Keeping it Real
The best kind of holiday
Even though I’m familiar with the months of the year, and which one follows which, for some reason I’m surprised every year when November arrives. And I’m hit with the sudden realization that yes, despite my best intentions, I am no better prepared for the holidays this year than I was last year.
So here I am, with November in full bloom—or is that full zoom—and the holidays are upon us.
Here’s the thing. Although I know that holidays can be heartbreaking rather than heartwarming for lots of people, I love them.
Let me tell you why.
It’s all about the whipped cream.
I should probably confess that I love whipped cream. Rich, thick, yummy cream. The kind that comes from a cow. I whip pure cream until it stands solidly in peaks, then add vanilla and sugar. Then I scoop it from the bowl with a wooden spoon (not a rubber spatula, and yes, there’s a reason for that). Then I…
use whatever means necessary to eat all the cream left in the mixing bowl. Without sharing. Remember how we talked about basking? Let me tell you, I bask in every tiny bit of whipped cream in that bowl.
(It can be a little awkward, standing there in the kitchen with all my kids and grandkids watching me lick the bowl… But ahh, well. Too bad for them. It’s my kitchen. And it’s my cream. )
For those of you who are allergic to dairy, I don’t even know what to say right now. My whole heart goes out to you. That is to say...my whole heart—except for that part I’ve already committed to the cream. Which is most of it. Sorry.
The second thing you need to know in order to understand what I am trying to say is: there are different kinds of whipped cream.
There’s the kind of whipped cream that really isn’t cream at all. It’s just a bunch of synthetic ingredients whipped together to make something that looks like whipped cream, without the innate goodness. It looks good, it tastes—well it's passable, I guess—but it just doesn’t have the richness of real cream. It’s faster, easier, and cheaper, yeah, but that’s because it’s fake.
And that says it all.
Then there’s the whipped cream that comes in a can. Seriously? I know that it’s supposed to be real cream in there, but what do they put in there to make it burst out when you press the nozzle? Chemicals? Or pressure? Cream under pressure? Besides, have you ever looked? It comes with a Disclaimer—a warning for goodness sake! That the ingredients listed might not actually be what’s really in there! And the list is long! A dozen ingredients to make whipped cream? Have you ever read the Disclaimer? Do you really know what you’re getting yourself into?
How can a person revel in whipped cream from a can? (Hey—don’t go there! This is a G-rated blog!!)
I rest my case. Whipped cream in a can? Smut.
It should go without saying that the third kind of whipped cream is the kind I sneak into the kitchen for. The real kind. The kind that is made from fresh, authentic cream, whipped to perfection. It looks good on that piece of homemade pie, but it tastes even better. And really, it’s not the appearance that matters. It’s all about how the rich, melt-in-your-mouth sweetness transports a plain piece of—well, just about anything—from regular to reverent.
I know you are wondering how all this relates to the holidays. But think about it.
Holidays are days set aside to revel in what is good. Even if you ignore the symbolism of the holiday and just focus on the act of gathering together with friends and family to celebrate heritage and faith and hope, holidays are meant to be a time to stop the truck, and lick the bowl. A way to take a plain old day and make it memorable.
For some people the holidays are all about appearances—like fake whipped cream.
Holidays look good. The decorations are pretty.
But the bottom line is that if the substance they’re built around is nothing but fake, they don’t add to the goodness of life in a significant way. They’re bland and meaningless, and when the day is through, all they are is another thing to clean up and put away.
Holidays are about more than commercialism, a day off from work, or mindless observation of ritual. They’re about pausing to experience the richness that takes life from bland and tasteless to the beautiful and mindful.
For some people the holidays become just one more pressurized experience, just one more thing that can blow up when they pull the lid off. Maybe they think they’re reaching for the real thing—isn’t that real cream in there?
Of course it is.
But there’s all that other stuff added to it. All those other things that are supposed to make it better.
I’m not talking about a little bit of sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla. I’m talking ingredients you can’t pronounce. Want to see what I’m talking about? Look at the magazines by the grocery checkout. Or look on Pinterest. Seriously? Match the wrapping paper theme to the mantel decorations, to the shower curtain, to the tablecloth, to the kids’ pajamas, to the…
You get the picture.
The list of ingredients for that kind of holiday is far too long for a human to enjoy. Or savor. And the pressure that makes it happen? Read the label. Nitrous oxide.
Or just Noxious for short.
It’s time to reach for the simple goodness that makes you want to sit down in the middle of a crowded room, dip your finger into the bowl and suck on it. Time with people you love. Your friends. Your relatives. A meal, a game.
The real stuff.
Even if it isn’t pretty.
But there’s one more thing about whipped cream: not everyone likes the same kind.
Your Uncle Jesse and Aunt Rebecca might like pressurized whipped cream. Maybe it does bring them joy. (Don’t ask them why. That falls under the heading of Private Information.)
You can forgive them for not reading the label. For not realizing that whipped cream cans are a source of waste that takes years to decompose.
So what if you don’t see eye-to-eye on the choices they’re making for their personal health or the good of the planet? You can choose to love them, even if you don’t love their choices. They’re family. You all walked through every month of this calendar year here on the same Earth. They matter. Savor them.
And you know your best friend loves all those decorations. The week after Christmas she’s right back out there shopping the sales for next year’s décor. You, on the other hand, put up the pre-lit tree that you pulled out of the closet in the garage complete with the ornaments already on it. (Of course they’re already on it. You wired them on, five years ago.) Her Thanksgiving table is so pretty, you’re afraid to pick up the fork.
While she has a Pinterest page for every room in her house, sorted by holiday, you absolutely hate orange, brown and gold decorations and the turkey chokes you every time you try to eat it.
Go ahead. Bring some ham to the dinner. Or pork loin, or enchiladas, or vegetarian lasagna for goodness’ sake.
The important ingredients here are the joy she gets from sharing it all with you, and the real love you have for her. And if decorating her bathroom in fake pumpkins gives her joy, fine, so be it. Her joy brings you joy.
But when the turkey’s gone, and the table is trashed, sneak her outside and give her a spoonful of the real stuff. She’ll love you for it. Your joy will bring her joy.
And joy—now that’s real.
Hoping you found some in this little blurb. Because for me, sharing it with you is like licking the whipped cream from the bowl. The real stuff.
Finding something to celebrate today? Something so good it makes you want to hand your best friend a spoon so she can share it with you? What is it?
Tell us about the real stuff if you want—keep it a secret if it’s too good to share. Whichever you choose, we wish you joy in your holidays and loads and loads of
the real stuff.
