Christmas Shopping

Hello Everyone,

As some of you may know, shopping isn’t exactly my cup of tea. I understand that it’s necessary, at least in the society in which we live, but I find it boring, expensive and difficult. Hell for me would involve a gigantic warehouse full of shoes and I would have to find an affordable, comfortable, and relatively decent-looking pair. Demons in the form of apathetic, minimum-wage-earning employees would swarm around me as I tried on each shoe. Completely uninterested in the answer, they’d nonetheless ask, “Can I help you find anything?” and then monitor me obviously from a short distance away as I failed repeatedly to find a pair that fit the adolescent hobbit feet attached to my legs.

Shoes are the worst, but even groceries are a challenge for me sometimes. I get completely overwhelmed by the possibilities and end up spending half an hour debating whether locally-grown organic sourdough is healthier for me and the environment than store brand whole grain, and in the end, I just buy graham crackers instead. I’ve measured, and it seems that I have about a 10-15 minute attention span once I enter a store, after which point, I become irritable and end up sitting on the floor.

Christmas shopping presents a dilemma for me, though, because as much as I hate shopping, I love giving gifts. I can’t think of anything more satisfying than giving someone something I know he or she will love. If I could be a professional gift giver, I would. So you’d think that shopping for gifts would be an exciting thing for me. The problem is that very often, I have absolutely no idea what to give someone, and at Christmastime, this intensifies exponentially, turning into an outright consumerist panic.

My parents are definitely the most difficult people for me to shop for partly because they are fortunate enough to really not want or need much other than what they already have. But part of the problem is that I can’t just do what I did in second grade and give them a drawing I’d made since their office walls are already totally occupied with my artwork (I’ve got to store it somewhere!). Gift certificates are out of the question. For a person who loves giving thoughtful and creative gifts, this is like an English teacher coming home after a long day, settling into his favorite chair with a glass of wine, and pouring over an instruction manual.

So after finals each fall term, I begin the greater test: trying to find something I can give my parents for Christmas. The first week or two is characterized by a serious attempt at rationality: “What do they really need? What might they really like?” This is followed by a period in which I valorize Scrooge and the Grinch and whine to anyone who will listen about the misplaced values that abound at Christmastime. “Who decided we have to spend, spend, spend, in order to have a meaningful Christmas? I doubt people will like me any less if I don’t get them a present,” I grumble. “Surely they’d rather I conserve my Gift Idea Energy and wait until I come up with an idea for a truly unique and personal present . . . in April . . .”

But then I remember what a gift really is. The word “present” comes from an Old French expression meaning to “put a thing into the presence of a person.” Gifts are not just mandatory accoutrements in a given cultural celebration. They are objects we choose to leave in people’s presence. When we are away, they remind people that we love them. I think back to presents I’ve been given. I love my red scarf not just because it is beautiful, but because my friend Nani gave it to me. I love my seat cushion not just because it is comfy and has a pretty design on it, but because it came from my friend Katy.

So I gather my courage and decide I want to give my parents Christmas presents after all. But the problem remains: I still have no ideas whatsoever. It’s round about this point when I begin free associating. This method works well when I experience a creative block while writing or drawing, but it’s not as helpful here. “Ok,” I say, summoning my energy, “let’s start with Daddy. What would he really like? How about . . . a bullfrog! No, that’s too noisy . . . . A trowel! No, you just like that word . . . . A billboard! No, we already have storage issues . . . . Some soy nuts! No, you’re just hungry . . .” After a bit more desperate rumination, I eventually come up with something. Sometimes I’m lucky and my parents love what I’ve given them. Sometimes, well, that’s why we invented clichés like, “It’s the thought that counts.”

Normally, I try to avoid clichés like, um, the plague, but in this case, it seems to fit. My parents hate shopping as much as I do, and they know that whatever I buy them costs more than the price of the item. (Last week, each of them independently thought of rewarding me with a session at Starbucks after successful shopping ventures). Giving is costly, and it should be.

This year, I gave my mom a book written by a woman who floated down the Nile on a fisherman’s skiff. My dad got a Car Talk daily calendar. Not the best ideas I’ve ever had, but not the worst either. At least neither of them wanted shoes.

Have a good week,

Sarah/Mouse