This commentary is by August Burns, a figurative and portrait painter in Middlesex. Among her works is the official portrait of former Gov. Peter Shumlin.
In this strange and fraught time of Pandemic Christmas, I find myself dragging my suitcase behind me, gingerly threading the maze of fellow masked and anxious travelers.
In my roller bag, along with a few articles of clothing and a scattering of yesterday’s last-minute purchases, are boxes and tins of cookies for our younger son from his “neighborhood moms.” There are sweet almond crescents rolled in powdered sugar, Sicilian sesame cookies, spicy pecan and maple confections, and rich traditional butter cookies each topped with a walnut.
All these beauties were lovingly made and packed for him, a sure measure of women’s love. Or do these delicious cookies also contain a pinch of obligation, a dollop of competitiveness, a dash of expectation, and a large portion of “oh crap, I still have to make the cookies”?
I’ve been told that I have an uncanny ability to turn every observation into a gender issue, but when you are invisible and live in the shadow world of unacknowledged existence, it becomes impossible not to see it. Women are the original masterpiece written in invisible ink.
Santa gets all the credit, but who knew that all the elves in the fairy tale were really working mothers? Mothers are the real Santas, invisible and unacknowledged while a fairytale man (again) takes the credit for their weeks if not months of free labor and self-sacrifice.
And speaking of fairy tale men who get all the credit, where would Jesus be without Mary? Someone had a hand in raising him to be exceptional. She probably invited the Three Kings to come for his birthday.
I ask you to imagine, just for a moment, what would happen to this biggest celebration of the year, this mythological coming together of families in a Hallmark gathering of warmth and love and abundance, if women collectively decided to just sit this one out? To be absent instead of invisible? Imagine it. Who would step up and buy the presents, make the cookies and wreaths and dinners? Who would plan and make sure everyone was included and smooth out the wrinkles in the relations and the plan? Would it all vanish, leaving nothing but cold pizza, chicken wings and football?
So perhaps it’s time to reinvent Christmas. Scrap the whole mind-numbing affliction and start again. I vote for Solstice, no unwanted gifts that are literally killing us, no exclusion by mythical belief systems, no wasted money and piles of trash, and just think, we could give women a whole month off.
Let’s just join together in the still of the night, light a fire, share stories, soup and bread, and celebrate the turning of the earth and the riches we have around us, and, if we have the time and inclination, we could all bring cookies.
