Bah Humbug – I'm So Over the Holidays

Admit it, as much as you loved entertaining family; unrestricted devouring of Christmas cookies; in fact, unrestricted devouring of everything; receiving and giving presents, and celebrating generally good cheer, you’re genuinely happy the holidays are over.

That is, if you haven’t further pressured yourself with a slew of resolutions. Let me give you permission to move away from the resolution, MOVE AWAY FROM THE RESOLUTION. It’s not that I don’t want to see you succeed. It’s that I want to see you succeed.

The mere act of returning to a normal lifestyle after holiday overindulgence is worth two resolutions in the hand. And all you need to do is put away the decorations, return to work, throw out the cookies (you know you’re totally sick of them) and return to your humdrum pre-holiday lifestyle.

That is an accomplishment in its own right. You might even consider it a gift. There is comfort in the sameness of everyday life. You know what I mean. If you’ve gone through a traumatic time or have been with a loved one who has, you crave mediocrity. What can be better than curling up in front of the TV to watch the newest Brothers and Sisters, or emptying the fridge of the spinach dip, twice-reheated mini-hotdogs and leftover turkey (where did that come from? Oh geez, not Thanksgiving…)?

There are no more cards to write or gifts to buy. Too late! Remember all those lists you made before the holiday: Presents for friends and family, tips for service industry folks. Damn, what is my letter carrier’s name? Parties to attend or to host? Toss ‘em!

It’s time to gently look ahead. The days are getting longer. December 21 is so last year. The winter will end, eventually, and the crocuses will sprout. And those resolutions that you feel obligated to make, and pressured to keep…to them, I say “Bah Humbug!”

Filed under: Relationships
by Ellie Fisher
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04
Jan
2011

Growing Up without Christmas…Sort Of

I grew up without Christmas.

In a fairly religious family that gave us eight days of Chanukah and the requisite equal number of gifts, I still felt that lure of the magic of the season. As much as I tried to feel a part of it by pretending it was really a celebration of winter, or squeezing in among all the holiday shoppers at Wanamaker’s in Philly to buy my parents their anniversary gift (December 22) and my mom’s birthday gift (Christmas Eve – Happy almost Birthday, Mom!), I still felt like an interloper.

I’d indulge in Christmas movies. I still do. I love them all. Funny ones. Romantic ones. Sappy ones. They’d permit me to privately satisfy my craving to be a part of the joyousness of the holiday. I wrangled my way into high school choir (I can’t hold a tune) so I could take part in the pageantry of our Christmas assembly, gracefully walking into the auditorium my hands wrapped around a glowing candle and my voice belting out carols. The audience was filled with our beaming parents, including mine.

When I was very young, my dad, obviously aware of the pull, would hang stockings for my sister and me. Or we’d awake Christmas morning to find one of our reserved Chanukah presents lying at the foot of our beds. I still remember the stuffed animal dog with the wiry shape and grosgrain ribbon. My dad would pick one night and we’d drive around and look at all the pretty Christmas lights embellishing other people’s homes.

Although we had this small taste of Christmas, we never put up decorations – either inside or outside. The world didn’t need to know who we were or what we did behind closed doors. We did what we wanted to recognize the majesty of the season. I’ll always love my dad for understanding this.

As it turned out, I married someone who did grow up celebrating Christmas. And even though the religion practiced in our home is derived from my background, I honored his one request to celebrate Christmas.

So in the next couple of days, I will be with my children and we will celebrate memories; memories of my in-laws, my dad, my husband – all deceased. The stockings will be hung by the fireplace and will be filled with lots of goodies, including Chanukah gelt.

As for Christmas morning, we’ll sit down to feast on a breakfast as traditional (to us) as it is yummy. We’ll have eggs and ham, and lox and bagel.

Happy holidays everyone!

Filed under: Relationships
by Ellie Fisher
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22
Dec
2010

Elizabeth Edwards, the Lady

The news of Elizabeth Edwards’ passing is profoundly sad. When most of us were first introduced to her a decade ago, her lifestyle invoked envy; a successful lawyer, a loving mother, the wife of a perpetually-youthful looking and seemingly devoted husband. And as we’ve long ago discovered about First Ladies and potential First Ladies, she was the brilliance behind her man.

We tried to rectify that she had already endured a tragedy – the unspeakable, unthinkable nightmare of every parent – the death of her son. He was only 16. A star. And he died suddenly in a car crash.

We admired her for overcoming the loss, and envied her for her entry onto the political stage. And then her next tragedy arrived with the nuance of a summer thunderstorm, leaving destruction in its wake. It was a diagnosis of breast cancer. And then, as the world knows too well, came the one tragedy that could have been averted. It was her husband’s lying, scandalous behavior – when she was SICK – and it resulted in a child out of wedlock.

