chocolate, but after all, it's Christmas). I was surprised to see that the store had so few turkeys in the case, but I improvised and bought another brand. It never hurts to try something new. I read an article the other day that bemoaned how unhealthy eggnog is, but it was always a part of Christmas while I was growing up, and I figured a small carton couldn't hurt; you just want a taste of it anyway--you're not going to take a bath in it.

You would have seen me frowning over turkeys, circling the display of Lindt and Ghirardelli with a laser-like focus, and muttering, "There's no egg in this eggnog" while standing in front of the dairy case. I was startled out of preoccupation when someone passed me in a beautiful red coat that was somehow the exact color of Christmas and must have stirred some pleasant association that I can't quite place, because for a few seconds I felt like a kid again, watching from the crowd while my brother sang Christmas songs with his class at the mall and the air was alight with fun and Christmas magic. If I could have that feeling while shopping at the local grocery, there really must be such a thing as Christmas miracles.

Wonders never cease. And I've got eggnog, too (the kind with eggs).

Wordplay's Ghosts of Christmas, Past and Present

By rights, this should be the post in which I write about the new Star Wars film, which has the moviegoing public all agog this holiday season (and no wonder). Except that I'm not going to write about it because I haven't seen it. I heard last year, when an early trailer for the film was released, that George Lucas was distancing himself from the promo. I don't recall the reason given, but that gave me pause about seeing the movie, despite the fondness I have for the original. I know this isn't going to stop other people from seeing it, but, as always, I recommend being a cautious consumer when it comes to any and all media that present myths for your consideration. Just because it's out there doesn't mean you have to buy it.

When I saw Peter Jackson's final Hobbit film last year, it was like an early warning system for mythic mayhem to come. My feeling was that Mr. Jackson was trying to say something in that movie relevant to our times about wealth, greed, power, and evil, that perhaps the childlike story J.R.R. Tolkien wrote turned out to be impossible for a filmmaker with any honesty to tell in the same spirit in which it was written. It was a film with many dark undercurrents. His movie was not, in my view, a propaganda piece, but the same can't be said of everything floating around out there in popular culture. I've already cancelled magazine subscriptions over what I considered extracurricular editorializing and political messaging in both stories and ad content, so let the buyer beware. These things do happen.

A brief glance at the evening news reveals that we are living in strange times. Is anyone in doubt about it? When I tell someone the bare facts about the strange events in my own life, and they say, wow, that's pretty crazy, I want to say, "Well, have you watched the political news lately? Have you seen any of the debates, or caught any of the election action? Have you noticed the demented things the candidates are saying, or the aura of a sideshow that hangs over all things political? Have you ever, in your life, known an election season quite like this one?" I'm constantly caught between a need to stay informed and a healthy wish to avoid getting tangled up in the propaganda, war of words, and general craziness of the political scene. You occasionally hear something worth hearing, from someone worth listening to, but you sure have to wade through a lot of trash talk to get to it.

Christmas is by no means immune to tampering with by those with an agenda to push. Just on a personal level, I was amazed last year to get a black Christmas card from someone I used to know named Steve--and this story illustrates what I mean about the negative potential of symbols. As soon as I saw that card, it disturbed me, for reasons I couldn't quite have articulated on the spot. I just knew it wasn't something I wanted anywhere near me, so I threw it away. This year, when I got a card from the same person, I took it immediately to the dumpster without even opening it. I'm a believer in paying attention to things that bother you and taking them seriously, even if you're not sure why they bother you. Human beings have developed many ways of sensing things they need to avoid that don't fall strictly into the category of logical reasoning. Call it survival instinct.

