Last year was a nice holiday season for me – I felt hopeful, comforted, and valued.
This year? Not so much. I thought the holiday in tandem with my blog’s 20th anniversary would create lots to celebrate. I was wrong. A 20 year milestone is not resonating with local media outlets that typically jump for joy when a yinzer wins a freezer on a game show. I don’t know why so I can assume it is either me, the LGBTQ angle, or the misbegotten belief that blogs are dead.
I’ve had several responses, but the caveat “after the holidays” erodes the joy I’ve been carrying in my heart. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait your turn. Watch the other content lifted up as the joy slowly drips away.
Would you wish someone a happy birthday a month later? With any sincerity?
When I was a child, we often would go to my aunt’s house on Christmas Day, mostly in my teens and twenties. The house was decked out, the snacks and drinks were copious, and the tree was beautiful.
Tucked under that tree were mounds of gifts, carefully wrapped and labeled for each of my cousins, my aunt, and my uncle plus in-laws and their parents.
Sometime after we arrived, they’d open their gifts with piles of abandoned paper and boxes piling up near the empty space at our feet. They were all adults so the gifts were huge – skis, fishing rods, big fancy outdoor clothing, tickets to different places, you name it. It was glorious. For them.
For us? My mother and I each received a gift bag of promotional items from my aunt’s job managing perfume ladies. My father got some cologne in a box clearly stamped ‘not for resale.’ No wrapping paper needed.
I wondered if they intentionally drew us into a spectator sport, a spectacle of sorts, knowing how cruel it was? Was it deliberate or just doltish?
Sitting with a smile plastered on my face, watching my father sink further into his cups, while my mother feigned deep interest in the muted television or a nearby magazine was not fun or easy. I felt the heaviness of being charity relatives. Admire the decore, enjoy the food, help with the dishes. And then go home with a car reeking of assorted perfumes and shame.
Being wedged into a holiday feels about as good as literally being wedged into a shoe two sizes too small. Where did the time go when people said “welcome friend” without listing the commitments waiting in the wings for you to wrap up the encounter?
Perhaps it took being kicked out of my in-laws family and losing my own to remind me of these childhood memories of being outside the main event. I can watch, but the pretty paper carefully wrapped around a gift that reflected the bond between giver and recipient – a source of comfort and joy, perhaps – that is not for me.
There’s a Polish tradition (_wigilijny stol) of leaving a chair and place setting empty at the Christmas Eve feast table to welcome God, departed relatives and ancestors, but typically – unexpected guests. A place of honor within the festivities. Other cultures have similar practices with rituals grounded in pagan, Christian, and even 20th century geopolitical origins.
I cannot visit my friends because my nephew has a new dog that triggers my dog bit trauma. I don’t have the energy to process that right now. My Christmas Eve plans were a misunderstanding on my part.
And no one else asked.
The housekeeper finishing my attic space has been ill. Gertie is not running. My tooth broke off so I’m sucking Pad Thai noonle by noodle on one side of my mouth.
And my blog celebrates 20 years under the radar. Perhaps I tried to hard to force Pittsburgh to celebrate with me, overestimating the value and comfort 20 years has brought. I know that my dedication to my blog contributed to the dissolution of my marriage. Would I rather be back in the comfort of that family where I was at least treated equitably? Maybe, just for the next few days until the holidays roll away. Mind you, they never acknowledged anything about my blog so I should be used to it. And I didn’t make the decision to sever the relationships.
As for Pittsburgh’s disregard for a blogging milestone, that feels on brand. Perhaps I made too big a deal of it and reaching 100,000 followers on Instagram. I was craving validation? I wanted to have a special day? To fill that holiday and other day voids by something I did on my own? I even tried drumming up interest in the pet food pantry because I know I’m more valued for doing work than blogging or existing. Usually, that’s enough.
My blog is my table and I’m not obliged to give anyone a seat. Telling me ‘wait for the holidays to end’ is not cutting it with me.
I’ve invited a few strangers in need to that table recently and I hope I treated them better than my aunt treated me and Pittsburgh treats me now.
The only thing that would be worse is getting Starbucks and Target gift cards. But smiling, saying thank you, and tucking away somewhere is something I do well.
‘After the holidays ‘ is shaping up to be a grand old time …
