'Tis the Season to Be Grouchy
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| Rittenhouse Square under snow, circa 2006. |
Literary scrooges are portrayed as outward curmudgeons only. Their harsh exterior conceals a softer persona underneath the layers of bitterness. As for me, I think my inner and outer selves are both hardened. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a grouchy night!
Like many
people this time of year, I alternate between loving and hating this season of
cheer. On the one hand, the stark branches outside are festooned with lights;
gingerbread is plentiful; and I love egg nog. On the other hand, I am feeling
the pressure to spend a lot of money, an impulse I annually give into. Coming
up with original gift ideas to buy for friends and family is no mean feat.
After you have kids, this problem is merely compounded; not only is one
obligated to purchase presents for the children, but also their caregivers and
teachers. I am eternally grateful for their taking my rug rats off my hands to
take charge of them in a careful, loving manner, but I could do without the
stress of having to shop.
It’s not out
of stinginess, but laziness. It’s cold outside, after all. Thank goodness for the
Internet: With a few simple keystrokes, I can visit Amazon to buy anything (except, perhaps, an actual Amazonian warrior) for everyone. But eventually I reach my limit—on my credit
card, that is, and I’ve now exceeded it with my seasonal generosity. Although I love spending more
time with my immediate and extended family, the latter of whom I only get to
see once or twice a year, I really just want to be alone. Don’t we all? Would I
be content to seclude myself in a cabin tucked away in the dark woods with my faithful
hounds Donut and Thelma (RIP) at my side, drinking red wine, curled up in front
of a wood-burning fireplace reading back issues of The New Yorker and the Sunday edition of The New York Times? Yes. Yes, I would.
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| Sunbathing in January. |
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