And now we rest what Yeats called our “pilgrim souls,” a nod to our once-bucolic lives…hard work…our flinty American ethos.
The holidays are every family’s history book. Each year, the plot thickens, like the gravy on the stove, like the nog you never finished, in that forgotten glass over by the fireplace.
Our Christmas was fine, though exhausting, though thick. It’s all the screaming that tires me mostly, though we have a rather passive family in that regard. As a rule, we only scream during Dodger games and heavy traffic.
And, of course, during Christmas. If you don’t primal scream at least once during the holidays, you’re either a Buddhist or very dead.
So, yeah, I’ll confess: Christmas almost killed me. Final straw: the wine opener went missing.
I’m always reminding my three adult children that I’m now a kindly old man with occasional anger issues that surface mostly in crowded kitchens. I’m no longer middle-aged, yet not quite elderly. A “tweener” as they say.
So sometimes, I yell so as not to be ignored, which happens more and more as you get older and take (what your kids think) are too many naps. I eat, I nap. I do a chore, I nap.
A good nap, as I’ve noted before, establishes sovereignty.
I napped in preparation for Christmas dinner, the big feast for us. Some families do the big feast on Christmas Eve. We prefer to save the big fiasco for late Christmas Day, when everyone is super tired.
Hence, the occasional naps.
About a week before, the kids start questioning the menu, though we’d already agreed: prime rib, roast carrots, Brussels sprouts, rolls, a baked-potato bar (my idea), cheesecake, wine, coffee, anti-depressants, Tums— a pretty standard American menu. Maybe — like Yeats — you can appreciate its cheery holiday glow?
Then the second-guessing begins. For the record, I hate second-guessing. It’s almost always wrong. I’ve seen it in meetings, ballgames, love.
Here’s what happens: Rapunzel, a dear daughter of whom I’m very proud, decides she wants “a big winter salad” instead of the Brussels sprouts. Then the lovely and patient older daughter, the pride and joy of all I do, weighs in to say “only if it has pomegranate seeds and the finest aged goat cheese. And is grammable.”
Then Smartacus, my favorite slacker elf, weighs in to warn his sisters that my idea of a salad is the kind you buy in a bag.
Then I weigh in to say, “Why don’t we cancel the $400 rib roast and just have salads for dinner?” which they deem an unprovoked overreaction to what they were suggesting.
Then a son-in-law (Finn) urges us “to just keep it simple,” the best suggestion of all.
“So salads it is!” I announce.
Quick question: Does your family have these so-called “text chains” that allow a small mob of cynics to annoy each other all day long? Ours does, and it works very well.
Anyway, as in the movies, Christmas finally comes.
The new baby arrives dressed like Hillary Clinton, in a little red blazer and black leggings, a good look for her and maybe a hint of all the accomplishments to come (a Cabinet post, injunctions). A grandpa can only hope.
“We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory,” writer Louise Gluck once warned.
I truly believe that. Our baselines are set as children; we load the tank with rich memories to draw from as we get older. Sort of an emotional 401k account.
Then we spend the rest of our lives adjusting to the various storms. We drop a sail, tighten a jib, warm ourselves with past childhood kindnesses. It’s how we manage to manage.
I think that’s where the holidays come in. So we can load the tank, show some graciousness even when it’s difficult, summon patience for the ones we love the most.
So, yes, we had a very nice winter salad. With pomegranate seeds and the finest cheese we could find.
Most important, it was grammable, which at first I thought had to do with graham crackers. But you probably know better. “Grammable” is a boastful social media post, something I fully support.
We also had the juciest “roast beast,” as the Grinch put it.
All in all, it was a grand feast. Christmas remains a time to do something for your adult children, even when they’re very capable of taking care of themselves.
Exhausting, yes. Isn’t everything?
Time for a nap.
Next week: Cream cheese on the mountains.
We go way back to when you were an LA Times columnist and we discussed the crazy necklaces the baseball wore! Now if they don’t wear one, it’s weird! Happy New Year, old man!
They wear their good fortune around their necks. I suppose they earned it. They are very fortunate. We all are. Thanks for all the years. Happy New Year!
“Show some graciousness even when it’s difficult” just may be the secret to living a good, fulfilling life and fixing many of the ills that plague us as a society at the moment. As usual, your “kindly old man” wisdom sneaks up on us amidst the laughter of Hillary outfits and winter salad debates. Chris, you are amazing. Thanks for a perfect year ender. I will strive to be more gracious in the New Year. Cheers and Happy New Year to you and your wonderful clan. I hope you and Suzanne share a lovely midnight 💋.
Caroll, thanks for spending the year with me. Your words warm me and I am grateful for your graciousness. Here’s to 2026.
I love all the festive photos and the warm fuzzy family discussions. Tweener, indeed!
Happy New Year’s to you and yours.
Love ya, Kay Arnold. Thanks for all the years of reading me.
I have been reading you from way back, at first your syndicated column in the San José Mercury News — back when the Mercury News was a force to reckon with — and then later in the LA Times when I relocated to SoCal for a new job. Thanks for getting me through a lot of hump days!
Chris, you look almost gorgeous. What’s happened to you!
Life.
I think “show some graciousness even when it’s difficult” will be my goal and mantra for 2026. Thank you once again for the words of wisdom and the gentle nudges that make a difference. Oh, and a pair of red shoes like Ms. Cakes has is a must. Happy New Year to you, Suzanne, and your wonderful family.
Thank you, Laurie. Those are some special shoes!
“We drop a sail, tighten a jib, warm ourselves with past childhood kindnesses.” Perfect.
Take care of yourself. The best incentive being that after 60something, if you get in a predicament where the media has to report, you ‘will’ be listed as elderly.
Happy new year! May 26 be kind on your schnitzel.
We nearly cried reading this. Yes, we have the text chain. Yes, we have the older adults going back-and-forth on what the menu should be and most of all, we have exhaustion, lots of children screaming, the occasional adult yelling ,too many dishes and tons of memories (some even grammable).
Love it. A good reminder of how our lives overlap in wonderful ways.
I always enjoy your posts and the pix are great–love the red haired little one–a mini me for the mum—as always you make me laugh, you make me cry, your view of the world is uplifting and always welcome in my world. My Mom was religious about reading your column for all those years, by the end of the morning her fingers were black from the ink of the paper, but she laughed heartily at your column and said–Patty, you HAVE to read Chris’ column this morning. You brightened her days. Happy New Year to you and yours.
Chris – Thanks for a year of great articles and always look forward to your thoughts. Happy New Year from the Chicago suburbs and as always, Go Bears! See you on 2026.
One of your best. Great way to end the year. Still laughing about Hillary Clinton and ‘grammable!’ Happy New Year to you and everyone around you.
Just one word will make me stroll down memory lane, probably staggering. I lived with a Buddhist minister and his family one summer during college-my surfboard cost more than my own passage, no wetsuit needed-in Papaikou Hi. The best: nori, pickled plums, rice balls and the drinking age was 18. And my name: Lau-u-lah. To be the tallest human in the room:priceless. I hope you have many revelers on your sofas tonight. Many thanks.