 There is nothing under my Christmas tree this year.
That’s sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it? Yes, I’m verklempt, but it’s not because I’ve fallen on hard times or anything like that. I have a great life, a successful business, and I can afford to share a bit of my wealth. The problem is, there is nothing for me to buy for the first time in 20 years. See, the adults in my family suck at gift exchange. Christmas consists of me shoving gift certificates or cash in clever cards for my parents and brother. They almost always do the same for me. I don’t know if it’s because we’re lazy or not very creative, but we are collectively OK with that. There is no doubt we love each other, and we’re not concerned about expressing that love through material things. We show it in other ways throughout the year.
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 I’ve written with fondness about my childhood several times in this space. I am so grateful for the wonderful life my parents provided for me and my younger brother growing up. It certainly wasn’t perfect, but there was far more good than bad.
I had a chance to celebrate both of my parents this weekend, with my Daddy’s birthday on Saturday and Mother’s Day on Sunday. They are divorced, but still friendly, and I have a close relationship with each of them. They have given me many gifts over the years, and continue to do so all the time. (Not just financial, although there were plenty of those, too. Being a single mom would have been MUCH tougher without their help in that department, l'm here to tell you.) Yep, Mother and Daddy have given me innumerable gifts of affection, support, understanding and wisdom, all of which I will never be able to pay back. I love 'em both to pieces, and this weekend’s festivities got me to thinking about what aspects of my own personality I’ve inherited from them.  I’m not a competitive gambler, but I am pretty big on ritual and tradition. One of my favorites is an annual Derby Day party I have attended for the past 12 or so years. It didn’t happen in 2013 because Carolyn, the hostess and bookie, had to work, but she revived it this year … much to the delight of her regulars.
There is never a shortage of things to do around Derby. On the day of the big race, I generally receive two or three other party invites, plus the occasional opportunity to go to the track. I turn them all down in favor of this one get-together. As far as I am concerned, it is THE thing to do on Derby. I met Carolyn in 1998, when I started working at Business First. She was my managing editor. It didn’t take too long for us to become good friends, and she extended the invitation to her Derby soiree.  Typical New Year’s resolutions tend to be sweeping proclamations intended to eliminate behavior that is quite clearly unhealthy.
Cut out carbs. Get off your ass and join a gym. Quit smoking crack. Stop screwing your neighbor’s wife. That kind of thing. I’m pleased to say that I’ve already given up the vast majority of habits that have historically hindered my progress in the areas of physical, emotional and spiritual health. I’m far from perfect, but I am a hell of a lot closer than ever before. I might even go so far as to say I am pretty damn OK. Sure, at the dawn of 2013, I made a list of tangible, attainable goals that would shape what I wanted my life to look like for that year (related to work, working out, social activities, etc.). But my official “resolutions” centered on ways I could become a better person. Core work, so to speak.  One of my favorite late-1980s science fiction movies is an under-the-sea adventure, called “The Abyss,” starring Ed Harris and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. Most of the action takes place on an oil rig resting on the Atlantic Ocean floor.
There’s a scene where Harris’ lead character, Bud, has to dive into ridiculously deep waters to save the crew from certain death. To survive that insane depth, he has to employ a special suit with a weird breathing device that aspirates liquid instead of air. At first, Bud fights against inhaling the strange, milky fluid. As it enters his lungs, his body violently rebels. But then he relaxes a bit and starts to get used to this new way of breathing. Pretty soon, he’s good to go.  There is no deal lucrative enough to ever motivate me to shop on Black Friday. My serenity is worth a hell of a lot more than a $250 rebate on a flat screen TV at Best Buy. Just sayin’.
All you nutty people who get up long before the ass crack of dawn to wait in line for the latest kids’ toys and other trendy gifts can have at it. The crowds, chaos and confusion are more than I can tolerate. That being said, I don’t mind shopping on a normal day. Depending on the circumstances, I have been known to actually enjoy it. I am a girl, after all. In fact, on Small Business Saturday this past weekend, a fabulous new girlfriend and I spent hours browsing shops along Bardstown Road and Nulu. Each store was bustling, but none were so crowded as to incite a panic attack. (Being very petite, I get claustrophobic in large crowds, sometimes to the point of breaking out in a rash.) |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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