ending Christmas

when Christmas ends there are pieces to

pick up.


the tissue paper, the box.

the lone card someone didn't open because

there were so many

and oh, here it is!

how did we


forget.


the people leave.

they pack up what they got,

making sure that what they got isn't mixed up

with what someone else

got.

they make sure they didn't throw something out

with the

trash.

do we have the checks....yes.

do we have all the little pieces that go with

the

toys?



they leave, waving and thanking.

they say you shouldn't have but they knew

you would.

and you are glad

you

did.



then,

you close the door. maybe you go to the kitchen

to do

the

dishes.

maybe you sit down and

cry.



not because it was bad but because

it was

good.

not because it is ending but because

this.

is.

Christmas.




and it is just



beginning.

de-constructing Christmas dinner. and life.

i'm making homemade vegetable soup for Christams dinner.


my family is traditional. i grew up regular. in spite of that, we never had a traditional Christmas dinner. you never knew what to expect. except not to expect turkey. i don't think we ever had a turkey for Christmas. the argument always went like this: we just had turkey at thanksgiving, why do we want it again? i remember the time, and i was pretty little when i said this so this was very nervy of me, but i remember the time i said to my dad - you just had a beer, why do you want one again?

but, anyway. it was never turkey. maybe ham, but never turkey.

it was sometimes roast beef, sometimes a pork roast, one time it was rack of lamb (grossed everybody out), and one time it was some colonial southern menu that my mom found in better homes and gardens or something like that and it featured about 89 different courses of essentially unrecognizable stuff. i remember all of it being good but none of it familiar. the only thing familiar was the ham and beans and cornbread and i remember thinking, isn't that enough? why do we have all these other 88 things, too?

i also remember the year we had authentic swiss steak and the year we had authentic swiss fondue. not sure what side of the family the bias for the swiss comes from. it's not like we don't take sides or anything.

then there was the time we had crown roast of beef and that hideous yorkshire pudding. at least the reviews from the kids' table were that it was hideous. i have never tried yorkshire pudding since. nor, likely, will i.

my grandma curtis made pork chops one year and she stuffed them with, well, stuffing, but she also got creative (for that era) and added some garlic and fresh spinach to it. i'm not sure if that was the first time i had ever had stuffed pork chops but it's the time that stands out - in. spades. i was in love with those pork chops - and with my grandmother - and with the world. by the time i got up from the table that year, i had decided to learn how to cook.

last year, i made julia child's beef stew. it's a recipe that takes 3 days to make but it was worth every minute and painstaking effort. it's a wonder, when you think about it, how julia child ever got fat. because when did she have time to eat the stuff she made? all of her recipes take forever. makes the pony express look like the concorde.

which brings me (quickly - ha!) to this year.



i have come, increasingly and in all areas of my life, to understand that less really is more. (the only time less is not more is when it comes to love. and even then, i guess, sometimes it is.)

we don't need a ham tomorrow. we don't need folks in the kitchen for 6 hours. we don't need an elaborate centerpiece and we don't need so much china and crystal and all the rest that you gotta start setting the table the day before. what we need is.......soup.

the simplest kind of soup there is. some homemade bread. a few chunks of cheese. and peppermint ice cream and gingersnaps for dessert. done.


the baby Jesus from my nativity scene will be the non-elaborate centerpiece.

less is more.



He said so.

everyone, not no one, saying merry Christmas

i have been saying it all month. and people have all month been saying it to me. so far, if anyone is offended, no one has been punched in the face. maybe i live in heaven (that'd be cool.)


the folks i know and run into, which pretty much run the gamut from young, old, hipster, world war 2 era, ex-hippie, male, female, black, white, yellow and upside down have all said merry Christmas to me. and i have said it to them.

i said it this morning to the hispanic woman at the mcdonald's drive-thru who took my money which, ok, as a hispanic it was a fairly safe bet she she was a Christian but sidebar here, why do they charge me five dollars for a scrambled egg and one piece of bacon? because, seriously, that seems excessive. to me. i don't know what it costs if you get the big breakfast with eggs and bacon and hash browns and the ten other things that come with it but i don't think it's more than five dollars. i don't think anything at mcdonald's is more than five dollars. maybe something is. i don't pay that much attention. but, anyway, merry Christmas, lady.

