Growing up I was mostly ever surrounded by Christians and Jews or people who lived a more Christian or Jewish slant to their lives, which meant that this time of year was always full of holiday something. And we talked about and understood the concept of tolerance. We had trees and menorahs and Kwanzaa would usually find its way into the mix as well. Inevitably, there was always the disgruntled and dismayed peer who was personally offended at the materialism of the holiday season. They would self-righteously lament about how awful gifts were, so much it made me wonder if they never got the ponies or airplanes they wanted as children. Most of us would lend them our ear but not more than that.....Holidays were stressful to some of us and wonderful to others, all depending on how high an expectation you built, and how you used the semblance of joy to reflect upon your own inner peace.
But one thing that surprises me, and angers me a little, is some of the blatant and utter disrespect that I have heard of late in relation to Christmas. I think I have been experiencing something almost akin (forgive the drasticness of comparison) to what a white person experiences when around all white people when someone boldly utters a racist comment. A number of individuals lately have jokingly and seriously slandered Christmas while in my presence, with the confidence and ego of people who think everyone is on the same page as them-not Christian. And though I am not strictly Christian, the holiday is sacred to me, always will be. And the level of intolerance, particularly from a mouth of a person that more than likely considers themselves tolerant, astounds me.
It also has led me to more deeply define the holiday and brought to an even clearer light the power we have to make of something what we will. What surprises me is the absolute certainty others have that if something isn't special or important to them, that it could not possibly be special for others. Even worse, that these people who can't relate to an event would seek to demean the event for others by implying that those who celebrate it are perhaps shallow or stupid. I understand the idea of feeling left out. I understand the feelings of alienation. But that that should lead to callous mocking and insults is....ugly.
I have always been aware that my own particular attachment to holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas have been about my own thankfulness for things I once did not have-family, for one. Friends for another. Not to sound too dramatic, but I did have a good 6 years of life without family, and being able to spend time with people who love me who are also my family is something I will never stop appreciating. Laying in bed at night without a mom and dad at all is not something you forget just because. My family in particular, gets a real kick out of gifts because it's a show of love, not because we are needlessly entrenched in materialism. My sister got me a gift certificate to Whole Foods this year, because she KNOWS me. Knows my needs and is cognizant of what she can do as a sister to meet them.
Someone who has never really celebrated Christmas maybe doesn't know about that sort of thing. Maybe they never sat in quiet moments in front of the tree, with the whole house dark, the smell of pine drifting over you, and music in the background, with their mother, or their brother, or anyone, in a moment of complete comfort and security, away from the world and the bustle of living. It's not always perfect. There are fights; and my definition of family is perhaps not so simple as what you may think-friends are family too, and it's fluid. But as time goes by even fights get wrapped up in holiday memory as growth, as part of what it means to be in a family and connected and committed to one another. And that is what the holiday means to me. Any holiday. As I grow and add more to my list of days to celebrate, there may be other purposes, but being with family and friends will always go hand in hand with it, no matter what.
I have debated whether or not it was worth it to share with my friends who scoff just what their words and disdain do....wondering if perhaps I can keep them from hurting someone with careless words. Either way, the holiday feeling has been strong this year, partly because of them, and for that I am thankful.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Traveling SNAFU
I have to admit, I have been mighty pleased with this year's weather so far. Soooo pretty. A lovely white Christmas. I have scoffed at coworkers' insistence that this year, over all years ever, is the WORST ever. I mean, really? Every year some whiny, pitiable soul is determined to milk my sympathy for all it's worth over his or her suffering. It's soo cold, so nasty, they say. Well, it is every year, young grasshopper. The nature of the beast. The only thing that really changes is how much, how soon, or how late in the season.
Buck up, I try to tell them. Or move. Get a winter hat and boots and you will be just fine. Appreciate the gorgeousness and know that summer is coming and will be that much more appreciable because of our discomfort now.
And during all this scoffing I was doing, a small voice in the back of my head was saying, 'please, please, not on my travel day. please beautiful weather and snow, go away for a good 24 hours....when I need you to.'
