I re-post this story every year on Christmas day. It is a true account of a Christmas I had a few years back and, if you have a minute, please read and enjoy.
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Jew-Humbug: A Hiker's Tale.
"Fuckin' Christmas.
An overrated greeting card-driven holiday that doesn't even mean anything to most 'christians' anyway..."
This is the sentiment that I have maintained through 3 Christmases working in high-end retail.
As an outsider, any, and I meant ANY good will I had toward this holiday has been ravaged over the years with a little help from Paul McCartney, Electric Light Orchestra, certain members of the Beverly Hills community, and December heat in LA.
Working Christmas eve was like a joke. I was forced to gift wrap boxes of $40 tee-shirts (our LEAST EXPENSIVE item in the store, by far), all the while explaining to disappointed tourists from Wisconsin that putting velvet ribbon around a gift box IS how a gift is wrapped on Rodeo Drive and if they wanted brightly colored elf paper garnished with jingle bells, they'd have to do it themselves.
"Ok, well...Merry Christmas," they'd spit.
"Ok, well...Go fuck yourself," I'd hiss as soon as their back was turned...
Then I woke up today, Christmas morning and decided to reserve the entire day to do what I get to do the least throughout the year...NOTHING.
I slept for 12 hours, flipped through fuzzy TV channels in the hopes of finding something to watch OTHER than a Disney holiday parade and the "Yule log station". And then, finally giving up, proceeded to clean my room while listening to Christmas stories told by everybody's favorite Christmas icon...Ira Glass, the Jew from NPR.
After folding some clothes and scrubbing a bit of tile, I gave in to my cabin fever, grabbed my new balances and one of two Golden Girls commemorative tee-shirts and headed up to Griffith Park for a nice SOLITARY hike. I figured it would be very quiet today, what with families being together and celebrating and all...
Not so much. I fought my way past honking cars, cyclists and families balancing coolers and babies in each arm until I found parking at the bottom of the hill from which I started.
Finally my chance to emerse myself in nature and forget about all things relating to December 25...
It was beautiful. The sun, high and bright...the breeze, crisp with the fragrant scent of leaves and dirt in the air. And on MY route, only the muted screams of cheerful families invading my otherwise peaceful hike. I had chosen a route that would have been hard for people who were not up in the mountain a lot to locate. My path wound me along sun-drenched trails ad spilled me into damp shade at the very point I thought the heat would force me to turn back.
I was doing well, making it to my destination in record time. But as I reached my favorite cliff where my customary half point stretching was always done, I was greeted by a family invading MY CLIFF...hording MY VIEW. This simple act of naive thoughtlessness on their part irritated me...Couldn't they see how far this cliff stretched? Couldn't they stare blankly over the edge ANYWHERE ELSE?
Defeated, I made my peace with the notion that I would not be able to feed my OCD in this moment and continued passed them in hopes of finding another inferior place to stretch my hamstrings.
But as I made my way around this family, clad in matching red and green baseball caps, I noticed the father drape his meaty forearm over his young son's shoulder, all the while staring out into the vast pink horizon . "Look, Mijo..." he whispered anxiously, "It's all of Los Angeles out there...Sure is a lot prettier from this far away, huh?"
The boy nodded and I silently forgave them.
Not long after this incident, I made it to the very top of the mountain. I had done it many times before, but nonetheless, I lingered at the top for a moment, my eyes darting back and for between the sky that seemed like an homage to pastels and the international tourists who also made it to the top clicking pictures of each other and wishing everyone a "Buon Natale" and "Feliz Navidad".
I chuckled. All of a sudden this slab of rock garnished with a few hitching posts for horses and a picnic table was transformed into some sort of an international holiday party...people who'd never met before with no language in common posed together fists in the air, laughing and patting each other on the back...it was this weird unique moment... and for some reason, I felt lucky to bare witness to it...
On the long trek down the mountain, a symphony of crickets, distant coyotes and woodpeckers filled the now pungent and brisk air. I love these noises...uninterrupted. Beautiful.
"Hey, Merry Christmas," a middle aged-man with a backpack offered as he passed me. My first instinct was to sneer...couldn't he tell i was descending the path listening for things OTHER than the sound of HIS voice?
But I stopped myself. This was a unique experience. A balmy Christmas day in Los Angeles and people weren't crammed inside, stuffing their faces and talking over each other in offensive Cujo sweaters. These were decent people, out HIKING, of all things. It was kind of cool...
"Yeah, thank you..you too!" I replied.
And so it went, to about 15 other hikers, perhaps making new Christmas traditions both with their families and by themselves. It was a peaceful and dare I say, spiritual afternoon that I wouldn't have missed for all the solitary hikes in Griffith.
I hope you all had a wonderful day today. Be safe, be well, and...you know...
MERRY CHRISTMAS.
