Christmas.
The down side of not participating in the consumer frenzy is feeling a little left out this morning. It feels kind of wrong, like it's unAmerican, but I'll get over it. I could say my rebellion was in solidarity with my homeless neighbors for whom Christmas is a painful reminder of their lack of a home or a family. But that would be a lie.
Fuck it.
Last night was one of the best Christmas Eve's ever, and the Baby Jesus was never mentioned and not a single gift box or ribbon in sight. We went to a Sikh celebration of the birth of my friends Hari and Lara's son. I will get the proper spelling of his very long name. In the enormous meeting room at the Holy Trinity Church in Moraga, there was not so much as a cross to be seen. Instead, there was an open bar -- right when you walked in. My sons were thrilled.
There were appetizers waiting such as tandoori chicken and samosas and pakoras and various chutnies. There was a DJ playing mashed up indian music and technopop. Women in saris and men in suits and turbans. Tons of kids running around, girls in silk dresses, boys in suits and turbans or just suits.
Four hours of dancing, drinking, laughing and catching up. There was the ceremony to honor the first-born-son-of-the-first-born-son involving a procession with giant turbans lit with candles and dancing to Indian pop (featuring Hari and Lara), then passing the turbans around with everyone trying to balance the candle-lit turbans on their heads. Old ladies and young kids all dancing to the 180 beats per minute mash-ups.
By 9:00 we were exhausted, having consumed way too much of the dinner, because it was so phenomenally good. The whole thing made me want to move to India ASAP. I'm sure there is a reason Hari's family is living in the East Bay and not Mumbai, but being there last night put into perspective how young and inexperienced our culture is. Makes the ham and mashed potato dinner Joe and I are cooking today seem neolithic.
Can I say something about the sari: no matter what shape your body is in, the sari makes any woman look like a queen. No shit. While I figure out how to move to India, I think I'll be shopping at the Sari Palace.
I'm avoiding Christmas and the reality that when my boys wander in here in a few minutes, there will be breakfast. And that's it. Not even a stocking stuffer. I think I'll pass off the unwrapped garment rack I bought for their studio as their joint Christmas gift. No wrapping to throw away. I guess that's a plus.
I hope that your day is free of stress and guilt and regret. Tomorrow: December 26.
The down side of not participating in the consumer frenzy is feeling a little left out this morning. It feels kind of wrong, like it's unAmerican, but I'll get over it. I could say my rebellion was in solidarity with my homeless neighbors for whom Christmas is a painful reminder of their lack of a home or a family. But that would be a lie.
Fuck it.
Last night was one of the best Christmas Eve's ever, and the Baby Jesus was never mentioned and not a single gift box or ribbon in sight. We went to a Sikh celebration of the birth of my friends Hari and Lara's son. I will get the proper spelling of his very long name. In the enormous meeting room at the Holy Trinity Church in Moraga, there was not so much as a cross to be seen. Instead, there was an open bar -- right when you walked in. My sons were thrilled.
There were appetizers waiting such as tandoori chicken and samosas and pakoras and various chutnies. There was a DJ playing mashed up indian music and technopop. Women in saris and men in suits and turbans. Tons of kids running around, girls in silk dresses, boys in suits and turbans or just suits.
Four hours of dancing, drinking, laughing and catching up. There was the ceremony to honor the first-born-son-of-the-first-born-son involving a procession with giant turbans lit with candles and dancing to Indian pop (featuring Hari and Lara), then passing the turbans around with everyone trying to balance the candle-lit turbans on their heads. Old ladies and young kids all dancing to the 180 beats per minute mash-ups.
By 9:00 we were exhausted, having consumed way too much of the dinner, because it was so phenomenally good. The whole thing made me want to move to India ASAP. I'm sure there is a reason Hari's family is living in the East Bay and not Mumbai, but being there last night put into perspective how young and inexperienced our culture is. Makes the ham and mashed potato dinner Joe and I are cooking today seem neolithic.
Can I say something about the sari: no matter what shape your body is in, the sari makes any woman look like a queen. No shit. While I figure out how to move to India, I think I'll be shopping at the Sari Palace.
I'm avoiding Christmas and the reality that when my boys wander in here in a few minutes, there will be breakfast. And that's it. Not even a stocking stuffer. I think I'll pass off the unwrapped garment rack I bought for their studio as their joint Christmas gift. No wrapping to throw away. I guess that's a plus.
I hope that your day is free of stress and guilt and regret. Tomorrow: December 26.
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