No title...portrait demo of my favorite Santa
16X20
oil
16X20
oil
(This is a re-post from last year. It pretty much sums up my mixed feelings in regard to "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year".)
I love/hate the holidays. So much pressure to be happy. Such
pressure to enjoy being immersed in the bosom of one’s family…recollections
passed around from one family member after another regaling all the idiotic
things you said and did as a child/teen/young adult (or last year, for that
matter). At a recent family gathering, an aunt starting recounting one of her
favorite anecdotes concerning her daughter (my cousin) to a distant relative
who had not had the pleasure of this story. The daughter said, “Mom…no.
Seriously. NO!” My aunt gathered all the self-control she could muster and
stifled herself - to my disappointment. What can I say? It was a funny story. And
not about me.
Some examples of embarrassing childhood stories…this same cousin (you know who you are) and I
built elaborate floor plans out in the yard by raking leaves into imaginary
walls which delineated the rooms of our mansions (approximately 36 square feet
or so…mini mansions), in which we lived with our pretend husbands Pat Boone and
Rock Hudson. I was married to Rock Hudson (of course I’d be married to a
closeted gay man). We also wore towels on our heads, pinned back in such a way
as to signify long ponytails (it fooled no one) and then we would pretend we
were dancing on “American Bandstand” with imaginary boyfriends. And just
think…these are the stories I’m willingly
sharing.
But then…there’s the food. And the happy childhood memories,
towel-heads notwithstanding. I remember playing our family version of war games,
in which my uncles (both WWII vets) would chase us kids through the woods
throwing acorns at us. Gosh…that sounds cruel. But we LOVED it…such an
adrenalin rush. We would even occasionally try to retaliate, but we were
hopelessly outmatched.
Even now, I’m falling into the holiday trap…conjuring up
memories of childhood, and family and friends who have come and gone. Happy.
Sad. Conflicted. Stressed. What to buy for Aunt Rose? Okay, I don’t have an
Aunt Rose. But you get my point. Right? Or am I just neurotic? Never mind…I
think the answer to that question has long since been established.
But then…there’s the chocolate-covered cherries. And family
anecdotes NOT about me. And young children with visions of sugarplums dancing
in their heads. And Christmas music (enjoyable for the first couple of days).
And “It’s A Wonderful Life” (enjoyable for the first 30 minutes). And the food,
though I think I may have previously mentioned that.
Then there's the bipolar musical experience. Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas”…but then there’s those
dogs barking “Jingle Bells”. Horrible. “Chestnuts
Roasting On An Open Fire” as sung by Nat King Cole…glorious. “Chestnuts
Roasting On An Open Fire’ as sung by Justin Bieber makes me want to taser someone. Fudge…fruit
cake. Whiskers on kittens…bee stings. Ying…yang. I guess you have to have the
bad stuff in order to truly appreciate the good stuff.
Well…I suppose I might as well just dive full-force into the
eggnog-fruitcake-fudge-"White Christmas"-"A Christmas Story" for
24-hours straight - "Jingle Bells" melee and
ride the bipolar holiday rollercoaster open sleigh with childish
abandon. Sans towel.
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