holiday gift guide 2011

Oh I know, nobody likes too many pesky facts, especially on a Monday, and Cyber Monday at that, and after a national holiday dedicated to stuffing the ye olde shopping cart as soon as we can all shove off from stuffing the ye olde gullet. So I promise to make this short, no guarantee on the sweet. Did you know that 16.2 million children in this country experienced food insecurity this year (and don't you just love the nicely anesthetized lingo for plain old (and highly likely not rare hand-collected Madagascar vanilla-beaned) hunger? Food insecurity is not when your youngest squawks for more tater tots. Food insecurity is not when you open the pantry and there are only three boxes of cereal, not the customary six, and so off to Costco you must go. Food insecurity is not wondering if offering up one's first-born might be the way to get that coveted reservation at French Laundry, or the disappointment when the pancetta package is empty. And while I'm on the subject, 23% of children are homeless in this country, and 770,000 of those homeless children are enrolled in school. And go to school hungry, or tired from being afraid to sleep in the back of the family car. Please imagine leaning over the backseat to tuck your child in, if you have one, or maybe your pet pug, and kissing them goodnight, in the morning helping them get dressed for school in the restroom at the Chevron down the street.

Now before you get those new Pink panties in a wad I have an admission: when we had no money for food I dreamed of being able to walk into a grocery store and buy anything I wanted. And let me say  that I was not dreaming of more pintos. I dreamed of reaching out and taking hold and dropping into my shopping cart and not even having to look at a price. I wanted to consume with the best of them, and by gosh, like any American worth my Maldon salt, if I worked hard and hubby worked hard, well why not. So let's just say that my joy at being given that first generous and hunger-staving sack of pintos at the food bank slowly supersized into dreams of Cowgirl Creamery chevre. And when we re-entered the data of re-employed I actually caught myself throwing out half a bag of baby lettuce because, get this, it seemed wilted. And it reminded me of an earlier time, when I had money and if I needed something I could get it. Shoes, underwear, socks, tires for the Saab, a box of glucosamine treats for the pooch, a shirt that would hang in my closet with the tag on it for a year before I remembered I had it, simply because I had the money which meant I simply could; and it meant, by virtue of this is just how we do things here, that I could buy something I might not need just because I just might thinks I wants it, that it would somehow shine a light on whatever recess of my soul needed illumination, whatever empty hole I had that needed filling. Oh those darn holes, those sad places we think will mean we are better or cuter or have arrived or belong to The Club or are down with that, or as cool as, if we stuff them with stuff.

Holiday gift guide rule number 1: consider that which thou covets. And don't go getting all clingy and me wants it so me's gonna haves it, because this holiday season, Gollum, down there in his slimey cave whispering to himself and thinking only about his bling, is the new Scrooge. And despite what the salesgirl at Barney's, the white-smattered faux-snowed windows at Gucci, the It's Christmastime in the city, tells you, nobody looks good decked out in Gollum. Less bling, more truth, and to all a good night.