The (Un)Christmas Spirit

I often wonder what goes through people's minds, especially around the holidays.

I woke today and turned on the news. Lead story: Gunman in Santa Suit Kills Three at L.A. Party. I won't dignify the title with a link to the story, because it's just wrong. What could have been so wrong with this person? As I left the apartment today, I found myself asking the same question about people I ran into on the street.

I left my apartment at 1:30 and made my way to the 2:20 p.m. showing of "Slumdog Millionaire." I had my iPod on and turned up louder than usual... maybe it was because I really loved the song that played on 'shuffle' mode, maybe because I was subconsciously tuning out the rest of the world. I made it to the end of the block and a white pick-up truck was approaching. A 20-something year-old man slowed down and waved a bouquet of roses at me. I turned around to see who was behind me. He kept yelling something, but I couldn't hear. I shook my head and held up one finger - the universal 'one minute' signal - so I could turn down the music. Maybe he was looking for someone? Maybe he was lost and needed directions.

As I took the earplugs out of my ears in enough time to hear him yell, "...ungrateful bitch! Merry fucking Christmas!" just as he threw a bouquet of one dozen roses at my head. The roses landed in the middle of the street and I just stared at them.

Stunned and confused, I picked up the roses in hopes of finding a card with an address. No card. No address. I placed the roses on the snow bank and walked off. There was something so un-friendly about the beautiful bouquet that I couldn't take them with me. I could have given them to a homeless person, but something stung inside and I couldn't bring myself to walk with them.

I walked to the movie theater wondering what could have possibly happened that this man thought it was OK to throw roses at me and call me an ungrateful bitch. Maybe his girlfriend just left him. Or his wife. Maybe he had a fight with his family. Maybe there was no one else to give the roses to. Maybe he should have just thrown them out.

I arrived at the movie theater and found a quiet spot on the left side near the wall. It was a row with only two seats, so I was either going to get lucky and have the seat next to me for myself, or have to share the row with a stranger. Enter: the stranger. He was a nice enough older man, and we made small talk for three-minutes until the lights went down.

The theater went dark, and I began to cry. I don't know why. What a year it's been. I'm tired. Maybe I was crying because I miss my family. Maybe I was crying because I don't. Maybe I shed a few tears because the first time I received flowers from a man this year, he was a stranger in a pick-up truck who called me an ungrateful bitch. There was a part of me this year who craved a warm body next to me in bed. Many of my friends say I have a life they envy - carefree and no strings attached. There is a simple pleasure to being unattached, but that same part of me wished I woke up this morning to a loved one handing me a gift. Instead, a stranger threw thorns.

I had a voicemail after the movie. It was one of my cousins in New York calling to tell me she missed me. I miss her, too. I don't regret not driving to New York this year, but I will make a concerted effort to get there more next year.

I'm home, safe and sound. I have a bottle of Barolo breathing and an amber candle scenting my apartment. I'll throw in a frozen pizza for dinner and enjoy the comforts of my home, sweet home.

Merry Christmas to All

When I woke up yesterday morning, I looked at NORAD to track Santa's whereabouts.

At about 7:30 a.m., Santa was off the coast of Russia.

I spent most of Christmas Eve working on last-minute work items before heading over to my dear friend's house for an Italian feast with the kids. I've known the family for 10 years, helped raise the kids and love Christmas traditions with the family. I typically spend Christmas in upstate New York with my uncle, aunts, cousins and kids, but this year I'm at home. The weather forecast isn't particularly wonderful and I'm a bad driver on a good day, so we figured out the odds and decided it was better to just stay put. So, I stay...

I waited oh-so-patiently for the cab I called 40 minutes ago to pick me up. Apparently, the cab meant for me picked up another passenger... good thing I called back to find out where the cab I was promised in 10 minutes was in route. The dispatcher apologized and said another cab was on its way. Patiently, I wait... and the UPS man appears.

A big brown box. My name. Banana Republic. Santa had come early! If the first cab had been on time, I would have missed my Banana Republic early-delivery. In the box: one cashmere sweater, one sweater-cape, two pairs of favorite pants. There was no time to open the package because the new cab was approaching.

Christmas morning: Coffee in hand. "A Christmas Story" on TBS. Big brown box from Banana Republic waiting to be opened ... and it's just for me.

A Toast to the Holidays

What's more fun than festive cocktails at holiday season? Laughing (or laughing at) the stupid things you (or your co-workers/friends) said, thanks to the festive cocktails.

New York Times writer Glenn Eichler penned a piece about the great things that come out of people's mouth after a couple adult beverages. His opinion piece, "Really, It's the Booze Talking," Eichler offers up some of his favorite alcohol-enhanced comments of the year past.

Sadly, I'm quite certain some of these lines came from my mouth just last week...

Glenn, if you're reading, stop following me around with a tape recorder. The line about living next door for 10 years was an awesome conversation starter (even though I know where I've lived for 10 years). And my friends did confirm that I was wearing pants at the holiday party.

Disclaimer: I firmly believe that one shouldn't be held responsible for what one says after one has been drinking with one's co-workers. Once alcohol enters the room, all bets are off.

Holiday Lines in the Neighborhood

The neighborhood is hard at work preparing for tomorrow night's big feast. Around here, Christmas Eve is the second-biggest night of the year (second only to St. Anthony's Feast).

The turkey is primed, the quail is stuffed, the lamb is braised, the ham is plumped, the fish is marinating, the vegetables are stewing. Lines of people grace the streets waiting for their favorite coffee beans, candy for the kids, pastries for the adults, and mistletoe to hang at the door.

Most people are friendly and step out of line to help the older patrons pass by on the icing sidewalks. Some younger kids still don't appreciate the older generation. It doesn't ruin the mood. Neighbors wave and wish one another a merry Christmas. Hands are extended for good greetings and warm wishes. Smiles are everywhere, mainly among the wrinkled faces of the grandparents who wait anxiously for their families to dine together around the dinner table - a common tradition that sometimes gets lost throughout the year, but always finds it way back at Christmas.

Holidays at Home: Loneliness or Necessary?

Is it a bad sign that this holiday season, I just want to curl up on my sofa in front of the TV, open a good bottle of wine and watch old movies?

Salon.com thinks something is wrong with this...

They've labeled my 'hibernation period' as loneliness. I call it necessary.
I love my family. They are the most important thing in life. My friends in Boston have extended invitations to spend the holidays with their families. But for a solid 24-hours, I think there is nothing more peaceful than time alone.

I love walking around the neighborhood on an empty morning when no one is around. The streets are calm and clean, and it's quiet. It's meditative and reflective. It's what I'm doing this Christmas.