Rasmenia

“Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.”  – Charles M. Schulz

“What kind of Christmas present would Jesus ask Santa for?” – Salman Rushdie, Fury

*

When I was a tiny, brand-new person, I knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed by music, cookies & twinkling lights. I knew the absolute joy that can only come from a tiny, brand-new person’s sense of wonder when presented with stories & images of magical elves, animals & places.

I knew Christmas magic. It was nothing less than magic.

Like any kid, I got excited about presents. But, wasn’t the anticipation & surprise always more fun than the actual object wrapped up inside all of that pretty paper?

I consider myself lucky that for the first few years of my life, I had grandparents who I always spent the holiday with & that they got more excited about Christmas than anyone I’ve ever met since. There was always an enormous tree, standing upon a big platform with an entire model town built on it… complete with the model train that would chug by, doing laps around the tree. There were cookies shaped like Santa Claus’ head, homemade candy & plenty of holiday music that my grandfather & I would yowl along to.

But… that was another time. The grandparents, the little model town & train are all gone. I am no longer a tiny, brand-new person, but am a big, grown-up person who no longer believes in elves, Santa Claus or that December 25th is Jesus’ birthday.

I am a big, grown-up person who knows that human beings do all of the rotten, terrible things in the world, not fantastic creatures & that it’s other human beings who do the few good things in the world, not mythical characters from stories that were written a long time ago.

Now, when Christmas rolls around, I am no longer overwhelmed by music, cookies & twinkling lights, but am beaten down by annoyance & loathing as I watch other big, supposedly grown-up people bickering about their imagined “War on Christmas.” I’m disgusted with the absurdity of holiday shopping – whether pepper spray is or isn’t involved. I’m saddened & sickened by how much I hear the word “want” for the last 2 months of the year. He wants she wants they want I want WANT WANT. “I want” seems to be said more than “I’m giving”. (Here’s the thing: if you say “want” more than “give” around the holidays, then you have failed at Christmas. You are doing it wrong.)

Over the years, I’ve morphed from being tiny & brand new to the jaded Scrooge I am now. I’ve been watching not only the dipshittery mentioned above, but also festive occasions where I have given a Christmas present to someone, only to have it insulted right to my face. (It wasn’t EXACTLY what they WANTED.) I have had my religious beliefs (& lack thereof) insulted & condescended to. Gifts I’ve given have been regifted back to me a year later.

What I’m getting at is, when I’ve seen the worst side of people, it’s usually been at Christmas.

Earlier this year, Olivier & I decided we weren’t going to be a part of this nonsense. We would not exchange gifts with each other. Instead, we decided to run away. We spent a few months tossing vacation ideas at one another.

“We could go to an island,” he said, scratching his beard. “We could be lazy & boozy. Cabana style.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t want to be summer. I still want to be winter. We could take a train to Switzerland & eat lots of fondue.”

“Uh. I dunno. We’ll think about it,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

This went on for months. Until we no longer had plenty of time. We could stay home, we decided, but really… that would just feel shitty. It was November. Holiday Hell was descending upon us.

Then on one average & unspecial Sunday afternoon, I asked my husband, “Remember when you were a tiny kid, how magic Christmas was, before the preaching, bitching & the wanting?”

“Yeah.” Olivier nodded. “It was. It was exciting & happy. It felt great. But, now… now it’s just fucked – nothing but resentment & stress.”

I thought about it for a few minutes, then I turned to my husband. “I know what we should do for Christmas.”

The answer was so obvious, we couldn’t believe how long it took us to see it.

We skipped the gifts, the tree & the decorations. We tried our best to avoid anyone who pissed & moaned about whether you should say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”. We ignored everyone who wanted to lecture about “keeping Christ in Christmas” & closed our ears to talk of wanting & shopping. These are the people who suck the magic out of Christmas.

Instead, we contacted some local charities & asked them if we could lend a hand. We ended up working with Les petits frères des Pauvres (The Little Brothers of the Poor).

You may have already heard of it, but for those of you who haven’t, Les petits frères is an international non-profit that was founded here in France in 1946. They focus on aiding the elderly who may be ill, lonely or impoverished.

Our task was to fetch two elderly ladies from their homes on Christmas morning & take them to a restaurant where all of the volunteers & guests would share a repas de Noël.

