CHRISTMAS!

That's right-- 'tis the season people. From this point extending to the twenty-fifth of December, the central topic of all conversation will be the lovely holiday of Christmas. My love of the holiday precedes even my intense obsession for Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, my affection for food had to develop after conquering my middle-school, anorexic tendencies.

But Christmas? Christmas is the feeling of ultimate anticipation, time-altering climax, and results in the complete release of greatest satisfaction that has yet to be surpassed by any other aspect of my semi-adult life.

My deep adoration of Christmas never began at a particular point, but rather just always was. As a young child, I can remember the simple things that provided me with such intense pleasure: the last day of school that was spent eating cookies and candy canes and conversing excitedly with schoolmates instead of accomplishing anything related to work; the calendar of December that daily depicted a different segment of the religious Christmas story; the church Christmas pageant where I broadcasted my incredible, breath-taking, singing and acting talents; the day of Christmas Eve that was spent listening to Christmas music, watching Christmas movies, playing "Santa" with the brother, and disussing what we were sure to receive the next day; the night of Christmas Eve at a small church's candlelight service where I pondered silently the meaning of a small baby in a manger; and then there was that one time at a small church's candlelight service when I caught my hair on fire, and my mother had to extinguish the flames silently and efficiently before I noticed (because, having noticed, I surely would have convinced everyone of the intense, gut-wrenching pain of the situation and of my pitifully small chance of survival). All of these small things culminated into that one moment on Christmas morning when a little girl bursts into the living room to discover that yes, Santa has once again executed his annual midnight performance. To her relief, the aftermath of the big man's appointment yields glittering, new presents and not the dreaded coal-filled stocking (the ominous possibility that her parents have repeatedly used as a behavior-control method).

As time passed, Christmas became more complicated to me. I slowly learned to accept a certain truth over the course of about three years. This truth I cannot depict in detail due to the incredible weight of sadness that I have yet to fully deal with. I learned to retrust my parents, even though they had the audacity to consume HIS cookies and to forge HIS name on a particular note left to warn a certain middle child of the repercussions of her bad behavior should it continue into the new year. I also learned an even more important value of Christmas--family. I learned how good it feels to think carefully of something that might bring a smile to someone who I care for, and then watch my plan unfold exactly as I imagined it would when I purchased the gift. On a scarier note, I learned how it feels to doubt more than just the commercial meaning of Christmas.

Today Christmas represents the first time I have done my own decorating; the continous repitition of three Christmas cd's until I am sure that my roommates are going to kick me out; and the loud, obnoxious singing that accompanies the repitition of three Christmas cd's that really makes me contemplate why my roommates haven't kicked me out. Christmas is finally getting to rest after a semester of exceptional, time-consuming academic performance. It is my opportunity to revisit my old world and values. It is my chance to rethink my more innocent days. It does have a tendency to produce feelings of nostalgia. Perhaps that's the source of so much depression during the holidays.

But as for me, I can remember without trying to convert into my former self. I can enjoy those memories while realizing that I am making new ones. My life has been comfortable and pleasant enough, but I have come too far to ever backtrack. So I am left with my memories.

And the simple things still give me the greatest pleasure of all.

P.S. Midday on Friday, December 3, 2004, I cut my finger while slicing the cheese for my bologna and cheese sandwich. I became absolutely convinced that I would not live to see another day. It was an extremely distressing situation. Fortunately, at the suggestion of the boyfriend, a band aid saved my life. It was a very close call.