Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Altar Call

Sometimes I wish I were the type of person that stored my sentiments in pictures or presents. Things I could put away when circumstances necessitated it, tucking them away until they could be unearthed when they’d lost their emotional pull. Theoretically I could pour all that sentimental energy into these objects, these things, so they could store the whatever it was that it isn't anymore so that later, when they needed repacking or to be a visual aid for the retelling of a story, they could be bound neatly inside the confines of an old birthday/Christmas/I-saw-this-and-thought-of-you gift.
It seems like it might be easier.
If I were, perhaps I wouldn’t be so caught off guard in public when the opening chords of a song pick me up and drop me back in the middle of a motion picture of my memories before I can prepare myself. Or maybe if I were the type of writer who could write frivolously about inconsequential things, I would not have pages of written monuments in your honor. I would have no use for remembering the exact shade of your skin found mirrored in my favorite coffee or any documentation of my own obsession with loving so wholly, down to the details.
I am not that person. Instead, I am a writer. I write what I feel because I have to. Because my words aren’t just letters on a page but tattoos on my skin. They are small pieces of this life I’ve lived and how I’ve lived it and who I’ve shared it with and why I am and who I am. And they stay with me, as do the details of you, long after you are gone.
I wonder if you ever come here and read these words, bear witness to these things I've laid down on this altar, done in remembrance of you.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

The Case for Christmas

Anyone who has been around here reading for any significant period of time will tell you that I am not here for Christmas. It’s not that I hate it per se, just that I wish that everything from the day after Halloween to New Year’s Eve did not exist.
That came out wrong.
There is a large part of my Christmas loathing that is personal that I won’t get into. But there is another part of Christmas that makes it my least favorite time of year; it is overwhelming.
From October until the ceasing of after Christmas sales in mid- January, it is everywhere. It is big ass trees and bright ass lights and gaudy wrapping paper and syrupy Christmas carols. It is signs and sales and wreaths and garland. It is crowds and competition and over consumption. And that’s just at the mall. Don’t even get me started on what it’s like if you’re one of millions of people like me who have to actually travel to get to your family this time of year. The airport during the holiday season is where glad tidings go to die. And really, what other time of year would you be okay with allowing your child to sit on the lap of a stranger just because he is an old white guy with a beard and ruddy cheeks who may or may not have diabetes?