It’s a fact that the holidays bring a lot – a lot of joy, a lot of cheer, a lot of memories to cherish for a life time.
They also bring a lot of running around, a lot of “to do’s” and a lot of stress.
This weekend I’ve been feeling a bit more of the latter than the former. I finished decorating our house and somehow the house doesn’t feel quite “right” yet. I don’t have an answer for that. The decorations are the same as last year, minus a few lights that went on permanent strike sometime over the past 11 months, perhaps unhappy with their basement storage conditions.
Other than being bummed about the various lit items that don’t work any more, I don’t believe that anything’s missing. I can’t really pinpoint exactly what my problem is. When I mentioned it to my husband, he very gently suggested that I I was making what we had last year bigger in my mind. He said, with trepidation, that it’s possible I’ve upping my standards to unreasonable or even unattainable levels.
It then hit me that I have become Clark W. Griswold from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, one of the greatest movies of all time.
Clark has high standards. Very high. The movie has a scene where Clark and his wife, Ellen, are getting into bed for the night and Clark has been stressing over the need for everything to be just perfect for Christmas.
Ellen: You set standards that no family activity can live up to.
Clark: When have I ever done that?
Ellen: Parties, weddings, anniversaries, funerals, holidays…
Clark: Goodnight, Ellen.
Ellen: Vacations, graduations…
And then it hit me. My sadness over the lights not working, my feelings of inadequacy and the conclusion of my decorating efforts led to an anticlimactic result all mean that my transformation into Clark is nearly complete. I feel a lot like Clark did at the end of this scene:
I love the holidays. Love. Them. Always have.
I showed Clark-like tendencies even as a teen, when I strung thousands of little twinkling lights in my bedroom, placing everywhere possible, including carefully wrapping each blade of my ceiling fan. Upon my big reveal, my mother very nicely told me that I had created a fire hazard. I guess I’ve been trying to up the ante (within building codes, mostly) ever since.
I struggle with keeping things simple. You’d think I’d catch on one of these years, that it wouldn’t be so hard to ignore the should do’s and instead focus solely on the want to do’s.
Or that I’d actually follow one of the million articles, blogs, blurbs on morning television that encourage you to slow down and take some time for yourself during the holidays.
It makes me think how the most touching scene in Christmas Vacation is when Clark had no choice but to sit alone in the attic and he watched old family movies.
So to all my other fellow Clarks out there, the ones who are working so hard to make this the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny $@*% Kaye, I feel you. I get you. And I think we all know that we’re a little crazy, and that the best parts of the season will occur regardless of whether the little lights are twinkling or not. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. And I’ll happily tell you, too.
May you have happy, low-stress holidays and no squirrels in your Christmas trees. Take a little time for yourself, and take a little time to stop and smell the poinsettias.
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