1998 december 24

not even a mouse

it's the calm before the storm.

i love christmas eve, maybe even more than christmas day itself. though i may procrastinate in any number of ways prior to the 24th, i invariably have everything wrapped up by the 23rd, and if i don't, then i don't and i refuse to worry further. a sort of serenity cloaks me from the minute i wake up until the early evening hours when i go to one or another of the various christmas eve functions i am invited to, and even there, i am calm and quiet.

it is most likely a reaction against the hectic christmas eves i had as a child. my parents hosted a huge party every year, serving bratwurst and sauerkraut, hot potato salad and crusty rolls, and of course the obligatory ten sorts of christmas cookies. the whole day was spent in panicked preparation: mother running in circles, dad running in and out from the seventeen trips to the store he had to make for just one more thing, me and my brothers and sister banging on the piano and singing christmas carols at the top of our lungs in preparation for our performance. i'm sure we fancied ourselves the von trapp family singers.

as an adult i spend the day in quiet meditation. i get up early and have a big cup of eggnog laced coffee and fresh cinnamon rolls for breakfast. i munge together oranges and spices and whatever strange things i can find in the cabinets and refrigerator into a pot of potpourri that simmers on the stovetop all day long. i alternate between christmas music on the stereo and christmas cartoons or movies on the television. in the afternoon, i build a fire and sit in front of the christmas tree to contemplate the gifts underneath.

gene has been teasing me this whole holiday season because i am so good about not peeking at my presents. i don't shake or squeeze or try to read through the wrapping paper to see if a label is bleeding through a yuletide clue. i love the anticipation of gifts. while it is sitting there, in all its wrapped glory, a gift is full of potential. it can be anything at all, an entire world of possibility. it is a future. once opened, it loses its giftness and becomes a present. i used to drive my entire family absolutely bonkers on christmas morning by hoarding all my gifts and then slowly opening them one at a time, never ripping the paper or cutting the ribbons, revelling in the anticipation, delaying the gratification for as long as possible. this from the instant gratification queen; 'tis indeed something about the season, although i am like this with gifts all the year round.

to be honest, i have to admit the present my father sent is driving me crazy. it is in a wooden box, latched shut, and would be everso easy to peek at since there is no wrapping paper involved. i will of course save that one to open last.

the snowman is on the disney channel, read by david bowie. must go watch that. he has the most divine voice and it isn't just the accent, although that helps tremendously. and i want to bake a stollen for christmas morning, so i must go knead some dough.

and they heard her exclaim, as she wrote out of sight, merry christmas to all and to all a good night.

dreaming of sugarplums dancing, claire