I am wrestling the inevitable holiday blues. I can’t pinpoint exactly what the problem is this year. I just feel crosswise.

Common wisdom says the holiday blues are due to high expectations of the season and memories of joyous childhood holidays. Yeah, maybe. Except I had the holiday blues as a kid, too. Christmas to me was a few hours of cozy family togetherness that ended as soon as the last gift was unwrapped. I started mourning the end of holiday magic before it even started.

Mine was not a warm family. Interesting, yes. Intellectual, in our way. Creative, certainly. But not loving. Hugs were rare. Emotional support was mostly left to professionals. Depression was a family affair. We all rallied as best we could for Christmas Day, but nobody could keep up that kind of thing for long.

So really, my expectations for the holidays are pretty low all around.

I haven’t been “home” for Christmas for many years. My family and I were estranged for the better part of a decade, reconnecting only as my late mother’s health started declining. Now, our family of five is down to three surviving members—me, my older brother and our father—and I see no point in trying to reinvent anything with them around the holidays. If family Christmases made me blue in the past, can you imagine how they would feel now? As far as I know, they ignore the whole business anyway.

I am proactive about the holidays. I bake and decorate the house. We throw parties. I have festive lunches with nearby friends and make or buy gifts for far-flung friends.

Some years, the effort pays off with a warm holiday glow. Some years, it mostly feels like a pain in the ass. This year is one of the PIA years. Money is very tight. I was sick this week and fell behind on shopping and shipping. Our holiday party was a lot of work for a small turnout. I can think of nothing I want or need that we can afford at the moment, and Tom feels the same. But the idea of nothing under the $10 Target artificial tree is a little too sad to contemplate so we’re forcing ourselves to shop with a strict budget.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m feeling sorry for myself and it’s not attractive. And I try not to present problems without solutions, if I can. So, what now? I just did a cardio workout. That always helps. I put the kettle on for tea, that’s cheering too. I’m researching volunteer opportunities for Christmas Eve because I’ve heard volunteering can bring all kinds of meaning to the season. It’s time to test that theory. We’re going to one party tonight and three events tomorrow. Surely, surely it will all work to turn my gloomy mood around.

And if not, to hell with it. Maybe next year will be better.

Labels: childhood, holidays, memoir, personal growth

Here are some of my early literary efforts, from my third grade Creative Writing folder. My teacher was Mrs. Fischer, who I didn't like at all. She was tightly wound.

Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Sept. 30, 1966

Back to school Feelings

When I was walking back to school.
On September 12th.
I felt I never saw the place,
Or any teachers face.
Even though I’m in third grade
I felt I’v never spelled my name

Back then, I spelled it Sophy because it seemed more manageable for a little girl.


Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Nov. 2, 1966

Colors

My favorite two are red and blue.
Now red and blue are nothing new
But every word I’ve said is true.
Black, gold, and silver are all right
Also yellow, green and white.
Green I hate,
But that’s all I ever see.
Green, green, green,
Is all I’ve ever seen.
Green dresses green ribbons or green, green, green books
Green paper green leaves green crayons green trees.
But still my favorite two are red and blue.

Actually, I kind of like green.

Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Nov. 9, 1966

How The Giraffe got his long Neck

Long long ago there was a giraffe and an old bear now in those days a giraffe had a very short neck and one day the bear asked the giraffe to race with him and while they were racing the giraffe got his head cought on a branch and it got stretched out.

Note that the story is all one sentence.

Jimmy the Jolly Jumping Jack

In my toy chest way far down
Is a little box and a little clown
When I open the box up he pops
Into our room but he never knocks

Mrs. Fischer said that one was “very good.”

There was a young man of France
Who asked an old lady to dance
Now how could this be
Well he’s only three
Which gives the old lady a chance

My first dirty limerick.

Sophy Dembling
Class 3-409
P.S. 166 Man.
Dec. 8, 1966

A Flight to Happy Days Land

Happy Days land is beautiful
With birds of red and blue
Happy Days land is wonderful
The place for me and you
Happy Days land is magical
Never will a tear drop (Mrs. Fischer changed it to Never a tear will drop)
Happy days land is gay and happy (She changed it to happy and gay)
All we do is sing and hop (she changed it to We all do sing and hop)
So do take a grip to this wonderful garden,
Full of Girls and Boys
Full of little creatures
Full of a joyful noise

Mrs. Fischer thought Happy Days Land was just "OK." Everybody's a critic.

Labels: childhood, poetry, writing