I spent an afternoon last weekend enjoying myself in Union Square, taking quick turn around the Strand before I ended up browsing the Manifestation section of the Namaste Bookshop. (14th Street and 5th Avenue. It’s easy to find. There’s a life-sized Buddha sitting outside on the sidewalk.) While the incense felt like quicksand for the sinuses, the books were good. Everything was going well until I located a softback called Become a Money Magnet in 21 Days through Manifestation or something like that. I found the directness of the title somewhat off-putting. Wasn’t this the wrong idea? Goosing the universe for cash? As I recollect the experience now, perhaps it was just my hangup. After all, it was shelved just beneath the Western Philosophy section.
After I left Namaste, I dropped into a diner on 6th Avenue. Night had fallen and I needed some warming up. A nice lady named Maria was at the register. She told me with a smile that I could take any table I liked. I took one by the window so that I could gaze absentmindedly at the passing traffic and the newly emancipated jaywalkers. I’ve had many special “table for one” moments like these in New York City. There is nothing like a quiet table in middle of the maelstrom on a cold night to help you disappear in the most satisfying way. You are everywhere and nowhere all at once.
When my coffee came, I caught Maria’s eye and said, “Christmas music? Already?” It was Hall and Oates doing “Jingle Bell Rock” on the house system. “A perfectly good holiday coming and everybody wants to skip it altogether.”
“By Thanksgiving week, we’re well into it already.” said Maria.
It was then that I noticed the icicle lights in the windows. And to think from the street, I thought it was just ostentation. The whole scene, despite being a little earlier than I expected, had a particular timelessness to it. I could have been doing the same thing 25 years ago. For a while, I was able to forget that this year was different from any other. Unfortunately, this year has a degree of darkness associated with it that is unprecedented in my lifetime. There have been occasions on which I could be a little cloudy about the trajectory of the economy, or whether that war brewing God-knows-where was going to upend our daily lives. Most all of life ahead is just beyond your headlights. You try to prepare as best you can. If you’re me, you try not to obsess about it too much and you often fail. Of course, the concept of “the future” is completely different now. As Americans, we are currently on a collision course with destiny, though you’d be hard-pressed to spot anyone in Union Square who might be blamed for it. Maybe that’s why I ended up there that day. No reasonable soul in this holiday limbo could be blamed for savoring the few precious moments that remain of window gazing or the vibes of Christmas in New York.
On Monday, it was a completely opposite experience up by Central Park. Being Thanksgiving week, it was lousy with tourists. They were checking into their hotels, yelling at the children as they ran around the sidewalks. Some tire-kickers on Central Park South checked out the rates on the sides of the horse buggies. I overheard more than one remarking about how small the horses were. I don’t know how I ended up by the park, but I didn’t linger. I passed the Tower of the Fourth Reich on 5th Avenue and navigated through the crowds of first-timers from Iowa or Japan or something looking up at the big gold letters and taking pictures with their phones. I thought it would only be right to start lifting wallets. Surely some of these people were to blame for what’s about to happen. I imagined myself a Satanic tour guide, looking around at the scenes of the crimes.
“On your left, you miserable wretches, is the Führer’s tower. In this dark column of glass and aluminum built by the lowest bidder are the golden toilets you’ve heard tell about, as well as the historic golden escalator upon which your chief oppressor has taken many a tumble.”
“On your right, you complicit swine, is the department store where the Führer sexually assaulted a journalist to whom he still owes a fortune. Note that it is only steps away from the Tower of the Fourth Reich, which is convenient if the Führer needs a tie, or a private place in which to molest a woman and then continually lie about it. Be sure to get a picture. What was the question? No. I don’t believe she shops there anymore.”
I could barely breathe up there. I headed back downtown, but was soon off the island for the day. It was the only way to shake the feelings of disgust and dread. I didn’t stop growling and snarling at the straights until I got back home.
It should come as no surprise that it got late early this year. As soon as the first of November came around, Christmas decorations started going up in the neighborhood. This is one of those years when the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is a bit more limited. It just depends upon where the Thursdays fall on the calendar. But this is different. Never before have I seen so many Christmas trees in front room windows and lights up outside way before Thanksgiving – before Election Day even.
As the month rolled on, more and more people got the hint from their neighbors and went for it. As I’ve stated, I’m not one to push the holiday season, but this year, I understand what’s going on. It’s a sadness, a desperation at work. All around me, I see people struggling to find something, anything, to feel good about. The only way that some could find joy, and reclaim some normalcy, was to bring out Christmas early. Not everyone is inclined to take a table for one with a good view of Sixth Avenue on a cold night. I guess we all have our thing.
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