Emily Articulated: The holidays

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

What if “the holidays” were more than a handful of weeks — a series of events strung together like pearls at the end of a single year, full of spectacle, significance and meaning-making? What if, instead, The Holidays were a family — a group of people you’d visit once a year? Like, “I can’t make it this weekend, I’m going over to The Holidays’ for their annual dinner party.”

On your way to the party, you’d fuss over your outfit. Does this sweater say “festive” without being too “on the nose”? You’d practice your warmest hellos before pulling up to their sprawling manor house somewhere in Rhode Island. Out front, a sleigh with chrome skis and a decal reading The Ho Ho 3000 would sit on the still-green lawn. It would strike you as odd — there isn’t even snow on the ground yet.

But you’d knock on the door anyway and be greeted by a plump woman in an “It’s Gobble Time” T-shirt and a flour-dusted apron. She’d smile warmly, looking down at you from above her double chin.

“You’re looking a bit peaky,” she’d comment, tugging you inside before you could protest. Everyone in the room would know her as Aunty Thanksgiving, but to you, she’s just “Thanny.”

Emily Erickson. Courtesy photo.

Thanny would be flanked by her live-in boyfriends — conjoined twins Black Friday and Cyber 

Monday. “Fri” and “Cy,” as they’re known. They’d flash you identical smiles with a hunger lurking just behind their eyes. Before you could slip away, they’d corner you near the foyer.

“You seem tired. Are you sleeping OK?” Fri would ask, his voice oozing with concern.

Cy, always eager to finish his brother’s pitch, would chime in: “Lucky for you, we’ve got a deal on Thermarest mattresses — this weekend only!”

Together, they’d chant in unison, like a late-night infomercial: “Save $300 on the mattress that will improve your sleep, fix your relationship, boost your health, increase your libido, change your world!”

You’d rush to the bathroom, throwing a hasty “Thanks, I’ll think about it!” over your shoulder, just as a promo code slips under the door. The twins’ footsteps would retreat, leaving you alone to catch your breath.

Back in the sitting room, the rest of the family would be gathered. Your eyes would find the twins again, now seated beside Father Christmas himself. He’d be larger than life, sprawled across a loveseat, his booming voice echoing through the room: “Consumer spending is at an all-time high!” He’d pat the twins on the back. “And I owe it all to you two.”

“If only I could get the elves to quit this unionizing nonsense,” he’d mutter, making sure everyone could hear. “They’re starting to whine about benefits, health and dental — like job security and ‘holiday cheer’ aren’t enough!” 

He’d chuckle mischievously, adding, “I can probably get by with milk and cookies in the breakroom, and a few ‘We’re a family’s” for another year or two, though.”

From the corner, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa would exchange conspiratorial whispers, their glances darting toward Father Christmas.

“He doesn’t even use real candles,” Hanukkah would huff.

“What’s so great about one night of presents?” Kwanzaa would murmur in agreement, shaking his head.

New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day would round out the group. Eve, clad in a sequined gown and already three glasses of champagne deep, would be spinning solo in the center of the room. 

“Can we turn the music up?” she’d slur, glow sticks flashing from her wrists. “It’s almost midnight somewhere!”

Day, standing off to the side in a full lycra workout set, would watch like she was witnessing a car crash. Sipping on a green juice, she’d ask if you’d read anything meaningful lately. Without waiting for an answer, she’d launch into a monologue about her meditation practice. “It’s never too late to become a new you.”

You’d glance around the room at this strange, dysfunctional family of holidays, each carrying their own quirks, contradictions and emotional weight. And you’d think of your own family, your own traditions, and the effort it takes to hold on to what truly matters — even when the world outside demands spectacle or a one-size-fits-all celebration.

In the end, maybe the holidays are just like this family: a messy, imperfect gathering of moments, expectations and traditions. But perhaps that’s their beauty — not in the grandeur of the season, but in the simple act of showing up, year after year, with all our flaws and hopes, and building something meaningful together.

Because meaning isn’t something we stumble upon, fully wrapped, bowed and waiting under a tree. It’s something we create — piece by piece, moment by moment — with the people we care about most.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.