I've canceled my 10 hours a week of creative writing time for the month of December so I can focus on my day job--at which I might receive death threats at any time for promoting peace, love, and justice--and recovering from that day job while taking care of myself, my family, and my friends, who--I have realized this fall--are frankly better people than a lot of America, you flaming dirtbags.
Meanwhile, I am volunteering at churches that serve activists and immigrants.
I'm working on semi-obscene Christmas cards to spread the warm feelings among friends who need a laugh.
I'm baking all of my Christmas gifts. I hope you like pastries made of extra fatty European style butter. BECAUSE I DO.
My tree is up and lit. My daughter has one of those crummy $1 "advent" calendars full of garbage chocolate flakes and also a Christmas countdown house loaded with Barbie accessories and candy behind the little doors. Every morning is magical.
I took my little ninja to decorate a Christmas tree at our covenantal church and, to remind us of the true reason for the season, we hiked in the dark to find a Yule log to burn, told stories of our Germanic tribal ancestors, and bashed on percussion instruments while howling like barbarians to bring back the sun.
And we're making sure we can keep the hearth lit at home as well.
Before the first snow, we traveled deep into Trump country, out beyond the suburbs, through a forest of T/P signs, out to a large and picturesque rural estate with a giant peace flag flying in the wind, and we bought a 1997 pickup truck with nostalgic roll-down windows. This is an upgrade from our old "other" car, and it looks real cute next to our Nissan Leaf. Coexist, baby. And haul firewood!
We used that truck to upgrade our broken TV to a less broken hand-me-down TV. It's a grotesquely large plasma monstrosity that we have crammed into the little movie room behind the fireplace, where we can watch Rammstein videos in life size from between layers of animal skins and quilts.
Or children's cartoons. Or Home Alone. Our kid doesn't really sleep. Anyway...
Rejoice! Let us hoard food, firewood, and f**ks for what really matters--taking care of ourselves and each other in a time of frightful politics and social unrest.
It's not even selfish if you invite people over, cook for them, wrap them in snuggly things, and help them recuperate from the stresses of their work or home lives. You don't have to have a fancy house or anything. All my thrift store furniture and crumbling 1980s tiles look awesome in the half-dark, illuminated by candles and Christmas lights. Or Rammstein videos on the giant TV that mostly works.