Seasonal Affect

This time of year is always so very difficult--or, at least, it always has been, for me, and working in a bakery basically acts as a multiplier. Beginning with Halloween--which is actually a huge bakery day, believe it or not--it's this crescendo, this marathon, this ever-increasing intensity that ends at Christmas. And the holidays themselves; oy. I have, on occasion, been able to carve out some of the spirit of whatever the holiday is, but it's so difficult. I mean, Christmas decorations already! Seriously; in the bakery, but elsewhere as well. That rushing-of-the-season merely adds to the anxiety.

For one thing, it just wears out. The Holidays has a relatively short shelf life, at least in people's spirits, and taking it out of its wrappings this early means that it has gone a little sour by the time the actual date, whatever it is, rolls around. I realize that it's an economic thing, in part, having to do with retail sales, and how crappy the economy is, and what retailers can count as sales, etc., but that makes it worse for those of us who aren't convinced that either capitalism or the (so-called) free market are really paths to happiness.

For another thing, the extra time devoted to it all just makes everyone kind of sick. It becomes this guilt-laden, sugar-laden, crap-you-don't-need-or-want-laden two-month exercise in overload. I do like the winter solstice, mind you; I sometimes think I could be a pagan or wiccan or whatever branch seemed the most entertaining. Those ways of thinking and measuring keep us grounded--quite literally, sometimes--in the world. So much of our lives--central heating and air conditioning; vehicles of various sorts; artificial light--literally and figuratively insulate us from the world. Mind you, I like a lot of that insulation; a couple of years ago, maybe in the fall of 2005, we took Chuck's son to a scouting thing that was basically a pioneer village with some actual pioneer-era buildings around, and the little house made me cold to think of living there. Those people were cold from October to May, every year. And they probably stank, and they didn't have indoor plumbing, and I'd guess there were various bodily parasites around as well. Ew.

And sometimes I'd like a little more insulation: I am getting quite tired of standing on a train platform as an icy damp wind cuts through every layer of clothing I'm wearing. I am not going to buy a vehicle, but I will definitely wish for teletransportation devices.

The point is, we insulate ourselves from everything. This is a time of year when we want to hibernate, to sleep, to curl up with a friend or a blanket or a pet (or all three, if we're lucky). Instead, we find ourselves running around to events and parties and work and whatever, and those of us in industries that are affected by the holidays--like bakeries, but I'm sure also like restaurants and party locations--just try to hold on, grimly slogging through another day or week of it all.

Just to make my personal experience more entertaining, Bossman is leaving town tomorrow morning, not returning until Sunday. He is NOT happy to be making this trip, so far as I can tell. Apparently, his kids don't want to come home for Thanksgiving, because it's a lot of travel for a short weekend, so the Wife (I'm guessing) has decided they'll go to the kids (one's still at home, one's in California, one's in Texas). Which, okay, but has she realized that her husband owns a bakery, and this is one of his busiest weeks all fucking year? Then again, perhaps today's conversation will provide you with some enlightenment. Bossman started making our stollen yesterday (and it seriously rocks). Today it was being buttered and rolled in sugar, and then his daughter, who's been working there a couple days a week, was wrapping them and tying them up with a ribbon--and the ribbon is a new one he purchased this year, with the bakery's name and logo on it; the ribbon is quite cool. So Wife came through and he said something about the stollen, and she said, I do not care about that, why are you even telling me about it? (In my head I answered: Because it puts food on your table and clothes on your back? Because it's what your husband loves to do?) He said, yeah, but have you seen the ribbon? And she said, the ribbon I care about. Hey, on one hand, whatever makes you happy, you know? But it also kind of blew me away.

On the other hand, I have people around me who make me smile, who remind me to be truly present, who have more faith in me than I have in myself. I have coworkers who make me laugh, and who have taught me just how much can be communicated even when we're not fluent in the same language. And--at least for another few weeks--I make a damned good croissant. They've been truly beautiful lately--and I make sure to give Phil a bunch of the credit. He's been baking them, at least the ones that go in the store, and he knows I like them a little darker than the night guys bake them, so he's been doing that, and they're fucking beautiful. Today we were selling them all two-for-one, because one of our customers hasn't paid the bills and we didn't send them their order--and they buy about two-thirds of our wholesale croissants, so there were a LOT to be sold. The two-for-one thing worked, though; people know a deal when they see one. The next few days will be difficult--work work work at the bakery, then edit like a madwoman on Sunday and on Monday morning, then job interview Monday afternoon (reinterview, actually; Round 2 with the person from last week). Deep breath, maybe, on Thanksgiving, but more likely more editing, along with dinner with friends in the evening. And so on.

And then there's Anthony Trollope. Here's one line from Barchester Towers:

He is somewhat below middle height, being about five feet four, but he makes up for the inches which he wants byt the dignity with which he carries those which he has.

How can writing like that not improve your day? Seriously: if you're looking for an escape from the season, go find a copy of "The Warden," and read that, and then read "Barchester Towers."