Seasonal Affective Disorder

Go into the light: Stoneham does Christmas.

You're not reading the original words I wrote for this week’s column. Like the Elf on the Shelf, I hid that article in an obscure corner hoping nobody will find it. That column, entitled “Of Gifts and Guns”, was too intense to publish this time of year. I wrote about the Colorado Planned Parenthood mass shootings because one of the victims had ties to our area. Nancy Kerrigan’s tearful memories of Garrett Swasey on the news were enough to dampen on my rapidly dwindling holiday spirit. I ended that column with the words “...by the time you read this, another horrific event will no doubt happen to knock the Colorado shootings out of the headlines...”. And then the terrorist attack at the social service center in San Bernardino happened. I decided it was too depressing to write about such horror during this season of joy even though it is in the forefront of our nation's collective thoughts.

You can say I’m burying my head in the sand, no pun intended. Instead, for this next couple of weeks, I'm focusing on the positive aspects of the holiday season. After all, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. At least that’s what Johnny Mathis keeps telling me over and over as he sings his merry songs on my FM radio.

Instead of writing about mass shootings, I prefer to write about the happy faces of children and parents alike at the tree lighting ceremony on the town common. Add Santa Claus, pony rides, hot chocolate and trolleys and you have a holiday recipe for a great night of good old-fashioned family fun. I don’t even mind the traffic in my area as people flock to the Zoo Lights exhibit at the Stone Zoo. I haven’t visited the display yet this year, but it’s on my list of uplifting holiday activities. The season is so short, I’m trying to do something every day to enjoy the time as the holidays fast approach.

I thought Christmas shopping would brighten my mood. I took advantage of the unseasonably warm temperatures and made my annual trek to Redstone Plaza. Shop local, I always say. Although it wasn’t terribly crowded, there were still many shoppers out and about. I found some great gifts for my family, and one for myself: a sock-monkey dressed in an elf suit. My spirits were definitely on the upswing.

I turned off my 24-hour news radio station and turned on the 24-hour Christmas music channel. Just hearing songs about Winter Wonderlands and White Christmases is enough for me. I don’t need any real snow. I have enough memories of last winter’s accumulation to last a lifetime. Even Karen Carpenter’s tragic life can't spoil my enjoyment of her heartfelt renditions of holiday classics (although it is sad she won’t be home for Christmas no matter what she says in her song). It’s hard to feel blue when your singing along to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman.

When the world’s dire situation began creeping into the edge of my consciousness, threatening to destroy my tenuous (artificial?) joyful mood, I decided to telephone my sons just to say hello and tell them I love them. And the best part of those phone calls? They didn’t even think it was strange.Last night while driving through Stoneham I noticed the cheery light displays illuminating homes around town and in my neighborhood. Some people went overboard with their decorations, some exerted minimal effort (me), but it’s the thought that counts. We all can’t be Chevy Chase.

Shocking and savage current events lurk around every corner along with threatening shadows of a bleak future, but I have a secret weapon. I simply look at my granddaughters smiling face. Within her bright, beautiful blue eyes I see the true meaning of Christmas. In her innocence I see a future full of hope and love.

Table Talk

Room for dessert.

My dining room sits in silence like a museum display of a scene from the past. For a long time it’s been unused and gathering dust. As the holidays near, the room slowly begins to show signs of life. Today the room reflects the change of seasons. It’s filled with brown, gold and orange hues. The shining wooden table is decorated with a leaf-themed runner. Next to the fall flower centerpiece there are turkey candlesticks and pilgrim figurine salt and pepper shakers that pour spices out of the top of their heads. The dining room is ready for Thanksgiving even if I’m not.

“Why do you have such a big table in that room?” one of the children asked.

“To eat our meals on.”

“You eat at a table? Wow!”

Wow indeed. Meals have migrated from dining rooms, to kitchens, to living rooms and beyond. On a recent visit to my sister-in-law’s new home, she proudly gave me a tour. I was surprised when she said, “We don’t have a kitchen table. We wouldn’t really use one.” Unheard of, I thought. (I’m writing this column at my kitchen table right now.)

It may be a thing of the past, but dining rooms hold so many memories for so many families. My grandmother’s second floor apartment housed a huge wooden dining room set that would be right at home in a giant's castle (although I was a lot smaller back then). Every Sunday dinner felt like a holiday. Nana’s hot oven ran all day as she created magical treasures – roasted chicken, homemade bread, chocolate chip cookies and, of course, her famous lemon meringue pie (so good I used to eat it warm before it had a chance to cool).

Times have changed. Week night dinners are rarely served at the kitchen table. My wife and I eat dinner in the living room in front of the television while we watch Days of Our Lives on DVR. My dinner table is now a folding oak “TV table” (I’m not even sure that’s what they’re called these days). After all these years we are far removed from romantic candlelight dinners (we save those for power failures). We still have meal time chats, recapping the events of each other's day (just the highlights, no boring job details about things the other person has no interest in). We hit Pause on the DVR if we have important news to share.

In an effort to keep traditions alive, my wife recently resurrected Sunday family dinners. There’s another place to set at the table with the addition of our granddaughter's high-chair. We enjoy keeping in touch with our two sons on a weekly basis. It's nice to enjoy a leisurely meal while catching up on current events in their lives. We get to share thoughts on the future, as well as reinforce happy memories of the past.

Now that the dining room is coming out of hibernation, lots of memories are resurfacing just in time for the holidays. I remember my mother-in-law’s monumental Thanksgiving dinner in the 1980’s when I included a place-setting for my video-camera at the head of the table to record our epic meal – and that was before reality television really took off. One year the basket of rolls caught fire while being passed over lit candles on the table. On another holiday our dining room table was extended with a second table to accommodate the large number of guests. The two tables formed an “L” shape through the doorway and around the corner all the way from the dining room into the kitchen. Thanksgiving dinner in two rooms!

My dining room is so much more than a showpiece for flower vases, fancy curtains and unused furniture. Every meal celebrated there is a true dining experience. It’s important to preserve it even if we don’t use it to its full capacity anymore. It’s a room full of memories I’m not willing to give up yet. It’s a room without television, internet radio or cell phones. It’s a room full of peaceful silence and faint echoes of a past not yet forgotten.