HOME ALONE 2...OR 12

It starts with Baileys. That’s not something that says Christmas to me, but I was passing the liquor store and it just hit me that having a splash of something extra in my morning coffee might be a nice way to begin my home-alone holiday. No worries about it turning into some sad, prolonged binge. One drink is usually my limit. I like to feel in control, even if I’m on my own.

With coronavirus travel restrictions and personal views on what feels like the responsible thing to do (or not do), it may be that more of us will celebrate a home-alone Christmas. For me, it’s old hat. Pandemic or not, I’d likely be spending the day on my own. My single friends who don’t have family in the province used to invite me to join them for a buffet lunch at a casino or dinner at a Chinese restaurant, but neither option has ever appealed to me. I’ve had more than a dozen Christmases by myself so maybe I’ve learned a thing or two about getting through the holiday as a smaller scale—or no-scale—affair.

I’ve seen some glass half full tweets and heard chipper comments on radio ads saying, “Just because this year will be different doesn’t mean it won’t be as wonderful as ever.” Possible, for sure. To be honest though, these people worry me. They’re purporting to recognize that Christmas 2020 won’t be the same but, by golly, it will be just as jolly. As I gaze into my snow globe, I see people setting themselves up for disappointment. A Zoom hug is not the same. It won’t be as warm as when you hug Aunt Lucy in person or as creepy as doing so with Uncle Pete or as alarming as with Great Aunt Izzy whose body just keeps getting more and more frail.

By now, most of us know what Zoom does and doesn’t provide. (Hopefully Uncle Pete won’t pull a Jeffrey Toobin and will keep his willy in his pants!) Zoom (or Skype or Facetime or an old-fashioned phone call) will offer a nice connection, but at some point it will end. Everyone will disconnect and then you may be even more acutely aware that you’re at home alone, suddenly missing the gang all the more. A Christmas cry is okay. Just maybe set a timer for it. And maybe followup with a restorative holiday nap. Something about activating the tear ducts always makes me sleepy.

Tradition plays big on holidays, especially on Christmas. If you’re especially big on tradition, consider shelving some things this year. Be realistic. Why is something a tradition and will it have the same effect if you try to do it on your own? Making rum balls or shortbread cookies in the name of That’s-What-We-Always-Do isn’t quite as festive when you’re stuck with all the cleanup. (How did butter get on the ceiling?) Are you going to want to be eating turkey three times a day every day into the New Year? And it’s awfully tricky to splice together the family Facebook photo with everyone sporting their favorite—or matching?—ugly Christmas sweaters. Tricky for me, at least. (Truth: I’ve never had such a sweater. I draw the line at dollar store Santa ear muffs.)

If you do set aside a tradition, I’m a big believer in deciding on a replacement activity. Otherwise, you’re going to sit and fester. Oh, look. It’s 8:30. This is the time when we’d be singing carols on the neighbors’ porch. But it’s not happening. You’ll reach for a box of Kleenex and recover in time to wallow over what the nine o’clock tradition is. How tortuous!

If you’re super traditional about Christmas, maybe it’s better to simply plan a “nice day” or at least a diversion day. On Christmases past, I have devoted a huge chunk of the day to painting a room in my house or condo—a den, a bedroom, a bathroom. Nothing festive about it, but highly satisfying. My home looks better and I was productive on a day that could have been wasted on wallowing. Alas, there will be no painting this year as I’ve been living in a rental unit, my life in limbo since the start of lockdown in March.

I’ve often pulled out a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. It’s a perfect activity for me to do on my own. I don’t ever like others joining in. I worry about them jamming pieces in the wrong places. (Like I said, I’ve got some control issues.) Puzzles, as a solo endeavor, keep me calm. Working on one is a great mindfulness exercise for me as I tune out everything except searching for that one missing edge piece or cursing at the puzzle’s evil creator who decided to have so many blue sky pieces. (Why not a few clouds, at least?!)

