Shortly after the Victorians discovered they could make a killing by replacing the dried cranberry garland with the gilded glass bauble, appalled citizens and editorial writers commenced with their letters and articles of outrage on "the commercialization of Christmas." Both have fared well in the scores of years since. Merchants depend on December for 60% of their yearly income and, on the whole, the public is indeed appalled! Of course, they are the contributors of the sixty percent, so it seems an eerily similar comparison to the pink elephant sitting in the living room of the alcoholic's family.
But we've learned to live with "Crèche versus Cash" fairly well. We share a democratic interpretation of the Christmas story: After much reverence and awe, things picked up when the three Wise Men, clearly Macy, Neiman & Marcus, each brought the baby Jesus a gift. (Our gift lists should be so short! Only why so heavy with the aromatherapy? It's a kid, bring him some toys, for Christ's sake!)
And ever since Coca-Cola rethought Santa Claus from a genetically disordered small German man to "Jolly Old", who's not smitten with the department store Santa? (Even though we know he's an eccentric man dressing up like an eccentric man, and under any other terms would make for an "uncomfortable" feeling.)
And maybe, second only to eggnog, our mouth waters for TV news' roving camera segments on Christmas shopping procrastinators - the sheepish and the proud, providing us both a Candid Camera-type chuckle and a sedative dose of Big Brother: Don't be like them. These are the "dangerous" people. Not dangerous to Christmas, dangerous to our December economy.
Another warm & fuzzy holiday tradition is the economic recap of Christmas spending; Dan, Tom & Peter superimposed in front of deadly serious graphs, once not reported until early January; steel gray, holiday letdown, dirt-frozen early January when - graphs up or down - nobody gave much of a damn. But the recaps started getting closer to Christmas: The day after New Years, New Years Eve day, midweek after Christmas day...oh, my God, the very day after! Cornered! So they started moving in from the other side with strategic predictions of how good or dismal spending will be, citing similar trends in years like 1991, like anyone could remember what they spent on Christmas '91 if you held a gun to their head.
But this year in the days before Christmas, there was not just another prediction, there was a proclamation and it seemed that a certain reindeer shed a bulbous tear. That evergreens had a bit less of the musk. That mom called to say she was trying a rump roast this year instead of turkey, and that Johnny Mathis did actually sound like some guy at a gay piano bar. Why...what was it? Didn't you hear? It was on the news ad nauseam, each time more deflating than the last. "Well. it's already a disappointing Christmas," reported those perfect pundits and anchorpersons.
"Yes, a disappointing Christmas," they stared out and said. Not gloomy, more accusatory; less disappointed with the overall fact than with the viewers personally. I was disappointed with myself. Why hadn't I pushed myself a little more beyond my means? Didn't I realize that because of Thanksgiving, Black Friday was much later this year, too? My God, this time next month we could be at war and what will we have to remember? A Christmas, they stressed with blame, with spending down 40%, the worst since - it was either FDR or Thomas Jefferson. Whatever, it was hideous news and I felt sad for everyone and everything.
With gangly, pathetic Jimmy Stewart despair, I walked to the kitchen to light myself a wicked-world cigarette. I knew smoking was bad, but not as bad as this! Of course, after one drag I thought, oh please, "disappointing" Christmas my ass. There can be no such thing. It's already happened. Long time ago. Deed's been done and no graphs, Vincent Price anchormen, or mall footage can change, color, cancel or deconstruct it!
As was and ever will be. A miracle frozen in time, there for us to reconstitute and rejoice; to ponder and allow to overcome us with its unique peace. A time when disappointment is lifted from our hearts and souls; a lap in which all disappointed children can find comfort. I don't know why, but I think people know this. I hope they do. I hope we all can still interpret Christmas and not let "cash crush the crèche" - not to be said three times fast. If not, shame on us and, more to the point, shame on the sensitive seers of this "disappointing" Christmas. If anything, I think the Angels were Heard 40% more on High this year (maybe we did more singing than spending), that Christmas Night was as Holy and Silent as ever, and never once did I feel that Christ was born to die for any more or less percentage of my sins.
I'm ready for a new year with renewed spiritual armor, not to be pierced or broken by the upcoming disappointments of Easter and Independence Day, Chocolate bunnies and Roman candles! On sale now!
