In some of my endless musings about life and hair parts and houses this week, I thought about Christmas. Not the holidays, but Christmas. And why I celebrate it. (And I’m writing this in a year when the closest I’ve come to decorating is to throw a string of flip-flop-shaped lights on a house plant).
Ultimately, it’s pretty simple. I don’t celebrate ANY holidays from a religious standpoint. I just don’t. I wasn’t raised with any religion and as much as I’ve maybe embraced my Jewish hertiage from the same standpoint I’ve embraced my Irish heritage (only with less drinking) I don’t really feel religion. I mean – I’ve tried. I’ve gone to temple. I’ve gone to church (am I starting to sound like Margaret, as in Are You There God, It’s Me …?) But I just don’t get anything out of it. I’m OK with that (although sometimes I do wish I had something during those rough times. But I have Barry. That works).
So I celebrate Christmas in the same way I celebrate Cinco de Mayo. I played no role in any major Mexican battle victories, nor am I Mexican. But on every May 5th I will drink margaritas till I’m flat on the floor, if allowed. Because it’s a fun holiday that encourages that type of thing. Same deal with Christmas – lights are pretty, pie is tasty, presents are good. What’s not to celebrate? And Santa is awesome. I love Santa. I love the whole concept of Santa. And until Adam Sandler shows up at my local PetSmart with a cheesy carboard backdrop, whose lap will my dog sit on to get commemorative photos taken?
And finally, I like Christmas music. Driving around with the XM tuned to Holly is FUN. I can’t get enough of Hall & Oates’ “Jingle Bell Rock.” Radio Hanukkah? Props for being equal opportunity and all, XM peeps, but even Neil and Barbara realized there wasn’t much of a market there.
Potato latkes ARE delicious though ….