73: Christmas Cards

From childhood on, I always loved Christmas. I'd count down the days way too early, listen to holiday music on the radio, perform in a local production of The Nutcracker, hand make cards and gifts (many of which I never completed and are still sitting unfinished in my craft bins), and spend hours walking through the seasonal aisles in stores. My high school, junior-year English teacher had us compete against each other in a holiday trivia game and I won the stocking filled with school supplies in my class.

My first year working in retail for the holidays, I remember walking through the Prudential Center in Boston and feeling excited as they rolled in the giant gold ornaments, towering fake Christmas trees, and unstrung rows of lights. They started playing holiday music long before Thanksgiving and I'd take out my headphones to hear the cheesy tunes. My boyfriend would be home from basic training that year and I was excited to spend time with him. I counted down not only the days to the holiday that year, but to his arrival date. I was hired as seasonal help, but was told I'd be able to stay on in January if I performed my job well. I showed up every day with too much enthusiasm for rearranging the stocking stuffers that cluttered the front end of the store, dusting bookshelves, cashiering hundreds of customers a day, and selling the savings card that cost $25.  Half the seasonal staff were cut after New Years, but I stayed on for another four years.

The first year I worked in the bookstore I wanted to buy everything with my 30% discount.  The Robert Sabuda children's pop-up books were really popular and every time I pushed one into a bag I had to talk myself out of buying one. When I was asked to straighten the holiday card table I came across the blue snowflake covered tin above and discovered that they were filled with a set of Sabuda pop-up cards.  I set the tin aside for myself and bought them before leaving work that day. Once home, I carefully slipped off the cardboard covering, pulled up the plastic lining, slid the plastic ring from each stack of cards, and opened every piece of folded paper. After opening the cards, I replaced the plastic rings, plastic covering, and tin lid. I thought they were too special to send with presents and kept them in the corner of my room, collecting dust, for years.

I don't remember when I lost enthusiasm for the holiday I once loved; I think it may have just happened gradually. Buying gifts for people who didn't seem to want anything, cooking, baking, having to spend time with my family and my husband's seemed like more work than it was worth. The days of skipping downstairs in my pajamas, opening gifts, and playing on the living room floor while my mother cooked calamari and ravioli in the kitchen were over years ago. Things were so much simpler as a child.

This past Christmas, my first one in nine years as a single woman, I didn't put up the tree or pull out the decorations that just reminded me of my ex-husband. I gave away all of the cookies I baked, and barely pulled myself out of bed and into my brother's house to celebrate. Even though my husband had left me six months earlier, the wound felt freshly opened. I felt like a fraud celebrating a holiday for a religion I don't adhere to or believe in. I considered leaving the country for the week off, but thought my family would be devastated.

I've gotten rid of a few Christmas things, including the tin of pop-up cards that I never planned on using, and will try to sell or give away the rest of the decorations as the holiday approaches. One thing that comes out of unintentional life changes like divorce or loss is that you are forced to rethink and change your routine. It can be too easy to go along with things just because that's how they've always been and how they're expected to be. Perhaps this year I'll find a way to honor who I've become while respecting who my family expects me to be.