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It’s been said many times and many places, that the health of the American economy is dependent on the institution of Christmas, accounting as it does for some huge percentage of total annual retail sales. But if you ask me, “institution” is a word better reserved for bloated government bureaucracy, oppressive psychiatric facilities, universities and prisons than what I prefer to think of as the season of good will. And there’s something disheartening about being subjected to a barrage of tacky ads starting the day after Thanksgiving, or seeing thirty part-time Santas suiting up for a day of taking orders for high dollar toys from TV-addled tots at metropolitan shopping malls.
Not only the American economy is affected, of course, but also countries like China which make the bulk of the geegaws that fill the gift aisles of the big-box stores. When we cut back spending due to so called economic downturns, it is Chinese and Indian laborers that are put out of work as much or more as Americans, so it seems to be in the entire world’s material interest – allies and opponents alike – that we never run out of novel new things we want to buy and try. Middle Eastern monarchies pump money into failing U.S. banks and enterprises not so much in a take over bid, as to ensure that the dollars keep being spent, and that a percentage of those dollars end up overseas. The implication is that being frugal, saving instead of spending, is not only unfashionable but unpatriotic. Those with savings or assets are accused of being hoarders and part of the problem. When there’s trouble, both Republican and Democratic Presidents exhort the population, insisting that since shopping spurs growth, it’s downright un-American to limit our spending, or to stockpile food, tools or gold instead of investing in endless disposable appliances.
Truth is, it wasn’t that long ago in historical terms that frugality was considered a cultural value, with everyone from children to seniors encouraged to save as much money as possible for possible future hard times. And poor Santa Claus, first drafted to be the materialist usurper of this preeminent Christian holiday, has now himself been slighted, turned by advertising executives into a shameless salesman for some entirely unnecessary and disappointing products, a red suited boulevard pimp of the most de-natured commodities, a shrill and common carney barker using sentimentality as well as sensationalism to draw in the unsuspecting fair goers and relieve them of their hard earned money. Rather than being an active agent of material desires run amok, the original Santa archetypes include a fur-trousered Sami wildman and the not terribly material minded Odin. St. Nicholas, “Ol’ St. Nick,” was actually a Middle-Eastern Turk who gave away his entire inheritance to benefit impoverished children. He dressed more like a holy man, a beggar, a bearded biker or that unkempt mountain man Ben Lilly than the cash booster in the crimson pajamas appropriated from myth and history by the marketing engineers of Madison Avenue and West L.A. He’d surely be mortified to find himself recast as a poster boy for consumer excess, his censored and polished image plastered on freeway billboards and plastic Slurpee cups. I far prefer to imagine him as he was, wandering from town to town, freaking-out the stodgy and narrow-minded with his ragged clothes and beatific grin, intent on social justice, handing out sweet fruits and blessings to the good hearted kids he meets along the way.
This isn’t to say that owning nice things or buying nice gifts is a bad thing. Like all warm blooded critters, it matters to us to have what we need to survive and even thrive, we appreciate artsy stuff as much as any glitter-gathering grackle or blackbird, and know just how we want to furnish our cave, den or nest. But next year, you might want to consider doing things just a mite differently. Instead of buying mostly imported junk from Wally-Mart etc., try buying things made from local materials with labor from the region you live in. Pick things that are made to last, instead of those designed to entertain for a short while and then break and be replaced. Or quickly consumed presents that are at least good for you, like natural honey from the state where you live. Avoid anything battery operated since those are unsustainable and from overseas. Try to avoid plastic for once, and see what else is out there made of cotton or wool, wood or steel.
Better yet, I’m giving you plenty of lead time if you want to think about making something for those people in your lives that you care most about. If they really love you, they’ll appreciate the silliest hand drawn card featuring your own sentiments over any purchased one with stock saying. And they’ll be more touched by every bite of a special treat, if they can sense the time you put into it and them instead of just ordering a fruit and jelly sampler from an online company. Everyone has skills for making gifts that suit the needs and character of those we want to treat, and gifts that say something about who we are. Maybe we have some experience carving, and a back room shop that seldom gets used. A talent for sewing, and a basket of embroidery thread. A fine stove, and an heirloom recipe for gingerbread. The hours spent driving to a big city shopping center and milling about with the other bedraggled consumers, might be better utilized whittling an oak walking stick for a dear friend, or bagging up some special medicinal or beverage herbs and adding a personalized label. Or give one of the best presents of all to your family, the gift of promised time with them in the wild, outside the box, great outdoors.
Not everything about the holiday season has always been easy for me, as I readily admit. Yet no matter what your experience of the holidays – blissful, stressful or both – surely you’d agree that the best of Christmas lies not in what we’re given or what we buy, but in the love that abides. In the gathering together of relatives that may live hundreds or even thousands of miles from one another, with Grandmas and Grandpas happily soaking up all the attention, and their wild little grandkids doing their best to get their dress clothes dirty. In cold noses and warm slippers, hot stoves and steaming puddings. In a common table with simple decorations, on a day when even those who usually eat out choose to share a lovingly made meal. In the honoring of our roots, telling revealing stories about distant and not so distant ancestors, breaking out the photo albums, then breaking out in smiles. In honoring the start of Winter but also the return to lengthening days. In joyfully stirring a campfire of memories, whose flames might otherwise die out and shine on the planet no more.
It is a time when some of the least enchanted among us can, for awhile at least, retire the sober attitude and suspend their disbelief. It’s the season when a larger than usual number genuinely open up to the possibility of miracles, like children keeping an eye on the sky for a glimpse of flying reindeer. Maybe it’s time we kidnap Santa back from the hacks and return him to blissful bedraggled form, bravely odd and thread-worn.
Bring it on, holidays! With our minds enchanted and hearts unfurled… we may yet remember we reside in a sacred and magical world.