i said it to the asian woman at kroger who asked me if i knew the difference between a regular artichoke and a jerusalem artichoke. i said it before she said jerusalem which, ok, for a second there, i thought i might have offended her but she just looked at me like, come on, i don't have all day - do you know the difference or don't you? (of course i do.)

and when i told her, she smiled. and said, merry Christmas to you, too.

i also said it to the guy behind me in line at trader joe's. the guy behind me in line at trader joe's - no matter who it happens to be and no matter which shopping trip it happens to be - always looks the same. he looks cool and hip and young and his beard is always that sexy kind of scruffy and he looks like, frankly, someone who might be offended if you told him merry Christmas. and maybe i just got lucky (not that kind of lucky) today. but he smiled and said, you, too.

i have said it to so many people this year that i can't count. and no one has been offended. in spite of the fact that everything i read tells me that people are offended. all the time. if you say merry Christmas to them. so you shouldn't. say merry Christmas. but i did. and they weren't.


and you shouldn't be, either.

Christmas all wrong

if a serious Christian does Christmas all wrong, what hope is there? well, plenty. which is what the first Christmas, which was done right, is trying to tell us.


somewhere along the way, we got seriously screwed up about Christmas. we haven't gotten seriously screwed up about any. other. birthday. when you're invited to someone's birthday party, does the person having the birthday give you a gift? or do you give him one?

we don't say, well, it's joe's birthday, but rather than send him a card or or buy him a new tie, i'ma buy my brother one instead. better yet, since they're buy one get one free, i'll get one for my brother and one for myself, too. joe? what joe?


the first Christmas told us what joe. we just didn't like it.


what we liked was the gold, frankincense, and myrrh part. gold, frankincense, and myrrh on crack. that's what we like.


i was standing in line to check out at macy's yesterday and at the cash register were a bunch of little, last minute kinds of things to tempt buyers to drop a few more bucks. you know what i mean - every store has them. the department i happened to be in had socks, lip gloss, tiny ornaments, and even gift-wrapped bottled water. bottled water?

i said to the cashier, sheesh, this is ridiculous. she said, "what is?" i said, gift-wrapped bottled water. who needs that? "no one needs that," she said, "but it's Christmas. gotta be merry." gotta make more money for mr. macy, i think you mean. "true," she said, "but these things make people happy. you'd be surprised how much of it we sell. people want to be happy. it's what Christmas is all about."


it is not what Christmas is all about. it is an entirely, couldn't-be-more-wrong thing about what Christmas is all about. Christmas isn't about you or me or anybody else being happy. in many ways, it's the exact opposite of that. it's about how, in spite of not being happy, in spite of actually suffering, your life can be delirious with joy - if you follow Christ.
 

designer water for Christmas? mary drank from a well. and not a very clean one at that.


i'm not saying we need to drink dirty water to honor Christmas. i'm not saying we have to ditch our cars for donkeys and crowded malls for a peasant selling (good) bread. not saying we can't have a tree.



but maybe i am. a tree? egg nog? a new car in the driveway? with a big red bow?



your new car is in the driveway.



and He's waiting to take you away.

what's the saddest thing/my client

a single finger tracing rain down

the

window.




eyes,

connected to that finger,

crying that

rain.




a child, with the finger and eyes

of a child,

just wanting to go home

for

Christmas.



can you take me home,

he asks.

and i say,


no.



but you can borrow



my finger.

bananas about bacon

they make chicken and turkey bacon here at work sometimes for the kids and every time they do, it smells like heaven. which is cool, considering this is a catholic agency.


a colleague of mine hates the smell of bacon. or, at least, of this particular bacon. the first time she told me that i just sorta stood there and stared at her like she was from outer space. i mean, what other kind of reasonable response was there?

this colleague also hates coconut which, ok, i'll give her some slack there. although i happen to love coconut, i can see how she might not. coconut's a tricky thing - i get that. but, bacon???  

some of the other members of my team, myself included, hate bananas. the colleague who hates the smell of bacon (or at least of this bacon) just stands there and stares at us like we're from outer space when we talk about loving coconut but hating bananas.

she thinks we're bananas.



right this very minute i am thinking how i might combine bacon, coconut, and bananas into one single recipe and make it work. without taking out the bananas. which i hate.




