So I'm in America, it is the first evening of the Jewish holiday Chanukah and the family party is starting in an hour. The lovely oil burning Menorahs are set up in front of the window, the potato pancakes are fried, the cool new reggae-Chanukah CD is playing in the kid's room, the bags loaded with gifts are hidden in the coat closet, and I am nominated to be the one to run quickly over to Target to get some more Chanukah wrapping paper which has gone on sale and is supposedly very cute.
"I'll make some wrapping paper, like I do at home (in India)," I suggest to the nominating committee, not keen at all to go out into the dreary cold night, happy to stay here at Grandma's house, where all the warmth is.
"How will you MAKE wrapping paper?" I am asked, and when I reply that I will recycle brown shopping bags, paint them, stick stuff on, and make it pretty, keeping the kids busy and saving money to boot, everyone stares at me with that "Aimee is so weird" look that I know so well.
To The Target
"The paper at Target is ON SALE" I am told, the way you explain something to a mentally challenged grandmother from the old country. It has nice silver stripes and is even sparkly and that is what they want and so, I am in the car, on my way to Target. "Hurry" I am told as I walk out, "hurry, there is no time, and take the c-phone, we might remember that we need something more."
(For those of you that do not know Target - dubbed by a close friend 'the happiest place on earth' - it is a huge department store with affordable yet cute stuff of all kinds, it is the beloved shopping destination of the middle class in all 5o states (actually im not sure about Alaska or Hawaii but I would bet on it.)
The store is one enormous floor, spaciously laid out, no one hassles you as you keep finding more wonderful things to put in your shopping cart (which is orange, and the size of a baby whale.) The symbol of Target, a round ring with another circle inside it, red and white, is so well known that ads for the shop no longer need to use the name Target, only the symbol. Adoring shoppers love to call the shop, Targe with a silent T, you know, like French, communicating a pleasure at their own down to earth, middle of the road, non French at all, Americaness.
So I'm in the car, and all around me on the dingy streets I am passing are houses lit up with Christmas lights because Christmas eve is a few days away. These houses look so pretty, the care taken by the homeowners touches my heart.
I know these neighborhoods, the people have lived in the same homes for at least twenty years and they hardly know who lives next door, but they are willing to pay these huge electric bills to light up the black night with beauty, for the pleasure of strangers passing by.
I remember the recent holiday of Diwali in India, the houses also decorated with lights and with candles, to help light the way of the returning legendary heroes Sita and Ram, who were in exile, and at Diwali are making their way home through jungles and forests, back to rule the land.
I am thinking of all of this, and then I realise that I have driven past the Target.
Oy, I will be late. I pull myself together, banish my spiritual thoughts, and concentrate on reaching Target and buying that wrapping paper. I find parking close to the entrance! Two night before Christmas! My own Chanukah miracle!!
The Shopping Experience
As I find my way through the aisles, I can feel the pretty things calling me, showing me themselves, letting me know that if I buy them, they will be mine, and I will never be lonely again. They are all so pretty! I want to buy everything in the shop! I know it is all a lie, of course I do, but my defenses are weak and I feel almost attacked.
It is very hard to make it to the place with all of the Hanukah stuff without getting side-lined but I manage, grab all of the sale priced wrapping paper and gift bags and ribbon (blue of course for we Chanukah people are supposed to stick to blue and silver, maybe gold.)
My cell phone rings: "Where are you? Hurry up! Why it is taking you so long? Hurry! Hurry!"
At the checkout counter, after my usual inner war in which I convince myself not to buy any of the dark chocolate even though I really want to (and ever since the government announced the dark chocolate is good for your heart you can buy it in a thousand new varieties, including- oh no!- dark chocolate M&Ms,) the check out lady tells me I am getting a great deal on the wrapping paraphanelia and congratulates me for my achievement.
Her kindness touches me and I want to tell her about the spiritual secrets of Chanukah, the hidden, wrapped up meaning of the holidays, about Solstice and the mystery of light born out of dark. I want to hug her - to have some contact, some strength before I go out to the dark again and drive home.
But she is already with the next customer so I only tell her - "Happy holidays, hope you have many miracles" and she says, "Oh, I could use me some of those," so I say, "Well, couldn't we all" and the man in the next line says you ain't kidding and I feel, for the tiniest moment, that we are together, that we love each other, that we go back together to the beginning of time.
Then I remember that I have to hurry because the presents aren't wrapped yet so I go out into the freezing darkness, find the family car, turn on the head lights and get on my way.