Still every time Elizabeth Edwards graced the media, it was with stoic poise and aplomb.

Personally, as a writer, I have always been impressed with the articulateness with which she spoke. I have read excerpts from her book, and have been captivated by the richness of her prose. Most political memoirs, if not ghostwritten, are heavily edited. I believe neither is the case in Edwards’ book. Her impromptu speech had always been so aesthetically laced; I doubt she needed anyone to help her think.

I am always reluctant to give voice to the notion that people are never given more than they can bear. Even though she had endured too much, she never seemed to lose sight of her priorities, which without question, were her children.

We can remember Elizabeth Edwards one of two ways; the woman filled with so much sorrow that appeared weaker and weaker in the waning weeks of her life, or the vibrant, smiling woman we watched hold her husband’s hand on the stage at the Democratic National Convention. For most of us, that was the first time we met her. And for me at least, that’s the way I intend to remember her.

Filed under: Mothers-in-Law,Relationships,Single Mothers,Sons
by Ellie Fisher
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12
Dec
2010

Ode to the Lisas in My Life

There was a time it seemed as though everyone in my life was named some derivative of Susan. My sister, my cousin, my sister-in-law, my agent, and enough girlfriends that each required a further identifying factor such as a surname or a link to their husband, like my friends SusieandArnie or SusanandOri.

In additional to their first names, these women share something else in common: they are all born within 10 years of each other. As I have gotten older, many of my friends have gotten younger, and nary a Susan in the mix. Instead, the name that fills my contact list so often I’ve given up assigning them speed dial numbers, is Lisa

For the sake of conversation, there’s Norwegian Lisa, Little Lisa, CareLisa, LisaOH, K-ELisa, YogaLisa, TallLisa, and so on. When I meet some woman in her forties if I forget her name (which I usually do) I feel pretty confident it’s Lisa.

So why am I seemingly so fixated on these names? I’m fascinated by how they define us. They can give away our approximate age; they can, if not pinpoint our cultural identities, at least eliminate some, and they can even say something about our parents who apparently were kind of hip when they chose a name that was mainstream popular.

Take my mom, for instance. She named me Ellen – a name neither she nor I have ever really used – just so she could in all good conscience nickname me Ellie. Growing up, Ellen was fairly popular with my age group. Don’t get me started on all my old friends named Ellen (love you Brooks) but today Ellen is a rarity. Ellie, however, is used so often that I frequently think I’m being scolded in the mall by a woman who, as it turns out, is trying to control her four-year-old. Who knew my mom was ahead of the curve.

The real reason I think so much about the commonality in our names is because doing so provides a sense of comfort. It feels familiar, recognizable, not very mysterious.

In fact, if I meet a Susan or a Lisa, I kind of feel as though I already know her.

Filed under: Daughters-in-Law,Relationships,Single Mothers,Sisters,Sisters-in-Law
by Ellie Fisher
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16
Nov
2010

High School Reunions: To Go or Not to Go

Thanksgiving weekend is approaching and along with turkey dinners, family gatherings and football, comes another tradition: high school reunions. I’ve come to the conclusion that if you’re single and looking for love, high school reunions can change a life, or two.

First we have to understand why reunions can create such angst. A reunion is a milestone; one that forces us to involuntarily look backwards. And when we do that we’re faced with an awareness of where we are today. No problem, if we’re content. Huge problem, if we’re not.

When I interviewed men for my second book, “Dating for Dads,” I was surprised how many of them had met “someone” at their reunions. Matter of fact, I have a male friend who is widowed and is currently dating a woman he met at his reunion. (He actually left that night with two phone numbers.)

If you’ve given up on dating sites, matchmaker friends, and the bar scene, you’ll find that meeting someone at a reunion feels safe. For one thing, you already know they aren’t lying about their name, where they grew up, or where they went to college. And, even better, you already know their real age. And they know yours!

So if you’re single and looking, don’t let any insecurities about your personal life, career or your extra 20 pounds dissuade you from attending alone. In fact, you’ll find that the older we get, (especially for all those reunions after 30 years) most of your married classmates will show up without spouses.

If you’re really nervous about going alone, then get reconnected with some of your old friends through Facebook where a lot of foreplay, so to speak, is done before the actual reunion. Come on, some 25 or 40 years later, aren’t you at least a little curious about what happened to your junior prom date?

So when I ask the question about whether you should go or not go to your reunion, what I really mean is, go already. Show that snooty cheerleader how fantastic you are. Besides, perkiness doesn’t transfer very well into middle-age.

Filed under: Relationships,Single Fathers,Single Mothers
by Ellie Fisher
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30
Oct
2010
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