True confessions.

Nah.  Publicly stating that I will vote for Hillary Rodham Clinton is not a confession.  Everyone knows that.

And no, stating that I’m a Walking Dead-obsessed, fanatical fan isn’t really uber exciting either.

Here’s what I decided I needed to share with the world.  (Well, I mean the tiniest bit of the giganticus maximus of a planet that stumbles onto this paltry little site.)  I figured it was only honest of me to let you know that, when it all comes down to it, when it is all said and done, I am secretly happy, HAPPY, that the Christmas season has started.

There.  I’ve said it.  Whew.  I feel so much better.  It’s absolutely, without-a-doubt true that the first step is admitting and it feels so liberating!

We love us some Christmas here.  We want S-N-O-W!  We watched White Christmas on Sunday.  (That was November 1st in case you need a reminder.)  We being the darling diva I live with, in case you need an additional reminder.  I have searched for and found the satellite radio station playing all Christmas, all the time.  I smiled inside and out when we were at Natural Grocer in Steamboat on Saturday for the Halloween party and there, on the shelf, in gorgeous red and white packaging with little snowflakes and candy cane striped ribbon were gift packages of Christmas-themed soaps.  Yay!

And…nirvanas of nirvana…RED CUPS at Starbucks!

I have decided to embrace the crazy and finally admit to myself and the world that I love Christmas.  I always have.  I love the season.  I love winter.  I love the snow.  I love the music.  I love Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby.  (They just don’t make them like they used to.)  I love Frank and Dean crooning Christmas ballads.  One of my most cherished memories is my mother sliding the LP out of the red cardboard cover and placing the record on the player, and then waiting for the scratchiness of the needle, followed by Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and the whole crew singing the classics.  I can see that cover still–it had photos of each singer in what looked to be an ornament all circling a green wreath.  A delicious memory that tingles to the toes and warms my sometimes hardened, cynical heart.

For many years I have tried to stuff this elation at all things Christmas.  I have tried to be bothered (like so many others I hear complaining) about the appearance of Christmas items before Thankgiving (in years past) and now before Halloween!  I used to complain about the “commercialization of Christmas.”  Good grief, I shudder and want to disappear in shame when I think about that.  Truth be told–I am ELATED about the Christmas season.  Many years ago I carefully recorded (on VHS no less) the Christmas specials we used to watch on the telly when we were little.  You know the ones.  Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (with the talking snowman who narrates it), The Year Without a Santa Claus (who doesn’t love the Heat Miser and the Cold Miser?) are just a couple.  I could go on as I used an entire tape for them all.  Then, JOY, JOY, JOY, I found them on DVD.  And we have the entire collection, with some extras thrown in.  We’ve finally gotten past how scary the Abominable is and can enjoy Rudolph and Yukon Cornelius and Herbie the Elf in all of their glory.

I could go on and on and on about how much I love the season.  I could wax philosophical about the ways it makes me feel and why. There is so much.  But, I’m having a difficult time articulating thoughts at the moment.  (School is waiting and the teacher is notably absent.)

One more true confession, and this one may be a doozy.  Judge if you must, but remember that judging on another is usually an exercise in idiocy.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s that every time I judge, I only make a fool out of myself.

That being said–my confession.

I don’t love the Christmas season because it has been co-opted by the Christian church as some sort of bday celebration of a man who supposedly lived about two millennia ago and then traveled the world area in which he lived, performing supposed “miraculous” things (for lack of a better word).  I use the word “Christmas” only because that is the general word that encompasses the season.  I love “Christmas” because to me it is a celebration taking place in the middle of the winter, a way to gather friends and family and be grateful for all that has been and all that will be.  My joy at the season, I am sure, comes from the long ago celebrations that very much predated the Christianization of Christmas.  I come from peoples who live on an island in the North Sea, from peoples who worshipped the earth, who celebrated the trees and the land and the cycles of the seasons.  Peoples who built large stone monuments to come together (it is thought) at the times of the year that correspond to the changing cycles of the sun and the moon.  It is thought that the mid-winter celebration of the Winter Solstice is what predates the modern Christianized form of Christmas.  (I’m not going to go into the research and the data here.  I have it if anyone is interested, but that is not the purpose of my joyful missive.)

I loved the season long before I married the love of my life.  I loved the season long before I then became pregnant with the second love of my life.  I didn’t think I could love the season anymore than I did.  But then my daughter was born on the Winter Solstice in the year 2006.  At the time of the setting of the sun.  A true Solstice baby.  And my life changed and has never been the same.  For me, the season of Christmas took on an additional meaning.  It was my own rebirth.  I found my purpose here on this earth.  The hole inside closed up and I realized why I am here.  I became a mother–the absolute most perfect, most wonderful, most fulfilling, most challenging, most heartwarming and heartbreaking thing I have ever set out to do.

It makes the Christmas season even more intensely delicious for me.  Every year I celebrate the birth of my daughter and revel in the blessings her life has bestowed upon me.  I thank the Universe for being allowed to be her teacher, her guide, her mother.  And it all coincides with a time of year that I find intoxicating.  It fills me up inside and spills over, and I drink from the saucer of life that sustains me.  Joy.  Pure joy.

There you have it.  My true confessions of the day.

Now please LET IT SNOW!!

Blessings be.

 

 

About madranchwife

Mother, Mad Ranchwife(as in--at times-- crazy, nutso, loco, off-my-rocker insane), Veterinarian, Physical Therapist, "Liberal, pinko, gay-loving, Subaru-driving Socialist" (as I've been called), proud to be a totally tree-huggin', climate change believin', granola girl environmentalist, ObamaGirl, Pro-Choice (don't even get me started here...), and in my younger days a feminist vegetarian as a result of time spent at CU Boulder (this lasted approximately 14 months, until all the Jimmy Buffett I was listening to caused me to crave a cheeseburger). Now I just get pleasure out of swimming against the stream and ruffling a few feathers here in the wild west state of Wyoming!
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3 Responses to True confessions.

  1. Gwen says:

    You are out of the closet now like us. My favorite is Emmit Otters Jug Band Xmas……my kids think I am nutz😜

    WYGWEN 🐾

    >

  2. barbara coyle says:

    Love your blog…..love it …..love it!

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