Christmas: Off to a Bad Start

Friday and Saturday marked my first official days of Christmas prep this year. We celebrated a lovely Thanksgiving with family and good food, and flexed our gratitude muscles. The next day, it was time to take down Thanksgiving and begin the annual process of Christmas-izing the house. (We are still Thanksgiving respecters, so we wait. You do you.)

I put the tree up Friday and was chagrined to find that about half of the lights weren’t working. I messed with them for a while, then gave up. I decided to tackle it again on Saturday afternoon. It didn’t go any better.

After about three hours of checking bulbs and trying to find what-plugged-in-where, I was no closer to a fully lit tree than I was before I started. Even worse, the majority of the tree was now dark. I was going backward, and my mood was getting darker.

At this stage, my arms and hands looked like they were covered with defensive wounds after fighting off a clowder of feral cats. I showed Chrissie my scratches. My sweet, sweet wife pointed out, “You should have worn long sleeves.”

Thanks, Hon.

If I had his number, I would have called the Grinch so he could tell me, “There’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side. So I’m taking it home to my workshop, my dear. I’ll fix it up there, then I’ll bring it back here.”

By this time, the only Grinch around was me. I was becoming a big holiday whiner baby. I finally gave up trying to resurrect the lights and looked online to see if I could get an entirely new tree. After about 30 seconds of that nonsense, I resorted to going to the store and buying more lights to accompany the dead lights.

It worked. Kind of.

Next up, placing the one-year-old star at the top of the tree. It took some time to get it to stand up straight, but I eventually got it there. I plugged it in, and…nothing. I took it down and began checking the bulbs. I even pried open the minuscule sliding door on the plug and replaced the microscopic fuses.

And there was light. (Which was very good, because we were very close to having a tree-less Christmas, or at least bringing our old angel tree-topper out of retirement.)

With the slightly askew star atop the tree shining brightly, it was time to drag myself back outside and finish hanging the lights. This was a big deal for me, and I wanted to do it by myself for two reasons. 1) I can be really stubborn and loathe to ask for help, especially when I’m in a bad mood. 2) If you recall, it was about this time last year that I was having trouble with my knees and legs, and I couldn’t climb ladders and needed help. I wanted that sense of accomplishment and recovery.

When the timers – two of them – wouldn’t work, I was losing my mind and my knees. I had become the classic, mumbling, cranky old man stomping around my front yard. If anyone had dared wish me a “Merry Christmas,” they might have ended up with a green extension cord wrapped tightly around their neck. I recognized this developing Christmas disdain, because I’ve dealt with it before when the run-up to the holday becomes hard and stressful, rather than the mythical hoped-for joyous and inspiring.

As I was putting net lights on some bushes and just trying to finish this infernal decorating ordeal, the thought struck me that the aura of “giving thanks” sure faded fast.

Another little thought followed: “Count your blessings.”

I don’t know about you, but if you really want to feel my antipathy when I’m in a bad mood, all you have to do is make a trite suggestion like “count your blessings.” But when I have the idea, or the idea is put into my head by a benevolent power, my reaction is usually more receptive and productive.

So, I did it. I started counting my blessings. I acknowledged that it was a beautiful day. (It was.) I thought about how awesome it was to be able to climb a ladder again this year. I thought about how nice it is to have the house all decorated. The whole family is going to be here for Christmas. Etc.

By the time I finished the outdoor lights, my mood had changed. Gone was the sour old man. I felt good, productive, and happy. The lights looked good, both inside and out. Perspective came back into focus, and I was reminded that the little things that were nagging me were, in reality, little things.

Weird how we can alter our state of mind by doing something as “trite” as counting our blessings. Science makes a great case that gratitude improves not only our happiness, but also our health and relationships. (Harvard Health)

President Monson said it well: “We can lift ourselves, and others as well, when we refuse to remain in the realm of negative thought and cultivate within our hearts an attitude of gratitude. If ingratitude be numbered among the serious sins, then gratitude takes its place among the noblest of virtues.” (link)

I have a working knowledge that I, and I alone, have the agency to determine what my mood will be. It’s just that sometmes I forget.

I have always loved the holiday sequencing: Thanksgiving prepares me for Christmas. Christmas prepares me for a new year.

If your pre-Christmas outlook gets sour, or if it already is, it doesn’t have to be. Counting our blessings can get us in the Christmas Spirit, which, at its core, is gratitude.

Note: Thanks for the love and support on the release of my new novel. It has been a fun and nervous week.