I always have a couple of books on deck. One year, hours and hours passed as I read Meg Wolitzer’s The Interestings. It was glorious to have a large chunk of uninterrupted reading time. I got more into the setting and the plot because I wasn’t constantly jumping up off the sofa to do other tasks. This year I’ve got five books lined up: two that I bought, three from the library; one nonfiction, one young adult, one science fiction, two literary and one that I’m not really sure what it is (it was recommended during a Zoom author talk). If I’m not getting into one, I can always pick up another. I’ve got options which is great since I’m not sure what my mood will be.

My biggest home-alone tradition is to spend significant chunks of time out of my tiny condo. I like to head to a beach first thing after waking up. Morning walkers are especially cheerful so there’s a good chance that my greetings will be returned. Such nice people, I always end up thinking. Later, I go for a particularly long run, rain or shine. Usually I do it mid-afternoon as I picture people sacked out on sofas after too much tryptophan or one glass too many of the spiked eggnog that Uncle Pete, the ol’ rascal, spiked even more when no one was looking. The run feels especially good, knowing that so many people can’t fit one in today. I’m taking care of myself.

At some point, my stomach will want food. The Christmas dinner is a tradition I’m always glad not to experience. I’ve been a vegetarian for thirty-four years and, frankly, I don’t want to see an animal carved up. There have been years when I’ve roasted veggies, mashed up some potatoes and made cranberry sauce. On a couple of occasions, I even bought some sort of Tofurky product but I no longer see the point of a substitute for meat.

My best Christmas dinners have been when I’ve made something entirely different, following an intricate recipe that eats up a larger chunk of the day. One year, it was a deep dish pizza recipe that I hadn’t made in more than a decade. On another Christmas, I made lasagna, which always takes me a long time but keeps me very focused on the process. This year, I’m thinking of an Indian meal, trying out a new red lentil daal recipe I found months ago online, making baked samosas from a cookbook I’ve only used once and perhaps adding a palak paneer. Yes, there will be leftovers, but that’s a good thing. The spices in Indian food make things even more flavorful the next day.

I already have too many options for the 25^th. That’s a good thing. I will be busy. The day will be far more satisfying than just “surviving Christmas.” Will it be “as wonderful as ever”? Who knows? Who cares? This is not a year to be comparing with any other. I’m just going to enjoy the day and I hope you do, too.

A SECOND FIRST?

It’s almost over. The holidays. At least the Christmas end of it. I’m blocking out the whole “What are you doing for New Year’s” thing. Need to break the holidays down into manageable chunks.

I’m on the ferry, heading in for another coffee date. A rare second date! (Maybe Bigfoot exists, too. And Santa.) This midday Sunday sailing is full, loaded with people coming and going from visits with the relatives. No doubt, there are more than a few last-minute shoppers, too. I never know how I am going to respond inside to being immersed as a spectator in social hoopla. For now, it is fine. The date helps. I have a purpose. We’ll see how I handle the return trip if it turns out to be a fizzler.

The first date happened sometime around a different holiday: Halloween. Our schedules just haven’t meshed since then. Consider that a bad sign—not meant to be—or think of it as a good sign: persistence against all odds. I’m not viewing it as any sign at all. I am more concerned that I don’t remember an awful lot from our previous coffee encounter, a pleasant exchange at a café outlet just outside Vancouver’s central library branch. I’d spent the afternoon researching and writing for a current project. I don’t remember much about that either. So, technically, it is a second date but it feels like a first all over again.

What does he look like again?

I knew at the end of our first meeting that he’d wanted to meet again. I was game, too. But there is no momentum. He’d initially suggested a day of skiing which I kiboshed. I don’t know him well enough to embarrass myself on such a grand scale. And a full day on the hills seemed like a big step for a first-ish second date. So it’s coffee to go and an exploration on foot of Vancouver’s West End until things naturally play themselves out. Smaller steps. I just hope I’m not left with half a cup of still-hot coffee when we bid adieu!

The ferry buzz has quieted down. Not as many teens loudly chatting—Notice me!—as they do laps around the boat’s interior. No children running around playing tag as their parents play Let’s Pretend They’re Not Ours. The biggest distraction is a grandma sitting across the aisle from me. She is playing some sort of game on her phone and she’s got the volume at max. DING! DING! I feel like a Skinner rat or a Pavlovian dog. Where’s my treat?