So when it started snowing this past Saturday I was mildly worried, but confident as anything that my night of traveling would go without a hitch. It would be cold, sure. And a monstrous task of lugging my 100-pound suitcase through the 4 blocks of half-ass shoveled snow to the train. I knew within two days my back would be sore from all the pushing, pulling and carrying of the traveling suitcase, as it always is when I travel. I was mentally prepared for that, and the usual half-hour to hour wait outside in the cold, for the bus to take me 7 hours to MN, the bus that was always late.
I was ready for these things. I was not ready for the extreme temperature drop from my house to the Quincy train station downtown, where I exited to begin the trek to Union Station. I was not prepared for the 40 mile an hour bitter winds blowing in my face as I walked to the stop. I was pleased to get there, however, pleased to be 15 minutes early. I put on my headphones and tightened my scarf and pulled down my hat-hunkered down for the wait. Within minutes I made some friends, three young college students who were eager to get home for Christmas, like me, and resigned to the long bus ride and slight discomforts, like me. They chatted about majors, jobs, current and future, about parents and about being from Minnesota-what that meant in a city like Chicago. You could hear the hope and promise in their voices.
We saw three buses go by-our brand and make, but not our destination and after an hour out there, we began to grow suspicious. I had already pulled out my phone, calling the hotline, to no avail. Finally, as a team, we decided to trek our suitcases and ourselves down to the next block where we saw folks departing a bus just arrived from Detroit. The young gentleman in our group took charge and bravely and exuberantly leapt over a snowbank to inquire of the bus driver. We three women stared and mused at his take-charge attitude. He leapt back over the snowbank and broke the news.
All buses to Minnesota had been canceled.
One gal in our group started to tear up and panic almost immediately. I myself found I could not take this gentelman's word for it, trustful as he seemed. Together we both leapt over the snowbank again, to again question the bus driver.
The driver repeated his answer to my question with the gusto of someone who knows where he will sleep that night, "It's canceled!" No apolgetic, customer-service tone from him. Just the singsong statement of fact. We asked him how we were supposed to have known that and he said, "Well, someone shoulda told y'all! Ain't nothing getting to Minnesota tonight. NOTHING."
He could not tell us if another bus would come for us in the morning or anything, so we made our way back to the station and this time headed inside. It was nearing midnight and we were contemplating our options. We exchanged numbers. If anyone of us was to figure something out, we would call the other one. At that point the temperature had plunged down to below zero and the thought of lugging my suitcase alll the way back home, hour train ride, only to come back in the morning for additional uncertainty, made me want to cry too-like that other gal.
Instead I headed to my office, which thankfully was three blocks away. I got to my desk, fired on the computer and explored my options.
Plane: $584
Train: Booked full for days
Bus#1: $84
Bus#2: unknown-this was my bus-it appeared to have one going out at noon the next day but whether or not I could get on it was unclear.
Then I called my dad. He was appropriately empathetic. Then I cried. Then I took a $25 cab ride home.
As early as I could the next morning I called my bus company again. The noon bus was already packed and full and the next availability they had was two days later. The lady told me I could go to the bus station and try to get on the bus anyway, show my ticket and all, but it would be at the discretion of the driver and would depend on if there were no shows. And it was definitely below zero so I was not really pleased with this haphazardness.
Finally a friend of mine stepped in and helped me, through him I was able to check on the other bus company, and purchase a ticket. I got a ride to the bus station, and got to sit in a warm car while waiting for it to arrive.
The bus was full, the heat was not working, so I kept my boots, mittens, hat and coat on for the entire 8 and a half hour trip. But I made it home. 13 hours later than initially planned. I slept for 10 hours after that. And I cursed the weather. The damn pretty snow.
Now I am here in MN and I feel it is also important to mention I have now also experienced my first frightening spinout. My mom's car. I was Christmas shopping. I did not, thank GOD, crash the car, but I hit a patch of ice-and I was driving carefully and slowly, mind you, but the car started going all over the place. I righted it eventually but I felt it was a nice top-off to my traveling SNAFU. Oh winter, you have humbled me.
Buck up, I try to tell them. Or move. Get a winter hat and boots and you will be just fine. Appreciate the gorgeousness and know that summer is coming and will be that much more appreciable because of our discomfort now.
And during all this scoffing I was doing, a small voice in the back of my head was saying, 'please, please, not on my travel day. please beautiful weather and snow, go away for a good 24 hours....when I need you to.'
