It's Not About a Tree, Charlie Brown

I wore Christmas socks yesterday because they were the only pair I could find. The festive, red and green twosome sat perfectly folded in my drawer amidst single distant relatives of tan and black. I have often spotted this merry sock marriage in times of need and had to reject them because the season was wrong. How wacky would that look – wearing Christmas socks in October, or February? Yesterday, however, the season was right.

Why so opposed to wearing them? The simple answer is they didn’t match my top. The complicated answer is my top was black. And no, there is nothing near being in plain view in my closet that is the least bit Christmasy. There might not be anything at all. Now, now – Don’t go thinking that this coupled with the fact that the Grinch who Stole Christmas is my new ringtone means I’m a Grinch! Except occasionally!

Nothing like Christmas socks sheds light better on how inadequate I am by societal standards at doing Christmas. I’m less a Grinch and more, a Charlie Brown in the weeks preceding Christmas. Some days I get it; some days I don’t, and will focus too much with bitter irony on everything from how rude people are when trying to beat you to a parking space at the mall to songs lyrics that talk about snow as the vital ingredient to achieving holiday spirit. I’m forgetful. I’m late. And I feel bad about how many loved ones I’ve probably offended through the years.

I knew better than to hope that just because I’m on ADD medication that I would now become a superwomen who has all of her shopping done and owns a labeled box pulled down from the attic filled with Christmas attire. But I held out a glimmer of hope for a small Advent miracle: that perhaps the whole sock situation in our house would be a thing of Christmas Past. But apparently, it’s not. One minute I’m almost ready to leave for the girl’s piano recital; the next I’m considering rooting in my closet, berating myself for not having even one suitable Christmas sweater to match my socks.

So what has changed for the better since last Christmas? In one word: perspective. Even though I felt the onset of the downward spiral into being in total touch with my inner Grinch, I was able to stop. Then, just as any experienced wardrobe improviser would: I wore my longest jeans, checking to be sure the festive, yet clashing socks were covered. They were, but barely, but who would notice and why would I care?

At the insistence of Peanut’s creator, Charles Shultz, Linus recited the birth narrative from the King James version of the Gospel of Luke to close the 1965 television production of A Charlie Brown Christmas. Shultz never doubted the power of his story of Charlie’s quest to find the real meaning of Christmas amidst rampant commercialism. Without this ending there would have been no real meaning to discover. Linus gently reminds us of the child who we hope from one year to the next, we’ll be able to recognize.

This Christmas neither I, nor my house look particularly festive. If anything, I’ve been more relaxed about it than ever before. We put our tree up in the living room instead of the family room because of Lily the Labradoodle. I keep forgetting to turn on the outside lights, and I may not get my cards out before Christmas Eve. But I know Christmas isn’t about a tree or a pair of socks.

Next year, I’m still going to be minimalist, but I will at least try to have socks both festive, and not, that match what I already own by visiting: AbsoluteSocks.com. There’s my commercialism for the day. To see Linus tell Charlie Brown what Christmas is all about go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKk9rv2hUfA

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