I am preparing myself. It’s that time of year where we’re all supposed to be jolly and excited for the holidays, where we have to get along even if we’re quietly seething.  Please let’s not get an encore of the fist fight year. I hate to be Bah Humbug, but I wish we could just zoom past them, or at least limit the celebrations to just two tense meals and one festive movie- even that can be contentious – why does one family member get veto rights on both Love Actually and The Holiday?

I’m very polite in my everyday life. I can often be found expressing my gratitude to Chat GPT. I apologize when I’m wrong – I’m sorry my grocery cart knocked you over. Please comes naturally to me, too – But since you’re on the floor, could you please hand me that jar of peanut butter? I don’t know why they put them so low.

But being cheery for several days in a row is depressing.

More broadly, I like to think I’m thankful for my family. Like, I’m thankful my ex-husband isn’t at the Thanksgiving table anymore. There’s a lot of divorce in our family, so holidays are a good time to be grateful for divorce. But compromising on who gets to see which kids and grandkids does get in the way of those gratitude-vibes.

Luckily, I’m very happily married round two. But I am not thankful for how long he can eat Thanksgiving leftovers. By day three I can’t look at another rubbery sweet potato, limp green bean, smooshed brussels sprout or leathery piece of turkey without gagging. There’s a reason we only eat turkey once a year. My husband makes a full plate for lunch every day and eats with gusto. Opposites attract? Not in this case.

I was listening to the news, and a congressman was raising awareness for starving Americans by walking 40 miles. My first thought, and I’m ashamed to admit it, was that’s a lot of steps. Way more than 10,000. And while I feel horribly for those starving people, it didn’t actually make me feel gratitude…More like wishful – I wish I could give them our Thanksgiving leftovers. That would have made me feel grateful on so many levels.

It’s the excess I hate about the holidays. How many presents do I need to buy? How much food do I need to cook (ok order)? How many X-mas cards do I need to send before I can relax, pour a glass of wine, put my feet up and relish the days before NY’s Eve fireworks keep me up?

I used to tell my sister, expect nothing on your birthday and then you won’t be disappointed. She laughed and thought I was being a ridiculous downer. But then she had an underwhelming birthday. Guess who was disappointed?

I’m in my friend Marc’s camp when it comes to holidays. Celebrate that holiday and then move on to normal life as quickly as possible. My husband’s family likes to celebrate any holiday for about five days longer than necessary. That would be six days. They’re a joyous bunch. They start talking about the next holiday as soon as the last one ended.  They actually like each other. Can you imagine?

My kids still haven’t forgiven me for booking flights on December 25^th throughout their childhood. “It’s great! The planes are empty,” I’d tell them.

Christmas is over-rated. Now December 26^th, that’s a great day. But please, let’s keep that on the down low.

November, 2025

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It appeared on Cutter Brooks Insta post.

The shelves are jam packed with books on either side of a cosy fire with pretty stockings hanging by a crackling fire. Thick fir garlands and twinkly candle light are reflected in a giant antique mirror. A vintage lamp gives off a warm glow. A big comfy sofa with bold striped pillows beckons. All it’s missing is Nat “King” Cole crooning at the piano. I want this room, and I want it now. Readers, I know you are pulling out your phones and searching for Cutter Brooks on Insta. You have been warned- open that post at your peril.

Cutter Brooks is a lifestyle brand by style maven Amanda Cutter Brooks, a native New Yorker, who used to be a fashion director at Barney’s. She’s written for Vogue, The New York Times Magazine, and The Wall Street Journal, not to mention penning three design books, one of which is called Always Pack a Party Dress. You get the idea.

After conquering New York, as one does, Amanda (I don’t know her, but feel I know her) managed to land herself in the British countryside with her adorable English husband (seen here with Amanda)

and children. She got better at cooking, gardening, riding horses and making jam. And then with some  spare time on her hands, she launched this enviable lifestyle brand, “a chic version of a country store”  that I for one should not look at during the month of December because IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A TOTAL FAILURE

If you are a fellow sufferer of compare-and-despair-syndrome that photo of Amanda’s living room will definitely leave you feeling less than. It is so warm and welcoming that if I were Santa that would be the first and last chimney I would descend.

I saw her bookcases and thought, OMG, I have zero bookcases in my living room! How did I forget that Xmas is not really Xmas without a bookshelf, actually a pair of them?

Do I have time to install similar looking bookcases by Christmas? It’s December and the clock is ticking. IKEA clearly won’t do. They have to look old and English and meant to be. Even if I had the time, it would involve blocking two windows showing a few lovely trees.

Then I zoom in on those darling crochet stockings ($169 on the site I should never have opened).

Why did I let Stretch order that monogrammed set from Amazon ($29.95)? Not exactly “chic country store.”

I think to myself, Well, maybe I could emulate Madame Perfection by buying a few of the ornaments on her perfectly trimmed tree. To my horror, the pink parakeet that was on the site yesterday is gone today. Sold out! I am soooooo behind.

 

I revert to my old favorite—Mark Manson’s bestselling book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. If you don’t know this book, it’s a lifesaver during times like these, when every radio station is playing It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (is it, really?), and every house seems to have multiple wreaths.

Our house is in Greenwich Ct—the wreath and xmas light capital of the world.  As we drive past a house where I count 10 wreaths, one in each window, I lament our pine-less house.

Stretch,” I say after the nursery was closed where we had intended to buy a tree—”who closes a nursery on a Sunday in December?”

Maybe they want to spend time with their families,” he replies, which of course adds to my guilt.

“Does seeing all these wreaths make you feel a little wistful? Like our Xmas won’t really live up to these standards?”

  Xmas is a loaded time. Lots of emotions, expectations, families in close quarters with no distractions.

My husband starts singing Mariah Carey’s, All I Want for Christmas is You. I smile at him, because the truth is, he’s right. That’s all I want for Christmas too.

Well, that, and Amanda’s living room.

December, 2022

The post December Nerves appeared first on Elena Bowes.