A reconciliation of December
A month of contrasts, the ghosts of small business past, consumerism, and making space for future Decembers.
December and I have a complicated relationship. When I was a kid growing up in Queens, every commercial on TV sold me the fantasy of December: the month of cozy winter evenings and the glow of Christmas cheer. My head was filled with dreams of steaming hot chocolate, dancing gingerbread men, glittery tinsel, and listening to carols on scratchy old vinyl. But I didn’t grow up with this fairytale because my immigrant parents were figuring out as they went along, what Christmas in America was all about. We adapted to American customs fairly quickly though, and decorated a fake tree and hosted parties for our extended family. Those raucous gatherings are the memories I treasure most, but I never believed in the folklore of Santa Claus or the magic of Christmas morning.
I’ve written before about the melancholy of the season. It’s usually this time of year when it hits, but every year it’s a surprise when it comes. It’s not just the grief that shows up like an unwanted chain letter in the mail, but growing up, December was often a month of dysfunction and compromise.
December has always been a month of contrasts. Joy and melancholy. Togetherness and loneliness. Overconsumerism and the spirit of the holidays.
❄︎ ❆ ❄︎
Mark and I took a leisurely stroll through an adjacent Brooklyn neighborhood over the weekend. It sounds painfully unremarkable, but for years in pre-pandemic times, a long walk in mid-December would have been an improbable outing. Even though we’ve been out of the holiday frenzy for four years, we still feel the ghostly traces of our bakery business this time of year when we would typically be at the point of tearing our hair out from the rush of gift orders and succumbing to tears from sleep deprivation.