Every year I tell myself that next year I will go away for the holidays. Go where?
Well, who knows? But every year I threaten this....telling the wind all about it.
I’ve been doing this for decades. Many people love the holidays and I say: bless their little hearts. Children love the holidays and I was once one of ‘em. I loved them too then.
Here’s what I did after coming home on Christmas eve from a family get-together: I watched Werner Herzog’s “My Son My Son What Have Ye Done”. It’s about a guy’s descent into madness as he practices the lead part of Orestes in an ancient Greek drama. Orestes kills his mother, and the movie character imitates this and uses his uncle’s sword on his mother.
This is fun holiday fare. Hey, I’m a movie buff.
Some of us in the middle of the world, especially Librans (if you believe that stuff), seek balance. When confronted with too much saccharin sentiment, we (me) reach for the opposite. Hence the Herzog.
Most people don’t respond well to this. It spoils their enjoyment of the endless festivities. They see the one (me) injecting cynicism, black humor, sarcasm, or any other manifestation of “darkness” as a spoiler or a buzz-killer.
I suppose I’ve gotten better - or is it quieter - during this time. When my daughter was young it was a wonderful thrill to witness her excitement, to see her open presents. Now she’s a teenager. Enough said.
So I watch my film alone and when I am with others I smile and enjoy myself.
I feel the love and the happiness that we are alive. Then I go home and get all
snuggly warm in bed and open “The Last Night of the Earth Poems” by Bukowski.
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