my colleague's right......i am bananas.

all the kinds of flying there are

charlie brown Christmas is on

tonight,

but so is mother

angelica.

even her name

wins out.


if i were a nun,

i would want to be named

angelica. it would be like flying to the altar

in

heaven.


i really did think about being a

nun once. twice. i thought about it

three times. and then......


another kind of flying took

over.

the kind you can't describe

in

words, but you don't

have to. because everybody

knows.


the kind that mimics

drugs. except drugs

wear off.

and you have to find

another.


this kind of flying is, actually, a lot like

a nun. who lifts her skirt when no one

is looking -

who kicks her heels like

maria. who says,

the hills are alive.



and so


am


i.

what year did you pray best?

my priest asked us that question yesterday. what year did you pray best?


he told us about a childhood friend of his who, when he was 7-years old, made a commitment to visit and pray to the Blessed Sacrament - on behalf of another friend -  1,000 times in a single week. 1,000 times!

he started off great. he entered the church, genuflected, and proceeded to say some Our Fathers. next day, same thing, but he quickly realized that he wasn't going to get to 1,000 unless he cut some corners. so, he switched to the (somewhat) shorter Hail Mary.

he did a bunch of those but saw that he still wasn't going to get 1,000 visits in within the week. so, he switched to the Glory Be.

then to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

and then he switched to just making the sign of the cross. by Friday, he was only half-way there. he still had 500 visits/prayers to go. how in the world????

so, what his little 7-year old mind told him to do was, his little 7-year old mind told him to stand at the back of the sanctuary, prop open the door from the narthex to the sanctuary, straddle the entrance, pop his head in and make the sign of the cross, pop his head out, pop back in, sign of the cross, out, in, sign of the cross.

he made it to 1,000.



now.

plenty of us are probably saying that this kid missed the whole point. that he took a sober and thoughtful prayer time and turned it into a playful game.

but.........did he?



maybe what he did is, rather than being playful and silly, maybe he did the very best a little goofball 7-year old who had no idea of the enormity of the promise he had made to the Lord - and to his friend on whose behalf he was saying the prayers - could do. maybe what he did is pray as hard and as fast as his little mouth and hands could go - because he had made a commitment. 

a commitment. 


i bet God and Christ loved that little boy's earnest, albeit curtailed, prayers.

and i bet the Holy Spirit is still laughing.

and i think what that boy did is adorable.



and i want to learn to pray like that.







 

what love is/isn't. or, my parents.

it isn't just first corinthians is cute to read

at weddings.


it's not not telling the kids to

shut up.


it isn't anything goes,

do what you want

whenever you want

however you want

and i won't say anything

to you.


it isn't let me just finish this up

first.


it isn't i did it the last three times now it's

your turn.


it isn't i'll make you happy if you make me

happy, too.


it isn't saying slow down hurry up stop this

start that.


it's not like someone running out to get

you cake

if all we have is pie.



it's like, if you like pie then so

do i.


it's like, i'll stay with you forever because 

i said

i would.

it's like, i'll stay with you forever because



why,

on earth,



wouldn't i.

pick a church, any church

lots of Christians say it doesn't matter which church you go to. that what matters is that you believe in Jesus Christ as your savior, boom.

but i am not so easily convinced. that's like saying it doesn't matter which college you go to. that what matters is learning, boom. so pick a school, any school.



if we wouldn't PickASchoolAnySchool, why would we PickAChurchAnyChurch?



we don't pick a grocery store any grocery store. don't pick a pair of jeans any pair of jeans. certainly don't pick a swimsuit any swimsuit. (can i get an amen, girls? any amen will do.)

i saw a family yesterday trying to decide which Christmas tree to choose. they sure didn't seem to think that any tree on the lot was fine.

drive a car any car? most people don't think so.

from the time we wake up till the time we go to bed we make discernments. what to wear, what to eat, what to say, what not to say. and on and on and on. but pick a church, any church.



i'm not gonna do that. 

a spoonful of sugar

i have always marvelled at how they come up with recipes. what amount of effort, experimentation, and patience there must be before they figure out that it's a quarter of a teaspoon of baking soda, not a half.

which flavors go together and which don't. what can make the whole thing go wrong.

what can make the whole thing go right.



just like love.