So here it is, Christmas Eve 2015, a most un-Christmaslike Christmas from where I'm sitting, both as to weather and to mood. It has me in a proper Dickensian frame of mind, thinking about the Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present. Just for one, there was that Christmas some eight years ago now, when I was in my second year of Myth Studies and taking a break from the books by watching movies on Christmas Eve. In between features, I happened to look out the window, which I do from time to time, just scanning the environment, as the healthy human animal tends to do. I was somewhat surprised to see a gathering of young men on the other side of the parking lot, just standing around outside their cars, which was odd considering the fact that there really wasn't anyone else around. They were all lined up in a row, looking toward my building in a way I didn't quite like. I was debating whether to call the police or not, but when I looked again, they had all gotten into their cars, and a few minutes later, they all left. It was, let's call it, unusual.

Actually, a lot of things happened right around then. The very next week, my then-boyfriend broke up with me. If I'm not mistaken, that was right before the incident in which a former law clerk at the firm where I worked was shot in the head at a party under what I was told were mysterious circumstances. Lots of peculiar behavior in the office and out of it. I recall going to a law librarians' event that week in which the attendees from the other firms acted like the two of us from my firm had typhoid. Odd. I happened to be in Starbucks a week or two later when I saw a former contract employee from our office who had supposedly taken a cushy job in Nashville a few years earlier. There he was, back in town, large as life--but looking, if a cliche can ever be said to be absolutely accurate, like Death Warmed Over. I have seriously never seen a human being look that haggard, as if he had aged 20 years in three.

Then there was the day I was in that upscale sandwich shop, probably only a week or so later, reading about the life of Buddha for a class, when I looked up and saw someone sitting across from me who definitely didn't look like he belonged there. In fact, he looked like a gangster, completely out of place in that yuppie sandwich shop, not doing anything, not even looking at anyone in particular, just sitting there. Sometimes, something is just out of place, and you know it. I got up and left, but not without knowing that something rather peculiar had just happened . . . it's no good trying to say I merely imagined it, though I certainly would rather have believed otherwise.

There was also that neighbor, the young man I didn't know (but who, as it turned out, knew my nephew) who knocked on the door one winter night saying that he had lost his cell phone while out celebrating his birthday and wanting to know if he could use my phone to call his. At that time being mostly unsuspicious of non-dangerous looking neighbors, I agreed. Not realizing that his cell phone number had a long distance area code, I ended up with a bunch of long distance calls on my bill, which I reported to the phone company as not being mine, since I knew I hadn't made them. Only later did I realize that they must have been the calls he placed. I think this happened close to the time of the other events, though I can't remember exactly. That was the one and only time I talked to this young man, and he moved out a few months later, if I recall correctly.

A string of events in the deep of winter eight years ago. I can't say with a certainty that they're all related, but I have the feeling that there is a pattern in there somewhere. Eight years later, with my life having gone in a direction I never would have imagined back then, I'm careful as to my locks, my computer files, and my credit cards (lest someone take my number and sign me up for something without my knowledge). It doesn't sound like a very cheerful way to live, but sometimes you just have to "keep on keeping on" until you get to a better place. Whether Winston Churchill actually said, "When you're going through hell, keep going" or not, it's good advice, whether you're caught in the bardo (as I was discussing recently with a friend), stuck on a glacier in a snowstorm in Utah, or merely making your way down the sidewalk in your own neighborhood.

It's not all gloom and doom. I have chocolate peppermint cookies, zydeco music on the stereo, a few presents under the tree (what says Christmas better than socks?), and a dinner to cook tomorrow. Life goes on, but in a somewhat reduced way. I'm not trying to dishearten anyone, but rather to do the opposite--to enlighten. I hope I've done so. Happy Holidays to all my friends, near and far, whether I see you often or not. I sincerely hope that 2016 will be a better and brighter year for us all.

On the Rails at the North Pole

The other night, I watched Robert Zemeckis's The Polar Express on DVD. I had sort of a tradition going for a few years in which I watched it every Christmas Eve, until the feeling that it was actually a little too spooky for Christmas Eve made me stop. It's a very layered film, something along the lines of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. It started as a book, an enchanting, much-loved children's story by Chris Van Allsburg. In the process of becoming a film, it, like The Hobbit, gained additional layers of meaning, while remaining true to its origins.

