On the Sixth Day of Blogmas: Holiday Anxieties

With less than a week until Christmas, the familiar chaos of the holiday season has taken over our apartment. Aleksa keeps reminding me to work at my writing desk instead of the kitchen table — which I would do, if the writing desk wasn’t overflowing with paperwork I need to finish. 

Our closets can no longer hold our coats due the crowding of unwrapped presents hiding inside. So we’ve taken to tossing the coats on the coat rack by the front door, which is not meant to hold a copious amount of coats in the first place — so now the coat rack resembles the shape of a tree made of fur and felt and wool. 

And our fridge, which must be cleaned out, contains a smattering of desserts from all the holiday parties we’ve been hosting or attending. Cookies, cakes, fruit tarts … Italian pastries, frostings, dessert wines. I don’t know how we acquired so many sweet treats.

It takes a lot to rattle Aleksa, a patient person whose mantra is things will work out. As for me, my baseline is “stressed” and I find myself worrying about worrying if there is nothing else to worry about. Sometimes, I can’t fall asleep because I am aware I am falling asleep and then I get scared about going to bed. 

I can find things to worry about quite easily. Tonight, for example, I treated myself to soft serve ice cream after an exhausting journey through midtown’s bustling holiday scene. Once the cup was in my hands, I remembered a harrowing anecdote about why pregnant women shouldn’t eat soft serve ice cream due to the possibility of listeria. Apparently the soft serve machines are rarely cleaned by chain establishments, which makes the possibility more likely than not (I’m not pregnant, just to clarify). 

Worried, I thought, let me check in with my better half. This is our text conversation:

“I ordered this soft serve ice cream do u think its safe. Do you think it could have listeria” 

“No its fine baby” 

“Ok. and do you think the package from the mailroom was stolen”

Leave it to me to be assured of no bacteria contaminating my ice cream and then move on to stolen packages. I’m usually better about managing my wide-ranging anxieties, but like many people, I find the holidays to be stressful. Joyful, but stressful.

Each year, Aleksa and I travel to Connecticut to celebrate Christmas with my family. Connecticut is not only where I grew up for most of my life, but it’s also where most of my mom’s family resides. I have a particular fondness for Christmas in Connecticut: both the nostalgia for my youth and the “New England” decor that I associate with the holidays. (I guess I am referring to plaid blankets, red barns, pine garlands, sugared fruits, cinnamon applesauce ornaments, pine cone potpourri … I think you get it.) 

Also, it’s nice to get out of Manhattan’s [tangled] hair. Christmas in the city can be beautiful, but it’s mostly expensive and overwhelming. Especially as it gets closer to December 25th. I’m no Grinch: I look forward to seeing that commodious tree light up Rockefeller Plaza every year. I love watching people ice skate in the pavilion below the tree, too — I’m always hoping to witness a grand proposal there.

Rolf’s German Restaurant has incredible lights; Bryant Park’s Winter Village has adorable shops; and how could one not love the Plaza Hotel’s foyer, those tall trees nearly brushing the ceiling’s wide chandelier? 

There’s so much to love about the city at Christmas. But there’s equally a lot to make one want to leave. I’m always ready to go by the time December 20th has rolled around. I’ve had enough with the overpicked stores, the constant Christmas carols, the terrible delays on MTA train lines, and the bitter, freezing winds. 

With such eagerness to get out of the city, I find myself forgetting both big and small tasks to complete before heading off. Things like purchasing last minute presents; doing laundry; leaving money for the doorman; picking up CVS prescriptions; unplugging electronics; plugging shower drains (you don’t want “waterbugs”); packing all my teaching materials (to complete the very last of my grading); packing a normal wardrobe for Connecticut (this one feels impossible every time); closing all the windows; reading every book I’ve ever wanted to read; apologizing to every houseplant I’ve ever killed; learning how to knit; learning how to forgive people; actually using the fancy soaps I keep hoarding; super-gluing all those things I said I would eventually glue back together; developing a taste for goat cheese; attempting to watch Die Hard as a Christmas film; and  completing another day of Blogmas.

Cumalatively yours,

That American Girl