Merry Happy Epiphany

Through a couple bursts of historic research - for dinner party themes, a potential theater production, and a novel, I discovered that the original American Christmas was celebrated on Epiphany.  Or January 6^th.  December 25^th only really became popular in the Victorian era. 

My first Epiphany

Most of my life we have celebrated Epiphany, too.  I was often as excited about the Sunday on which it was observed as I was about waking up on Christmas morning.  When I was a toddler, my mother started hosting an open house and continued doing this until two years ago.  40 years is a pretty good run.  It was special because it was a day when I got to see my cousins again, but also family friends that we didn’t see on the holiday – or as life would have it – any other time in the year.  Friends included neighbors from whom we moved away, my dad’s high school English teacher, my mom’s work colleagues, my high school/college/theater friends, new significant others who might not want to brave a family Christmas just yet, and so many others.

My Mom's amazing cookies

I loved everything about that day.  Even the ritual of cleaning.  It was probably the only deep clean we had in the house, something I was tasked with on my Christmas vacation and would come up early to help with when I moved away.  When we polished the furniture, dusted every little corner, cleaned the clutter off the dining room table, and made bedrooms clean so coats could be left on a bed.  My mother started cooking for the party in November (if you count all her cookies, but also the hot savories she would freeze to bake on the day).  But the whole weekend the house would smell like her meatballs and chicken and glug.  Every sense has a memory of that day.

So I’ve never been able to relate to anyone who decides that Christmas ends on December 26^th or January 1^st.  The lords still have to leap and the drummers have to drum. 

Last year, we didn’t celebrate Epiphany.  The season felt a little colder and as this year approached with the normalizing of the new schedule, I was prepared to resign to the notion that the holiday (stress) concludes with the start of the year.

And then I changed my mind.

I understand that the holidays are stressful.  I get stressed by them, especially as a singleton with no children.  I plan events as (part of) a living.   There is a frenzy in November and December.  So many social engagements.  So many meetings to wrap up before the year ends.  Gifts to buy.  Food to bake and overconsume.  Polite fake conversation to make.  Bad weather to endure.  It’s a magical special time of year, but there is so much effort that has to be put into making it look magical and be special.  So many things to buy.  Happiness we are forced to wear on our faces.  The magic and special lose their joy.

Yeah, it’s easier to just curl up on the couch and binge some Netflix and put the holidays back in a scheduled box.

Is that a part of growing up?  Growing old and cynical?  Is it that society is changing?  The ‘media’ trying to tell us what Christmas means and how other people are waging war on it, all while consumerism is selling us decorations and must haves and pine scented this and that (for which I am admittedly a sucker).  The selling starts in October and ends… on December 24^th.  That is exhausting and kind of gross.

So I think of those early Americans – who had some moral priorities that I definitely question.  But as people who worked the land and were more in tune with the weather than those of us who have central heating and indoor plumbing, having more of the holiday joy in the beginning of January as the cold grip of dark days tightened makes a lot of sense.  You couldn’t spend twelve hours in the field, so why not celebrate with friends?  It added some more body warmth to the house, but also a chance to be with people instead of the cows and trees.  There wasn’t a lot of gift giving, but there were special foods.  Warm wine.  A king cake.  Roasted meats.  Full bellies to get through the promise of those leaner days to come before the next harvest.  Of course there is a religious component, but maybe in thinking about the reason for the season, contemplating the community of shepherds and wise men that came together is a more heartwarming story than a baby being forced to be born in a barn.  Or maybe it isn’t a competition of stories.  Just an opportunity to celebrate the journey of wisdom and the cusp of the unknown.

Anyway, all this is to say I am giving it another go.  Epiphany.  It’s a small reboot.  But hopefully a spark that will catch on a bit more next year when I have a new home.  It’s a family and New England tradition I hope to honor. 

And for the next couple hours I will delight in that smell of glug simmering and chicken roasting to celebrate the ultimate gift of the season – good company.

Happy Merry Epiphany.