While telling a simpler story than The Hobbit films, The Polar Express shares their sophisticated ability to speak to several audiences at once. The story concerns a young boy who is beginning to doubt that Santa Claus is real. On Christmas Eve, he is awakened by the astonishing sound of an approaching train on the street outside his house. The conductor offers him an opportunity to board for a trip to the North Pole; after some hesitation, he jumps on at the last minute, finding himself in the company of other children all going to the same place. It is, as the conductor puts it, the boy's "crucial year": as a "doubter," he's running out of chances to have his faith in the magic of Christmas renewed before it disappears completely.

The magical night journey involves several crises, including a lost ticket, a child from a poor family who doesn't fall in with the others, a caribou crossing, mechanical malfunctions, and some very steep tracks. Once they reach the North Pole, adventures keep coming for the hero boy and a few of his companions, who get separated from the others. They make their way along perilous tracks and through back alleys to the nerve center of Santa's operation, the distribution point from which presents are routed to their destinations. They eventually make their way to the main square in time for the appearance of Santa and the reindeer, and the young "doubter" is selected to receive Santa's first gift of Christmas--a bell from Santa's sleigh that he's finally able to hear when he puts his doubts to rest.

As a story about the magic of Christmas, the film succeeds both for children and for adults who remember what Christmas was like when they were young. But the real theme of the story is the importance of belief in something good--love, friendship, generosity--that Santa is only the symbol of. The film wants you to keep that spark of belief alive.

As to the reality of the train, the journey, and the destination--well, that's left in some doubt. The boy encounters a mysterious hobo on top of the train who seems to be both part of the trip and independent of it. When the question of Santa's reality comes up, the hobo doesn't exactly offer assurances; on further questioning, he allows that the entire journey could indeed be a dream. He is glad to entertain questions of doubt, unlike the conductor. The other issue on which he gladly assists is the boy's efforts to find the girl who befriended him so that he can return her ticket. That unselfish act, he seems to feel, is worth going to considerable trouble for.

So there's the putative journey, and there's the meta-narrative about the journey--only available to one who climbs outside the framework--in this case, to the top of the train. The hobo, who admits that he himself is probably a ghost, nevertheless offers some trenchant observations, suggesting the possibility that what really matters is not the particular form of belief, but its substance, the matter that underlies it. Since Tom Hanks portrays not only the conductor but also the hobo, the boy's father, Santa Claus, the boy himself as an adult looking back, and one or two other characters, it starts to look as if the real point (if you choose to go there) is not whether Santa is real or not. Christmas Eve merely provides what you might call a teachable moment about deciding what you do believe in and holding on to it.

As for Santa Claus himself, in this movie he is not quite the jolly old elf portrayed elsewhere, but considerably more solemn, almost wraithlike. My friend Jot has said he liked The Polar Express but didn't like its Santa Claus, and I agree that there is something a bit off about him. He is less an elf than a judge, and a rather stern one; his countenance almost suggests that whatever miasma you've fallen into, you might want to snap out of it, and fast. The entire North Pole sequence has a more dreamlike quality than the beginning of the journey, as if self-consciously calling its own solidity into question. The Christmas carols blaring from speakers throughout the town are piped in and have the dragging quality of a tired record player. The town itself has deep crevasses under the train tracks, visible only to those who get off the guided tour, and they are traversed with great difficulty on foot.

This is not only scary but suggests a couple of things: 1.) that a world of total fantasy has its own perils and 2.) that even though the children have been selected for the trip to encourage their belief in Santa Claus, their time is already drawing to a close. One slip through those hazardous tracks, one imagines, and they might very well . . . wake up in their own beds at home.

