Christmas Lights
Tags: Consumerism, Christmas

Right now, I’m sitting near a window overlooking a shallow pond-void. Every Friday-ish for the past year I’ve sat near this window and seen this view. I’ve seen it in the hot Texas summer, with full sunshine, in the changing-of-the-world around sunsets, and deep in winter when you can’t even remember what sunlight is.

Deep in winter is when we are most missing the sun and what it does for us. But deep in winter is when the Christmas lights are up, draping every tree that had the audacity to grow The small copse of trees dressed for the party are situated perfectly over the pond-void. A gentle breeze runs along the top of the pond-void, and suddenly the lights are dancing.a complicated reel. On the trees each light is individually placed and seen. But on the water, the lights slide up and apart, up and apart. They switch partners and spin around.

This season, the houses in my neighborhood hang lights. From plain lights, to reindeer displays, to blinking, colorful atrocities. The spirit of it all is hard to miss. There’s even a lighted cross display, never mind that we have a few months until that particular spiritual feast is upon us.

I’m not the sort of person who looks for the most lit house to appreciate the spirit of it all. I really do prefer a simple display of cheer. Something with the plain white lights, maybe a single color accent based on Santa. Or Jesus. Or Hanukkah. I feel like my soul responds to the more minimal displays.

Speaking of minimal Christmas displays, this week I read a story about a woman from my hometown who put up a light display as a joke: a six foot tall, er long, dick. Her neighbors lost their sense of humor wondering what the children would think of the giant Christmas dick. Oh and the balls. For the sake of the children, the balls had to be blurred for the news. Not the dick. Or penis. Or phallus. Yall, for the sake of the children, the homeowner had to take down her joke. The children. In my soul, I worry for our children, being raised by people who wouldn’t be able to talk to their children about Christmas dick. Or penis. Or phallus. Or, for the children, the Christmas pee-pee.

I think the ostentatiousness of some displays, compared with the minimalism of the Christmas dick (penis, phallus, pee-pee) illustrates the problem my soul has with American Christmas. We all already have so much stuff (things, belongings, shit) in our homes that we are buying books and other products to help us figure out what we should keep and give away. We needed a celebrity to tell us to throw away crap we don’t like just because someone gave it to us. The pressure we feel to participate in American Christmas and find the best, most expensive piece of crap to give someone in order to win at competitive gift giving is upsetting (especially since most of us are trying to figure out how to throw it all away). Not just to me, but to the retail workers making minimum wage being commanded to find the right size immediately so late in the Christmas dick. I mean season..

But, when I think about Christmas dick (penis, phallus, pee-pee), I’m grateful for experiences instead of things. First of all, my date of birth means that a certain amount of Christmas dick (penis, phallus, pee-pee) is responsible for my life here on earth. So, thanks, um, Santa. Really, though, the things I think I treasure most are memories. Memories of trips, or dinners, or shows, or whatever activity I did with a person. So I guess, my most treasured things aren’t really things at all. Kind of like Christmas dick (Or penis. Or phallus. Or pee-pee).