We chatted on the way to the restaurant & after we arrived, we helped other volunteers to get several more guests inside & seated at their tables.

After everyone was settled, we had a nice meal with lamb, smoked salmon, red wine & brie. We listened to interesting stories. We joked & laughed & danced. We clapped & hooted as we watched dozens of elderly men & women in Santa hats dancing, singing & laughing like children.

I looked over at Olivier, who had been smiling all day… & I realized I’d had a silly grin on my face, too. I glanced over at two ladies, one of them 100 years old… the other, 106. I thought of what it might be like to live that long & I realized… I’m still just a brand-new person by comparison.

Standing there, with a goofy grin on my face, clapping my hands among all of that joy & merriment, I suddenly thought of how magical Christmas used to be & all of a sudden, it was again.

Later, on our way home, after we had delivered our two new friends safely to their respective homes, Olivier & I decided that we would be volunteering with Les petits frères again in the future.

If any of you are interested in volunteering with Les Petits Frères, click on the link below. They are in 8 different countries, so you may find them in your area.

“Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies, and do unto others as you would have done unto you.”  – Steve Maraboli

When Olivier & I arrived at the Greyhound station in Erie, PA, we were giddy.  It was 3pm on Saturday, the day after Christmas.  We’d had a big pile of Arby’s earlier that day, so I had gotten my fix after craving their delicious, cheddary slop for the past 2 years.  We were leaving behind the stress of a Festivus gone bad & were looking forward to a week at home in Colorado.

We had our bus tickets, 200 lbs. of luggage & a box of chocolate donuts.  We were ready to voyage across the country for the next day & a half.  We would have to change buses several times, but still… it was only a day & a half.

A day & a half.  No sweat.

Cozy.

The first thing that we figured out was that there was no dicking around when it was time to board the bus.  If you’re traveling with someone, it’s next to impossible to find 2 seats together.  Most people are traveling alone.  They all want a window seat & will not move if they see that it would allow a couple to sit together.

After the first bus ride from Erie to Cleveland, OH, we knew from then on that it was necessary to knock bodies out of our way in order to be at the head of the line.

Ok, so a day & a half of sitting in a bus & pushing strangers to the ground.  No problem.

It was around 10pm when we stopped in Columbus, OH.  We would be stuck there until 1am, waiting for the next bus to take us to St. Louis, MO.  Olivier & I were parked at a table, eating a bus station cafeteria salad when another couple sat at the table next to us.

The woman kept silent, making strange faces with her mouth.  I soon realized it was because she had no teeth.  Her husband was a short, squashy little man who would jabber at anyone within a ten-foot radius should they happen to make eye contact.  They carried black plastic garbage bags for luggage.  He turned to younger couple seated at a nearby table.

“Where you guys headin’ to?”

“Uh… we’re going to St. Louis,” the younger guy said.

“Oh, yeah,” Squashy said.  “That’s where we’re tryin’ to get to, but the guy over there at the counter just told me that there’s all kinds of cancellations in St. Louis.  He said he could rerout me through to Texas, but me & my wife, we’re goin’ to California & I think we should just take our chances in Missouri.”

I turned to Olivier.  “Fuck me… did you hear all of that?”

Olivier nodded.  “Yeah, I heard it,” he said, getting up from the table.  “I’m going to go check it out with someone who works here, just in case that guy’s got his information mixed up.”

I drank a cup of shitty bus station coffee & watched Olivier go to the counter, nod his head a few times, rub his beard & then walk back toward me.

“Well,” he said.  “It seems that there is a bad storm in St. Louis, but it may clear up.  We just need to get on this bus & not worry about anything until we get there.”

No problem.  We knocked a few bodies out of the way & got into the bus.  Within an hour, I was asleep.

Like a drooling, sweating baby.

I woke up for a moment when we stopped in Indianapolis, where we picked up a couple of hippies, a Rastafarian & a French woman.  I managed to fall asleep again in spite of Squashy jabbering at full volume to anyone & everyone.

Without opening my eyes, I heard people getting on & off of the bus in Effingham, IL during a stop at McDonald’s.  Everything remained blurry until just before 7am, when we entered St. Louis.  The sun was coming up, not a trace of snow or storm clouds in sight.  I didn’t see any reason why we would be delayed here.

