Tawdry, isn’t it?
That’s not a creche: it’s Disney Hunchback of Notre Dame figures found under my desk (certain animals carried them to their lair there). The trees were on sale at Target--homage to aluminum Christmas trees of the ‘60s.
The ‘60s housewife role-playing has been a cheering holiday distraction. You can’t have the blues if you aren’t who you are. The “character” spends only two hours on housework so she can read for a solid six hours before she picks up the kids. She doesn’t have a perfect house. She isn’t clicking around in mini-skirts and high heels, but a pantdress and tights or old college sweatshirt and bell-bottom jeans. She carries a cloth bag with a Peace button on it.
At first I was keen on acquiring a 1960s aluminum tree. Retro-housewife discipline had sent my mind whirling like one of the color wheels used to illuminate “artificial” trees. Dismayed by the prices ($239 new at Hayneedle) and rejecting the hassle of bidding at e-bay, I decided to buy a few cheap decorations instead as a joke.
Anyway, a tree wasn’t in character and I was just having fun.
Imagine me at Woolworth’s (well, Target), staring at the decorations and not finding much that I liked. Christmas isn’t in line with my desires--I’d rather go to the SDS potluck--but there’s the family to consider.
Oh, give it up, I bought the trees because I thought they were fun! and represent, well, silliness, which we need a lot of at Christmas!
Do I have to reread Allen Ginsberg to feel like my character? Well, it's so goood; why not?
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,...