"A Simple Season"
March 25, 2006
They arrive almost daily. Today I got four in the mail - addressed
to me, my husband, and our two daughters.Sometimes they come
for my mother-in-law, who has been deadfor over a year.
What are they?
Credit card offerings.
On the front of one of the envelopes I read this message: "Earn
CASH BACK on your holiday purchases."
The other envelope said: "Get Ready For Your Holiday
Shopping."
Just yesterday I made a decision about this year's holiday shopping:
there isn't going to be any.
"Mom, you say that every year and then you cave," my younger
daughter said.
"This year is different," I told her. And I meant it.
Since last Christmas I have cleared fifty-plus years of clutter
out of our attic. The girls have emptied their rooms of childhood
stuff and we've streamlined the rest of the house. There is no way
I'm going to invite anything new to take up residence in my home.
We have enough of everything and we all know it.
I suggested to my family that this year we give each other
simple experiences--play a family doubles match, walk the
dog in Duke Gardens, go to a museum, do for others. We might
even splurge and take in a concert.
One year, supposedly instead of Christmas presents, we went to a
fantastic Shania Twain show, complete with seven electric
fiddles. But last minute I "caved" and made a breathless,
tight-jawed trip to the mall, frantically picking out clothes,
earrings, CDs--whatever--so that on Christmas morning there would
be presents under the tree.
But no more. At 18 and 21, the kids are old enough for a fresh
slant on the season. And I am inspired by how my friend Susie
celebrated my recent birthday with me. On a nippy autumn Sunday
we attended a late-morning yoga class (her treat). Afterwards,
she bought us both a bottled water; we didn't want anything else.
The class had sated our appetites, relaxed us. Then she took me
to play disc golf, a game she had talked about forever but I had
never played--I couldn't even imagine what it was. I had visions
of arriving at some miniature golf-like course where we'd have to
buy tickets, wait in lines, and be tempted by popcorn and cotton
candy.
I was all wrong. The course is out in the woods in a Durham
community park, free to all. We saw very few people. Basically we
wandered around in the forest, throwing these small frisbees down
woodsy paths, and eventually into wire baskets that meshed
seamlessly with the landscape; I couldn't even see them until we
were upon them. It was as if we were in some kind of time warp,
playing a Medieval game. I almost expected to find Robin hood
around the next bend.
For me, disc golf was about being out in the fresh air with a
good friend, about playing an odd new game, about not stumbling
on roots while enjoying the rustle of the forest, about having a
meandering and leisurely purpose in the woods. That's all. And it
was enough.
In a thank you to Susie I told her how happy I was with my
birthday gifts. One year she had taken me out with a coupon book
and we devoured two-for-one food and drinks we didn't
particularly like, at mediocre restaurants. This birthday, we had
used no coupons, acquired no clutter, comsumed zero calories. We
did good things for our bodies and our spirits.
I want the same for Christmas. Sorry Santa, Southpoint, and all
those shop-till-you-drop credit cards.
Not this year.