Now I realize that this is because I underestimated the dipshittery of Greyhound.

With 20 minutes until our bus to Denver was to depart, Olivier & I dragged our 200 lbs. of luggage through the bus station.  With our eyes half closed, we blasted anyone who stood in our way with morning breath & ran over their feet with our heavy wheelie suitcases.

An hour later, we were still standing in line with all of the other chumps trying to get to Denver.  A stout, bored looking woman in a Greyhound uniform walked over to us.  She leaned over & grabbed the address tag on my suitcase.

“Where you all going?”  She read the tag.  “Huh.  Denver.  Well, you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

This was how they informed us that our bus had been canceled.  She walked away without giving anyone any more information than this.  It was easy to see why Greyhound has so many consumer complaints.  While there hadn’t been any snow when we arrived in St. Louis, there was now a thin layer of fluffy white flakes on the ground.

We ate rubbery cafeteria bagels while listening to the hippies explain where they were going.  “Oh, yeah, man… the Dead is playing in California, man… you really should go sometime.  It’s not about the music, you know… it’s about the love, man, the LOVE.  Everyone’s dancing & you can just feel the spirit of the LOVE all around you… it’s magical, man… magical.”

On the TVs hanging above us, a horrible movie with Billy Bob Thornton was playing.  A skinny man that looked like Iggy Pop in a baseball cap was walking from one end of the station to the other, talking on his cell phone & rallying passengers together in an attempt to… well, I don’t know what.  I couldn’t figure it out.

“He’s just the Layover Guy,” Olivier said.  “There’s always that guy during the layover that has to make friends with everyone.  In Columbus, it was Squashy.  Now we’ve got Iggy.”

“Better him than the hippies,” I said.  “Wonder what the penalty is in St. Louis if I were to go over there & bludgeon one of them, let them feel my LOVE.”

Olivier shrugged.  “Dunno.  They probably make you stay in the fucking Greyhound station watching bad movies.”

This is what you get for beating hippies, asshole.

Instead of leaving for Denver at 7:20am, we left for Tulsa, OK at 11:30am.  The reason that we were given for this detour was… Kansas.  At all costs, we had to avoid Kansas.  No one explained why, so I’m guessing that it was pretty bad.  I would advise you, too, to STAY THE FUCK OUT OF KANSAS.

There were only about 20 people left in the bus station, all of us stranded, trying to get to Denver.  Happily, we all piled into the bus bound for Tulsa.  It was out of the way, but everyone was glad just to be out of the bus station.

The woman driving the bus didn’t fuck around.  She made it clear that she wasn’t supposed to be working that day & that she was in a hurry to make the 8-hour drive to Tulsa.  No one disagreed.  No one complained.

We sat in the bus, happy to be going anywhere while we noshed on stale chocolate donuts.  Olivier & I spent a lot of time watching our fellow passengers.  Iggy Pop the Layover Guy was busy knitting, which explained why he appeared to be wearing a poncho that looked like a grandma afghan.  The hippies were busy trying to convert Rasta Man to the Temple of the Grateful Dead.  A guy who looked like Eric Estrada sat quietly, looking as though he was about to get all stabby on the next person that spoke to him.  An enormous black man from Tennessee was shouting at someone on the phone in what sounded to be complete gibberish.  His chubby daughter traveled from seat to seat, staring at snacking passengers until they became uncomfortable enough to shoo her away.  A 20-something guy with a laptop & Hari Krishna hair was telling a woman what a seasoned Greyhound traveler he was now that he’d gone across the country 6 times & had only had his shit stolen once.

“You know,” I said.  “I feel a little like I’m in a rolling, live-action version of that ‘People of Wal-Mart‘ site.”

“Yeah, it is kind of like that,” Olivier said, laughing.  “Bus travel is colorful.  At least the weather is clear here, so we’ll be in Denver tomorrow morning.”

We arrived in Tulsa at 8pm.  Our driver informed us that we would have 20 minutes to take a break & change drivers.  Leaving the bus running outside, she quickly disappeared.