Maybe it will come on the date. There’s still time to add me to the Naughty list. It’s as much as I can wish for this Christmas.

 

CHRISTMAS FOR ONE

Let’s just get the obvious out of the way: spending Christmas alone can be depressing. I’ve had some downer holidays, the worst being the one when the power went out and I spent the “festive” evening alone in the dark before driving into town to sit in an empty Starbucks parking lot so I could at least get an internet connection.

The truth is that Christmas can be also depressing or, worse, tense or combative when spent with family. Family gatherings are sometimes particularly troubling for LGBT folks. 

I have had “orphan” Christmases in which those of us who weren’t going home got together. Some of those gatherings were lovely, some just sad. It’s not really the day to chat up strangers who are on a casual friend’s curling team. I cannot feign an interest in that “sport” and the field of conversation did not become any wider when I discovered he was a butcher. (I am a strict vegetarian.) I’ve declined this gathering of curlers the past three years.

Some years, Christmas for One has been about surviving the day. Still, I think I’ve found a way to celebrate it. I share the following as tips for enjoying the holiday based on many years of going solo.

Play it loose with the traditions. I’ve gotten away from trying to mimic the traditions of larger Christmas gatherings. It’s not the same and pretending it is just makes things worse. Now I pick and choose what traditions I feel like. There is no one else insisting on putting up a tree or caroling around the cul-de-sac. This year, I put up a string of lights outside. I like peeking at them as I take my dog on the last walk of the night. They looked particularly sparkly after last week’s snowfall. I waffled on getting a tree, ultimately choosing to pass on that this year. I don’t like staring at the emptiness under the tree. Next year I may be okay with it, perhaps adding poinsettias as groundcover.

Plan for a full day. Pretending it was just another day only worked once. Fool me twice? Nope...didn’t happen. Planning is essential. I’ve ad-libbed the day before, but the what-do-I-want-to-do-now moments teeter on being sad little voids. 

Eat whatever you fancy. As a vegetarian, I have no need for a turkey or a faux turkey. For years, I made mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts and roasted veggies. I’m not craving that this time around so why go through the motions? Instead, I am making pizza with a homemade crust that I love, but haven’t made in a decade. I am looking forward to it—and that’s the point: create a meal you like, rather than something that is going to remind you of the shared feasts of Christmases past. For breakfast, I’ll open with a grapefruit and a full pot of strong coffee. Later in the morning, I’ll have a stack of blueberry pancakes with pure maple syrup. During the afternoon, I’ll make shortbread. I enjoy cooking without being rushed by other pressing items on an agenda. This is the perfect day to give the oven a workout.

Enjoy a quiet, relaxing activity. I like to pull out a jigsaw puzzle a few times a year. It is a focused way to pass time. I find it very relaxing in the way that I imagine knitting or car tinkering appeals to others.

I have a large stack of books waiting to be read. As I just finished one, I’ll pick a new one to begin, curling up in a chair and sipping some of that seemingly bottomless coffee supply. I also love magazines and I bought a couple to browse through.

Get outside. After the pancakes, I’ll take the dog for a long walk along the beach. This is my favorite tradition that began even before I had a dog and spent a Christmas on my own in Malibu. I feel a strong connection to nature and to water in particular. Beach walks nourish my soul. Having the dog with me adds lighter moments as his excitement in hopping through the sand always makes me laugh.

Keep up the fitness. Since I don’t partake in turkey, I don’t waste a couple of hours on the sofa in a tryptophan stupor. Fitness is extremely important to me and I don’t take a day off just because the gyms are closed. I always go for a decent jog on Christmas. I have to do this so I don’t fret over the extra food indulgences. I like to run into town along the lower road that shadows the coastline. There is a long pier that I jog out on—it’s the closest I can get to walking on water—and then I continue to the other side of the quaint harbor, all the while enjoying the peekaboo water views and the lack of foot and car traffic.

