Marking the Calendar

This is the time of year when we bloggers and columnists are supposed to be reminding our readers of the true meaning of Memorial Day, and telling you not to forget its solemn purpose of remembering the war dead while absorbed in barbecuing, partying, or shopping. I’m here to cut folks just a little slack.

These things are not mutually exclusive, and it’s a simple fact that some of these holidays are seasonal markers. Memorial Day, for example, has always signified the traditional beginning of summer, coming way before the official solstice in June. Where I grew up in the Northeast, it was the day you could begin filling (or using) your swimming pool, if you had one. Folks barbecue outdoors this weekend because, well, they can – generally it hasn’t been warm enough up to this point. The beach and mountain resorts start charging summer rates. Even gasoline prices go up. On the other hand, our newspapers will be full of inserts or wrappers about stores having sales. Is it really all that sacrilegious?

Labor Day plays a similar role on the calendar. It’s the traditional start of the school season, and marks the beginning of getting back to business after the summer. The plight of the American laborer just doesn’t dominate the thought on that day.

Even Christmas and Easter serve as seasonal markers – in fact, it’s said that Christmas was originally an extension of a winter solstice observance and Easter the start of spring.

So partying doesn’t mean we don’t think about the “true meaning” of all these days. We do. But thinking about true meanings doesn’t require us to feel guilty about relaxing, celebrating with others, or even trying to pick up a bargain or two.

Not to end on a downer here, but what Memorial Day does get me thinking about is not only how many service members we have lost in necessary wars, but in the unnecessary ones (yes, there is a difference). And what have we been doing to help those who have survived such conflicts? Not nearly enough, the headlines are screaming now. We need to take a minute to think about them, too.

'Tis the Season

My brother-in-law got upset the other day when he saw a Christmas-type commercial on TV during one of the breaks in his football game. A radio station in the city I used to live in has already started playing holiday music.

Meanwhile, the days are shorter, which I abhor. It’s depressing to see the sun setting at 5 p.m. This time of year, almost two-thirds of the day is in darkness or semi-darkness here in the Northern Hemisphere, and I get a little depressed.

Last year, a friend told me this is known as SAD (seasonal affective disorder) and that I would feel better if I only took Vitamin D pills. Another friend, in Seattle, is acquiring some kind of ultraviolet lamp. Well, OK then, I understand, that’s Seattle, after all. What am I complaining about – it hasn’t even rained here yet. Meanwhile, the East dipped below freezing this week, but we in my part of the West have yet to see the other side of 40 degrees F.

Something in me, however,  resists the notion that this annual depression is just some kind of chemical or physical imbalance which can be righted by pills or artificial means. I actually think moods are useful. Some of our best literature and music has been written by those in certain moods, often brought on by natural environmental changes. I actually write pretty good stuff when I get depressed (not necessarily this, of course!).

I especially resist being told how I am supposed to feel over the holidays. Suppose I’m not feeling thankful at Thanksgiving or filled with cheer and brotherhood at Christmas? Suppose it doesn’t make me happy to learn from your holiday letter that your son has been named a Rhodes Scholar? What if some years I want others to join me in a chorus of “Bah, humbug”? But I digress.

In the town of Inuvik in Arctic Canada, they have a ceremony the first week in January to mark the return of the sun, which disappears for 30 days in the dead of winter at that latitude. The sun just begins to reappear on the horizon on Jan. 6, and that’s a good reason to party.

One of my favorite quirky horror movies is called “30 Days of Night,” in which a pack of Eastern European vampires visits Point Barrow, Alaska during its month of darkness. That’s when vampires can go on a real bender – no sun.

The only cure that would work for me, I guess, is an expensive one: getting a winter home in the Southern Hemisphere. Perth or Cape Town or Buenos Aires, here I come!

But they still do the same holidays in those places, too, where it’s hot. Must be tough on the reindeer.