None of this means, however, that the journey had no meaning or was a foolish enterprise. Far from it. Beyond just telling a Christmas tale, the filmmaker seems to have wanted to say--to those who believe in magic as well as to those who don't--that the real gift lies in what you take from the journey. What did you find out while you were on that train? Are you a better friend? Has your belief in yourself grown stronger, if it needed to? Do you now understand humility, if you needed to? Can you find the courage to make your life better than it has been? Are you now more discerning? None of these are small matters, as we know.

The Polar Express somehow does all this while leaving the magic of Christmas intact for those who do believe. It's a children's story, a coming of age story, and a hero's journey rolled into one, and like any great story offers the possibility of new insights the more you revisit it.

Grown-up Christmas

Christmas can be a little tricky when you're an adult, especially if you're single. This is true even if you know the mythology behind it and understand it as a holiday celebrating light in the darkness, even if you can expound on the marriage of Christian and older traditions, on Mithras, Saturnalia, the solstice, and Sol Invictus, until you're blue in the face. No matter. If you grew up celebrating Christmas, it's bound to be fraught throughout life with emotions tied up with family, home, traditions, memories, and what you think you ought to feel and do.

I'll be honest: grown-up Christmas rarely matches up with memories of Christmas past. The last Christmas that really seemed full-on to me occurred when I was nine, so I've had many more holidays that didn't measure up than I've had of those that did. What was it about those vanished Christmases that made them beautiful? Quite simply, it was the belief in magic. I remember a special sheen glinting from the surfaces of holiday decorations, Christmas carols that resonated with mystery and joy and still seemed new, and the ease with which I could believe in multiple department store Santas at once (ha! most of them were Santa's elves).

Furthermore, Christmas was a shared experience. Everything you did was with other people, whether you were singing in your nightgown as part of the angels' chorus in the play, shopping with your siblings at the mall, going to midnight Mass, or opening presents under the tree (oh, the enchantment of a pile of wrapped gifts).

As more of the Christmas glitter wore away year by year, I gradually adopted a less-is-more attitude. This basically means resisting any pressure, real or imagined, to throw myself full-throttle into things like decorating, socializing, shopping, listening to Christmas music, or watching holiday specials, unless I really want to. Pursuing the spirit of Christmas too assiduously is the surest way to lose it; it's a delicate, elusive thing, prone to disappearing completely if you put too much effort in. In my experience, it finds you, often when you're not looking.

Last year I decorated, shopped, baked, entertained, and enjoyed it all. This year, I did most of those things on a smaller scale. I watched A Charlie Brown Christmas, baked gingerbread in the shape of stars and stockings and trees, and spun the Christmas CDs a few times. I bought presents for my nephews and wandered around the toy department. True to form, I made plans to go to midnight Mass and changed them when push came to shove. It was just too cold out, and I was sitting in the living room late in the evening entranced by my Christmas lights; my tree brightens a normally dark corner.

A holiday surfeit often sets in for me on Christmas Day; last year, I played bossa nova on the stereo while washing dishes in an effort to conjure up summer. Today, it was good to get out, see other people on the streets, and do a little non-holiday reading by the picture window in the library. Coming home, I noticed how cheerful people's holiday yard displays looked in the gathering dusk but still had the feeling of wanting to move forward, to carry on with things and get ready for a new year.

Actually, a few memories of grown-up Christmas do come to mind, nearly ready to be boxed away with the ornaments but suitable for one more airing before then: the first Christmas in a new apartment, made special by a chocolate box; driving around, singing carols, and looking at yard displays with college friends; making gift bags with offbeat stocking stuffers for a party; a weekend in L.A. to see a band; a climbing cat, a teetering Christmas tree, and a furry face peering out between branches; a Christmas parade with dancing elves in a coastal town; a black velvet shirt with pink satin trim; a red rose purchased in an airport; watching The Lake House multiple times, tucked up on the couch, while Christmas lights shed a soft glow; finding the perfect Christmas nightlight in a bookstore; standing up for the opening bars of the Hallelujah chorus.

They may not duplicate the privileged enchantment of childhood Christmas, but here and there, now and then, a little bit of magic stills shines through.