Photos by Megan Steinbeck

First, let me say, I love Christmas. However, I was born with a stubborn resistance against being sold stuff, especially through the mechanism of advertising, so the post-Thanksgiving consumer frenzy has always rubbed me the wrong way. Some aspects of our free market culture are utterly appalling: people injured or killed in pursuit of Black Friday “bargains,” network news reporting on changes of menu at goliath fast food franchises, and those commercials where the wife acts all amazed when her underwear-model husband shows her the new car wrapped in a sixty-foot red ribbon and bow. What, he couldn’t afford a tree big enough to put it under?

To quote the line from Hannah and Her Sisters, “If Jesus came back and saw what’s going on in his name, he’d never stop throwing up.” But one should not bring religion into any discussion of Christmas. Christmas is cultural. Pretty much anyone can participate, and make up any rules and rituals they like. Everyone has their way of navigating the materialistic pressures (consumerism is at its most emotional during the holidays, and sixty-odd years of Mad Men advertising wizardry has effectively tied human self-esteem to purchasing prowess), so what’s important is what we do that is not related to material pressure.

Last Christmas we went pot-lucking and caroling in a quiet Baltimore neighborhood, and that was pretty great. You have to love the anachronistic lyrics, half made-up by the group as they sing (does anyone on earth really know the second verse of Jingle Bells?) And yeah, the Internet has vastly improved Christmas shopping: I haven’t had to set foot in a Mall. As for Christmas cards, I set up a mini-sweatshop and have my daughter make them with crayons. I confess that we are behind this year and probably won’t make near our quota. The popular notion of Christmas (even in southern California), has something to do with Yule logs, snow, sleighs and other vaguely Victorian accouterment. Not sure where this fantasy world is now located (Vermont?), but I find that a Christmas-day hike does real-world wonders. If I can cook something special, and commit some act of kindness or generosity that does not directly involve a purchase, I feel like my Christmas has been a success.

But the true meaning of Christmas is, let’s be honest, Christmas lights. There is the sticky problem of all that frivolous electricity use and carbon output, but those who eschew draping their homes and trees in lights balance out with the mega-lighters. These days we can add inflatables and “movers” (our term for those crudely animatronic deer) to the joy of touring the neighborhoods. Eat your hearts out, pink flamingoes, and Merry Christmas!