THE ITALIAN GRINCH

I am boycotting the Christmas season this year or, rather, more politically correct, the holiday season. I turned down nearly every single invitation to holiday parties and celebrations who have come my way, apart from three that are duty bound. I feel like I have an infinity of company Christmas parties, holiday drinks, gift exchanges on my shoulders and I just can’t take any more. No more seeing colleagues getting drunk and behave inappropriately, no more meaningless gifts shoved at the bottom of a cupboard and, please, not another drop of eggnog, a drink that some well-intentioned soul must have concocted to sabotage diets and arteries in one fell swoop.

In front of my eyes, I can see a parade of festive outfits dating back to the ’80’s, red and sparkly and best left on the racks and a forced cheer as depressing as the party music. Enough of the reindeer down sunny Rodeo Drive and fake snowmen on verdant grassy front yards.

All I want this Christmas is to be with family and friends to share a meal and a drink and to rejoice at having survived another not terribly easy year.  Yoko Ono wrote a short piece on the anniversary of John Lennon’s death, remembering drinking tea in the middle of the night, in their New York apartment, and laughing at nothing with the person who mattered the most in her life. Just that. 30 years later, the most cherished memories are not of large gatherings, of accolades but of intimate moments. Just drinking tea.

That is all I want. Food meant to be shared, a hand lent in a moment of need, an intimate conversation under the tree.

But, if you really must, an i-Pad would be nice.

 

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