Pangea Express

It’s officially seven hours and twenty four minutes into the first day of 2009’s Winter Holiday Vacation.  So far the teenagers have engaged in six arguments over television channel selection, four somewhat vulgar quarrels over computer sharing, two fiery debates regarding hot water consumption, and while the smell of burnt toast wafted through the air; one very pointed comment on the inability of this family! to keep ample supplies of bread on hand.

Normally these disputes and complaints are ignored, amounting to no more than slight disturbances, easily overcome by the fact that these people will return to school on Monday.  But there isn’t school on Monday, and there won’t be until January fourth of next year! Two weeks and three days! I don’t mean to be dramatic, but my otherwise quiet atmosphere is disappearing along with my patience. My only recourse is to buy or bake enough Christmas cookies, cakes, breads and pies to send these feisty teenagers into a sluggish sugar coma for the next two weeks.

We’re in close quarters.  There are five of us cohabitating in a less than 1,200 square foot, second story apartment.  As long as the refrigerator door isn’t open, two people can be in our kitchen at the same time. Despite our small space, we’re happy to work within our physical boundaries and find comfort being together.  I’ve mentioned moving to a larger dwelling, but the people I live with insist they love it here and don’t want to move.  Close to downtown, and smack dab between two BART stations less than two miles from each other, the teenagers are irreversibly tethered to the outside world from this, their home base.

Because our walls are so close to each other Christmas decorating is delayed until the last possible moment. For example, it’s now December 18^th, and the idea of any holiday preparation is just starting to take hold.  At this point I’m far from imagining a tree in the room; but I know resistance is futile. Each year I’m curious to revisit the precious keepsakes of years gone by. Old Christmas cards sent long ago from those who’ve passed serve as reminders of how much we’re loved, along with mix-matched ornaments marking our lives through the years. That sentiment is the only thing that could spur me to tolerate red and green clutter everywhere, and I would, except my Christmas style opts for lavender and silver, or burgundy and gold.  There’s some red, but it’s muted.  As for green, I’m a huge fan.  Green thumbs, green clothes, green leaves on green houseplants, green lamps…I’m all for it.  Just not with red; except in nature and maybe a small plaid.

When it comes to Christmas shopping; I simply don’t participate.  For me, it’s not really necessary since I have teenagers who love to inhabit malls!  If I can lay some Christmas cash on them, not only will they get super bargain prices, but I’ll get at least two (or maybe even three!) peaceful days back. Also, I think I lost interest after learning of Wall Street measuring, estimating, and banking on the over expenditure of American Consumers, formerly known as American Citizens.  It was then I understood why I’d always get nauseous when entering a mall or department store. I understand the joy found in the purchase of something meaningful for the ones we love and appreciate, and items for young children most especially!  But when being in a mall starts to make you dizzy, when you start to wonder if what you’ve bought is enough, then it’s time to leave and severely limit future exposure. I OD’d back in the nineties, and have had only a few relapses since.  The most recent attack resulted in a fifteen dollar monkey vase that I couldn’t stand two days later.  I’m not sure what any of this really says about me.  Not the monkey vase, that’s too sick to examine.  I’m talking about my cynicism. Maybe its age, maybe its clarity, or maybe I’m clouded.  I’m just glad that so far I’ve never felt sick at a Farmer’s Market.

Back in 2000, a little bubble burst.  I like to refer to it as the .Com Implosion because it felt more like being sucked into a black hole than being blown out of a fireball.  That Christmas was particularly difficult. My family endured several financial blows. Job loss in tandem with a large home lease payment resulted in the fact that I couldn’t afford to spend one red cent on Christmas, and reasonably hope to keep a roof over our heads. I cried incessantly about my inability to provide any gifts for my then young children.  I felt guilty, irresponsible and worthless as a person, but worst of all, as a mother.  If I’d known then what I’ve learned since, I’d have spent less time lamenting what I couldn’t have, and more time appreciating the riches found in simplicity. Without our wants being stripped away, we would scarcely identify what our needs truly are. 

For one thing, that year, some money surfaced to purchase the ingredients for one of our favorite meals: green enchiladas, rice and beans.  I remember the anxiety easing up the moment I realized we could afford some level of merriment.  Up to that point, things seemed quite dire. My spirits lightened so much I actually considered purchasing a Christmas tree.  It was Christmas Eve, so the chances of finding some marked down holiday décor seemed pretty good!  Unfortunately, the markdowns weren’t significant, and the change I got back from the cashier was even less so.  I left the store back at square one, like amnesia hit and I’d forgotten how happy I was just a moment before.  Funny how one hurt left untreated creates other aches and pains. Buying the food was like a band-aid that wouldn’t stick.  With the groceries in the car, my face reddened as I fought back stinging tears.  “I’m not allowed any happiness this year”, I told myself.

Try telling yourself you aren’t allowed any happiness and having gratitude for anything at the same time.  It’s impossible. When you’re let down and frightened, when you’ve done your very best and everything goes the opposite direction, it’s hard to see what there is, instead of what there isn’t. 

That said, we weren’t committed to becoming part of a rebellious criminal element; it’s never been part of our intention to participate in any iniquitous activities.  The facts are:  1) the tree lot was mostly abandoned with no surrounding fences or locks, 2) the sun had set, and 3) we were so broke we couldn’t have possibly paid attention even if there were ‘no trespassing’ signs posted.  To be fair, we scoped out several lots, noting the ones left open, and we did wait for the sun to set, but that’s as far as our criminal intent went. The consensus wasn’t that we deserved a tree; the idea was that as long as they’re there, cut and unappreciated, why shouldn’t we pick one up and give it a home?  Help the tree to become what it was meant to be and lift our spirits too.  That night we stifled our adrenaline packed laughter as best we could, and ran onto the lot toward the tallest trees. We quickly scanned them for bald spots, argued over which one was best, made our final selection, piled it into the back of the truck, and sped off like Robin Hood with his merry band of mischief makers!  I think it took us all of thirty seconds! We laughed all the way home (three blocks maximum) recounting who slipped in the mud, and who’s face contorted the best, and what we’d say to law enforcement should we be caught.  It was a tall Douglas fir, a grand Christmas tree.

We’ve lived in our little apartment for eight years this spring.  Most of those years have been lean, but 2009 rivals 2000 with a nearly zero fat ($$) content. Current circumstances could be construed as identical to those of the .Com Implosion.  I wouldn’t know.  The panorama changes constantly while I continue to keep worry and loss out of focus, and love and gratitude in full view. I’m thankful that my teenagers are in good health, fully able to disturb my quiet atmosphere, and burn what little bread is around. I’m thankful my husband is open to driving the getaway vehicle in our continued Christmas tree capers (now a family tradition).  But more than anything else, I’m thankful to be here making new memories; willing to be reminded always that happiness is a choice, not a situation.