So when it started snowing this past Saturday I was mildly worried, but confident as anything that my night of traveling would go without a hitch. It would be cold, sure. And a monstrous task of lugging my 100-pound suitcase through the 4 blocks of half-ass shoveled snow to the train. I knew within two days my back would be sore from all the pushing, pulling and carrying of the traveling suitcase, as it always is when I travel. I was mentally prepared for that, and the usual half-hour to hour wait outside in the cold, for the bus to take me 7 hours to MN, the bus that was always late.
I was ready for these things. I was not ready for the extreme temperature drop from my house to the Quincy train station downtown, where I exited to begin the trek to Union Station. I was not prepared for the 40 mile an hour bitter winds blowing in my face as I walked to the stop. I was pleased to get there, however, pleased to be 15 minutes early. I put on my headphones and tightened my scarf and pulled down my hat-hunkered down for the wait. Within minutes I made some friends, three young college students who were eager to get home for Christmas, like me, and resigned to the long bus ride and slight discomforts, like me. They chatted about majors, jobs, current and future, about parents and about being from Minnesota-what that meant in a city like Chicago. You could hear the hope and promise in their voices.
We saw three buses go by-our brand and make, but not our destination and after an hour out there, we began to grow suspicious. I had already pulled out my phone, calling the hotline, to no avail. Finally, as a team, we decided to trek our suitcases and ourselves down to the next block where we saw folks departing a bus just arrived from Detroit. The young gentleman in our group took charge and bravely and exuberantly leapt over a snowbank to inquire of the bus driver. We three women stared and mused at his take-charge attitude. He leapt back over the snowbank and broke the news.
All buses to Minnesota had been canceled.
One gal in our group started to tear up and panic almost immediately. I myself found I could not take this gentelman's word for it, trustful as he seemed. Together we both leapt over the snowbank again, to again question the bus driver.
The driver repeated his answer to my question with the gusto of someone who knows where he will sleep that night, "It's canceled!" No apolgetic, customer-service tone from him. Just the singsong statement of fact. We asked him how we were supposed to have known that and he said, "Well, someone shoulda told y'all! Ain't nothing getting to Minnesota tonight. NOTHING."
He could not tell us if another bus would come for us in the morning or anything, so we made our way back to the station and this time headed inside. It was nearing midnight and we were contemplating our options. We exchanged numbers. If anyone of us was to figure something out, we would call the other one. At that point the temperature had plunged down to below zero and the thought of lugging my suitcase alll the way back home, hour train ride, only to come back in the morning for additional uncertainty, made me want to cry too-like that other gal.
Instead I headed to my office, which thankfully was three blocks away. I got to my desk, fired on the computer and explored my options.
Plane: $584
Train: Booked full for days
Bus#1: $84
Bus#2: unknown-this was my bus-it appeared to have one going out at noon the next day but whether or not I could get on it was unclear.
Then I called my dad. He was appropriately empathetic. Then I cried. Then I took a $25 cab ride home.
As early as I could the next morning I called my bus company again. The noon bus was already packed and full and the next availability they had was two days later. The lady told me I could go to the bus station and try to get on the bus anyway, show my ticket and all, but it would be at the discretion of the driver and would depend on if there were no shows. And it was definitely below zero so I was not really pleased with this haphazardness.
Finally a friend of mine stepped in and helped me, through him I was able to check on the other bus company, and purchase a ticket. I got a ride to the bus station, and got to sit in a warm car while waiting for it to arrive.
The bus was full, the heat was not working, so I kept my boots, mittens, hat and coat on for the entire 8 and a half hour trip. But I made it home. 13 hours later than initially planned. I slept for 10 hours after that. And I cursed the weather. The damn pretty snow.
Now I am here in MN and I feel it is also important to mention I have now also experienced my first frightening spinout. My mom's car. I was Christmas shopping. I did not, thank GOD, crash the car, but I hit a patch of ice-and I was driving carefully and slowly, mind you, but the car started going all over the place. I righted it eventually but I felt it was a nice top-off to my traveling SNAFU. Oh winter, you have humbled me.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Friday, December 05, 2008
Why I am a morning person
Because at 8am I enjoy the cold. I feel pleasant and am generally productive. At 7pm I hate the world and all it's cold darkness and I just want to be at home hidden away....
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