By Lori Welch Brown

The older I get, the more melancholy I become—especially around the holidays. Perched at the cusp of the holiday season, I’m a blithering, sentimental cry baby. Adorned with fairy lights, an ugly Christmas sweater, and Grinch pajama pants, I am awash in memories of Christmases past, dreaming of the ‘perfect’ Christmas yet to come, all while staring down at the presents waiting to be wrapped. And loving every minute of it. Queue up the Hallmark channel and color me ready for all the corny holiday romance they can throw my way.

This has not been the case every year. There have been years where I’ve wanted to hide under my covers. There was the year I vowed to book myself a solo vacation over the holidays because I just couldn’t deal. With anything. Or anyone. There were a couple of exceptionally bad years after my mom died when I felt the need to drink and smoke my way through the holidays. This is not a good plan. In fact, it is a very bad plan as all it did was make me miss my mom even more and leave me feeling depressed. The only good that came out of it was the pact I made with God that if I survived that holiday season, I’d quit smoking. I’m proud to report that I haven’t had a cigarette since December 28, 2008.

So, I’ve ridden my share of holiday humps and taken my fair share of lumps in the form of not-so-great gifts—but that’s another story. I’m trying to accept all with grace. It truly is the thought that counts, and I have come to realize that not everyone has the capacity to put the proper thought into gifts. You know who you are. Or perhaps you don’t. I’m here to help.

Anyhow, my point is that I am walking into this holiday season with a plan—and a lot of self-awareness. This is my thing—I start off with high hopes and unrealistic expectations for those Norman Rockwell and Currier & Ives images a lot of us grew up with—sledding down a snow-covered hill; roasting chestnuts over an open fire; singing Christmas carols around a piano played by Uncle Bill; sipping hot chocolate after an afternoon of ice skating on the lake, and waiting for the juicy, perfectly stuffed turkey to be carved and placed onto grandma’s China. Amen. Later we’ll watch the kids leaping around in matching pjs exploding with happiness and joy. Peace on earth and all that good stuff.

The closest I’ve come to any of that is crashing a sled down an icy hill into a creek, burning my tongue on some Swiss Miss, and pleading (unsuccessfully) with my family to wear the matching holiday pajama sets I spent a paycheck on.

High hopes and lofty expectations are inevitably dashed, and then I pull a flame thrower out and torch Whoville. Typically, about a week into the advent calendar, someone always manages to knock me off my yule log. This year—I didn’t even have to wait that long before my dear, well-meaning husband, XXL made a comment about ‘the Christmas budget,’ i.e., no expensive gifts. Sorry—I missed the year where we got each other matching Ferraris. Anyhow, my jolly meter immediately went from a 10 to a 6. Don’t go raining on my Christmas parade before I’ve even hit ‘place your order’ on my first Amazon cart of the season. I called him Grinch—which he didn’t particularly like—and went about refining my list.

So…those Scrooges are out there—sometimes even under your own roof – so you have to be prepared. You need a plan for when ol’ Mr. Potter snags your parking spot at the mall (is anyone still going to malls?). Grab the peppermint oil from your glove box and take a big inhale. Open Spotify to your holiday list and blare some Bing out the window. Mindfully repeat, “a stolen parking spot isn’t enough to ruffle my Kris Kringle.” Your holiday toolbox must be at the ready—arm yourself with all the accoutrements necessary—mistletoe, Santa hat, tinsel, candy canes, cookies. Lots of cookies. Note to self: Not a great time to start Weight Watchers.  

Preparation and planning are key to success in life, as is managing expectations. I’m learning that I have no control over how others ride out the holiday season. While some of us prefer reindeer-driven sleighs, others prefer gargantuan steam rollers. It’s the yin and yang of life. As I see it, the steamrollers fuel my desire to double down on the jolly.

Those smart suits over at the Hallmark channel figured this out a long time ago when they gave us 24/7 access to all those sugary sweet flicks this time of year. They understood our need to lose ourselves in those delightfully charming little Christmas towns and villages. They are dreamy—as are those “dishy” romantic leads. We can swaddle ourselves in their red and green plaid sweaters and warm ourselves in their bottomless mugs of hot cocoa. And when we are ready, we can face the real world—the one with redacted Epstein files, government furloughs, and soul sucking budgets—coated in peppermint oil and wrapped in head-to-toe garland. And we can spread our holiday magic and pray it lasts us well into the new year.

From my house to yours, I wish you peace and joy and wellness…and an endless supply of peppermint oil (or schnapps). Happy Holidays and Happy New Year. See you in 2026!

About the Author: Lori is a local writer, painter and pet lover who loves to share her experiences and expertise with our readers. She has been penning a column for the OTC for over 25 years. Please follow Lori online on Medium for more missives like this.