Christmas Thoughts (Formerly titled “It’s Beginning To Feel Nothing Like Christmas”)

The Price children have learned to chill on Christmas day, lest we die from anticipation. Because every year, the Price parents inevitably stroll down the stairs– say, maybe, 11:am– asking for tape, extra boxes, or wrapping paper. So we chill, take long showers, have long chats, do our makeup, reply to mass texts, cook, clean, whatever we must do to pass the time. No sign of opening gifts before noon this year, so, while everyone else has posted photos and videos of their Christmas winnings, I’m here penning my thoughts– chillin’.

• My dad used to take a hammer to an ornament every year. When he’d assembled his three children around the table, he would raise a hammer ever so slightly and bring forth the demise of another beautiful bauble. I was always amazed at how the inside glimmered as much as, if not more than, the outside. “See how fragile these are?” He’d say. From here I could easily lead into an extended metaphor, about how I, too, am internally beautiful and fragile. But I won’t do that to you. Not on Christmas.
• It doesn’t feel anything like Christmas. I’ve been trying to spark my holiday cheer since Thanksgiving. But, two parties, many gifts, a ton of money, and a Christmas brunch later, I remain unmoved by the lights, the music, and the love that’s supposed to surround this season.

  

• It does look a lot like Christmas in the Price household. We stayed on track with tree timeline. One week before Christmas our 12-foot tree, packed in two boxes, was dragged from the bowels of the hous. Four days before Christmas, our monstrosity of a tree was strewn across the family room floor in piles labelled A, B, and C.  Three days before Christmas, some unknown family member took the initiative to begin assembling the tree. On the eve of Christmas Eve, we began the decorations. And on Christmas Eve the tree was done.
• I deleted my Christmas playlist about a week ago. The only holiday song I can stand at the moment is “Every Year, Every Christmas” by Luther Vandross.
• I don’t wan’t to explain how we’re related because I’m afraid the logistics will make him seem farther removed from me than he actually is. So. DJ is a friend of the family who has cancer. I found out on Christmas Eve when I saw a ballooned version of him, wrapped in tubes and lying in a hospital gown, over FaceTime and asked what the hell happened to him. He’s got a cancerous tumor just above his heart, too close to be removed. Pray for him. Please, please pray for him.
• It’s 11:26 am. My father came and asked for tape. Told ya.
• My belief in Santa was very short-lived. I was three years old the morning my brother burst that bubble. “Santa doesn’t drink Corona. Mommy does. Santa doesn’t smoke Kools, Daddy does.” Our cookies had been replaced with a half empty Corona and a few cigarette butts. In the years following my Santa discovery, I collected supporting evidence: the labels were written in either Daddy or Mommy’s handwriting, we had no chimney, and I could hardly see my parents welcoming a strange white man into our home in the middle of the night. I still pretended to hear sleigh bells at midnight for my sister, though.
• I’m not sure who is more excited to give this year: my parents or us. Such has been the question for the past few years, and I think it shows that we have grown.
• This is our last year with our 12-foot tree and I’m just trying to figure out where ten years went.
• If I could sleep Christmas away this year, I would. I’m not particularly sad, I’m just not particularly interested.
• I told my mother that if Sharonia ever dared to die before me, I’d spend every Christmas Eve with this song and a fifth of Remy. She’d do the same for me.
• I typically need to watch The Wizard of Oz and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer while eating a citrus fruit and a chocolate cookie, for it to feel like Christmas. I haven’t done that this year.
• Home Alone feels more like a summer movie than a Christmas movie to me.
• I have a cousin named Marion Bright who comes to mind whenever someone hopes for my holidays to be merry and bright.
• This song always gets me going. #TeamHeatMiser. It’s 70 degrees this Christmas. #HeatMiser2015.

Anyhow. It’s after noon. May be time to get this Christmas party started. Thank You Lord for the socks I’m about to receive. You all be blessed and have yourselves a Merry little Christmas. May your holidays be Marion Bright.