30 minutes later, a little man in a Greyhound uniform & a Santa Claus hat informed us that there never was another driver, that there was no one available to drive us out of Tulsa.  The gist is, St. Louis had 20 people to get rid of, so they took us to Tulsa & ditched us there.

Olivier & I stood at the door of the bus station next to Erik Estrada, Iggy Pop & the hippies as we all pressed our faces to the glass & stared longingly at our empty bus, engine still running, ready to go nowhere.

I truly believe that tragedy can bring out the best in people… & that the holidays can bring out the worst.  Humans are fucked up like that.  In spite of everyone’s best intentions, sometimes holiday gatherings get tense or chaotic.  No matter how hard you try, you may still end up feeling as though you’ve stepped out of reality & into one of those ridiculous Christmas movies where everything goes wrong.

Aside from getting your jumblies juggled, of course.

We arrived at our destination in rural PA a day late.  We got to see a few relatives – some that I had not seen in several years & that Olivier had never met.  We had a great time – in spite of my occasional fits of choking on mucous & bleeding from the nostrils.  While we had originally planned to stay in the area for an entire week, we decided to cut our stay a bit short & head out to Colorado 2 days early.

I could go into a lengthy explanation of why we decided to do this, but I won’t because this blog isn’t about my family shit.  What I will do, however, is touch on a few basic rules of etiquette when hosting friends or relatives at your home for the holidays:

1. If a family member comes to visit you & is from another country – say France, for instance – it might be a fun thing to refer to that person’s country & its inhabitants as “snooty”.  This is especially true if you have never been to said country, as it makes your insults more credible.  Whatever cultural stereotypes you can use to zing people with, throw it out there!  Your guests will be wowed by your wacky sense of humor.

2. If a family member is in some way involved in the arts – say writing, for example – show your support by saying something like, “No one wants to read anything that you write.”  This is especially true if you aren’t very familiar with their work.  If they don’t react as much as you would like to your verbal volleys, tell them that you’ve decided that you’re a writer, too.  It doesn’t matter if you’ve never written anything.  After all, anyone can do it, right?

Yes, anyone.

3. Religious beliefs, or a lack thereof, are personal & something that everyone likes to fight about.  If someone’s beliefs differ from your own, an appropriate response would be: “I feel sorry for people like you.”  Broach this subject as soon as possible after your guests arrive.  After all – it’s Christmas!

4. Most importantly, if relatives travel 3,797 miles for 2 days through a fucking blizzard to spend Christmas with you, begin the gift opening without them when Christmas morning rolls around.  Forget the tired tradition of waking everyone in the house & waiting until everyone is together to begin the gift exchange.  You’ll have a lot more fun waking early & opening all of your gifts Ninja style – not to mention the fun you will have looking at your surprised guests once they see that you’ve just had Christmas without them!

5. After you’ve tried all of the above, just start screaming.  It doesn’t matter what you scream about – it doesn’t even have to make any sense, it just has to be loud.  The best technique is to simply abandon conversational tone & raise the volume on all of your sentences.  Some families scream-speak regularly throughout the year.  If you’re not already in the habit of doing this, give it a whirl!

Scream-speaking isn't just for beloved sitcom families.

6.  Last & most important: if you need assistance with anything, do not ask your guests for help!  This will make you appear as a weak & inferior host.  If you require aide with any task or situation, find the nearest person & make an announcement about how little they care, being sure to tell them how horrible they are.  This likely will not get the task accomplished, but it will take attention away from the fact that you failed to accomplish it & will put the attention on someone else.

Obviously… I’m being caustic & sarcastic.  You get that, right?

Yes, all of these things occurred during our holiday visit.  Olivier & I can take a hint – we’re extremely bright.

Extremely. Bright.

It wasn’t really the Christmas vacation that we were expecting, nor was it the one that we wanted.  No matter – it was the one that we ended up with.  The only thing that could be done was to cut it short, as much as it pained us to leave behind the family that we were having fun with.

Back in the peace & quiet of our rental car, we began making our way to the Greyhound station in Erie, PA.

“Well,” Olivier said as he tooled around with the GPS.  “At least we’re together.  The worst part is over & now all we have to do is sit on a bus for a couple of days.  No stress.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “I never thought I’d look forward to a 2-day bus ride as much as I do right now.”

Ok.  Turns out we may not have been so bright after all.