Over-plan. The day is full but, just in case, I have some videos that I would love to see again. It’s been a long time since I last saw “A Room with a View” and I’ll never tire of marveling over Nora Ephron’s brilliant screenplay for “When Harry Met Sally”. (It was at the peak of my Meg Ryan Can Do No Wrong period. Sigh. I miss dear Meg.)

In the days that follow, keep the focus on others. All in all, I know it will be a good day. After Christmas, I will run into a few acquaintances who will ask, “How was your Christmas?” It’s a perfectly normal question, a refreshing variant to “How are you?” I have learned that most people who have spent all their Christmases surrounded by people are aghast if I reveal that I spent it on my own. I’m past the days of self-pity; I don’t need it replaced by other-pity. I am ready with a true response—“Very nice”—and a quick pitch back—“How was yours?” If they go behind a brief “Good”, I probe to let them get it all out. People like to talk about themselves. It is rare that they realize that they shared a lot while I didn’t. We all have different needs.

And we all celebrate—or don’t celebrate—in different ways.

I am happy with my plans. I hope you are with yours. All the best to you!

MY CHRISTMAS SOLO

As I walked the dog this Christmas Eve, I noticed that this sleepy hamlet had a sense of bustle to it.  Extra vehicles spilled out of driveways and lined the streets.  As I gazed at Christmas lights, I glimpsed large groups gathered in living rooms and dining rooms.  Seems the grown children who left years ago to find better work opportunities have returned with their own families for a day or two of festivities.  Oh, to be home for the holidays!

My last trek home for Christmas was fifteen years ago.  My grandfather, living in Ontario and I, based in Vancouver, decided during my summer visit with him that we would both venture to Texas for Christmas.  I’ll go if you go.  Since my grandmother had died a few years earlier, we were the two single guys, each wanting assurance that there’d be someone we could relate to.  We stuck together and shared some good laughs.  I remember him “modelling” all the baseball caps I’d bought him.  He loved to cover that shiny bald head.  My grandfather died a year and a half later so there is no one left to convince me to make the trip.

I did try to go a couple of times while I was still with my ex.  I thought it would be nice for the two of us to bond with the family.  On one occasion, when I wrote about going, my mother replied by saying that since my brother and sister’s families had other plans, “there is no point.”  The next year, it was the opposite scenario.  Both families were coming so my mother told me there wouldn’t be room.  I still remember my ex’s aghast look and his reaction when I got off the phone:  “They really don’t love you.”  They do; it’s just complicated.

I have spent a few Christmases with my closest friend in Vancouver but our contact has become less frequent as my time away from the city continues.  I am getting used to Christmas on my own.

When I first bought my home here, I spent a few Christmases buying and decorating a live tree and putting up the lights outside the house.  I played Christmas music, baked shortbread and made a full meal of roasted veggies, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce.

That stopped during the year I took a leave of absence from work to write full-time.  Forced to be frugal, I did without the tree but still made a mini feast.  In the years since, the home I was once so proud of buying doesn’t feel like mine.  Sure, I continue to pay the mortgage, but I’ve gone back and forth in putting it on the market and taking it off.  It’s that old cliché:  this house is not a home.

This year I told myself I’d embrace the spirit of the season, but time got away from me.  December is always a ridiculously busy month at work and, combined with the five-hour daily commutes, Christmas Eve arrived before I knew it.  Boxes of ornaments sit in the basement, boxes of cards I bought rest on the hutch in the dining room.  I’m not trying to be a Grinch; I’m just pooped.

I put on a brave face as I prepare for another holiday alone.  Get through it without wallowing.  I have rented some videos—yes, there is still a video store in town--, I bought a new jigsaw puzzle (woohoo!) and I picked up a magazine and a new book for reading.  I’ve got fresh veggies for dinner and I bought pure maple syrup to top my blueberry pancakes on Christmas morn.  The key is to keep busy.  

In some of those windows tonight, while things may have looked lovely, there were probably some hurtful words exchanged, some old wounds scratched up.  Nonetheless, we are told that Christmas is a time for families so many people keep going back even if they shouldn’t.  Indeed, I may not have it so bad after all.