Last month was the hottest July ever recorded in the U.S. Let that sink in. It was even hotter than the Dust Bowl by a smidge. Whole world's burning up, from Oregon to Bordeaux. Despite this, I've been thinking a lot about Christmas in July. It really started during my road trip, where our first stop was at a statue garden of sorts, filled with nature, unsettling figures of metal and wood, peacocks, and of course, a nativity in the middle of July. Of course, I can only assume the nativity stays up all year, but I still found it funny that even in the inferno of a blazing Idaho summer, Jesus is still being born, bundled away in an unassuming manger.
When we went to a state park the next day and saw a flyer for a local community event called “Christmas in July,” it recalled a posting I had seen online a week earlier about a similar celebration back home, even complete with a visit from Santa Clause. It got my mind churning simply because of how surreal the idea is, especially to the northern hemisphere mind, where Christmas is inextricably tied to winter. White Christmases, holly, pine trees, warm spices, and cozy fires are simple facts of the collective cultural memory of Christmas, wholly distant from the pool parties, blurry heat, and salads of July. Obviously that juxtaposition between seasons is integral to the idea of Christmas in July. Of course, it also has some practical benefits. Actual celebrations of Christmas in July seem to have arisen in the ‘30s and ‘40s from churches sending and organizing presents abroad earlier in the year, and some stores do sales of Christmas supplies in July to get rid of old surplus supplies to make way for the new wave of decorations. In the southern hemisphere, of course, Christmas in July provides a way to experience Christmas during the winter.
Anyways, all that is to say Christmas in July exists not only in my consciousness but in the consciousness of the world, which I personally adore. We are creatures of contradiction, as always. Which brings me to my second point of contradiction about Christmas: Christmas melancholy. Maybe it's a term I coined, or maybe it already exists and you know exactly what it means. Either way, I've been thinking about it for the bit ever since I heard Phoebe Bridger's “Christmas Song,” which has the lines “Sadness comes crashing like a brick through the window, / And it's Christmas, so no one can fix it.” I resonated with the line, but why? Why did it feel so indisputable that no one can fix your sadness when it's Christmas, especially when it's considered the happiest time of year? Christmas melancholy is the answer. It's that feeling of looking in on the revelry with your hands on a window, wishing you could be part of it. Yes, you may be physically part of the celebrations in some way, but you may feel alienated for whatever reason. For Phoebe Bridgers, it's a “desire for annihilation” and loneliness: “You don't have to be alone to be lonesome.” Preach.
Norman Rockwell suggests there can be an age component to the melancholy. Children may ascribe more importance to the holidays than adults, but also have less agency to celebrate it as desired, especially around adults. Rockwell's painting “Little Girl Looking Downstairs at Christmas Party” demonstrates this with a young girl observing, but not partaking, in a Christmas party from the darkness of a stairwell. She is basking in the warm light of the party and the season, but, even though we cannot see her face, we can assume she wears a forlorn look (though perhaps the assumption is merely a reflection of my own feelings). The happy celebration is close, but still out of reach. Close enough to brush up against, but not to grasp. It calls to mind the age-old trope of children and orphans in stories tragically not receiving Christmas gifts. Consider the Disney short “The Match Girl,” which tells the tragic story of a little girl trying to sell matches in St. Petersburg; when no one buys them, she begins burning them herself, keeping her warm while she envisions a happy Christmas celebration. It's all she can do without any power of her own.
Everyone offers their own reason for Chrisrmas melancholy. It could be distance, perceived or literal, from their family, whether it be death, long-held grudges, or simply living in different places. Or maybe it's stress from midterms, gift-giving, hosting, traveling, or work. As for me, I spent last Christmas completely disconnected. Sick, alone at home, playing Destiny after a rather disappointing day; despite making an effort to give Christmas gifts to everyone in my life, it felt like everyone else forgot about me. It may be a happy time of year, but happiness comes with stress and, for those who are unhappy, an intense yearning to be part of that happiness. That's the only real explanation I have for Christmas melancholy. In the dead of winter, the holidays keep us happy, warm and distracted, and when everyone but you gets to feel those things? You're just left feeling cold. Or, as Sabrina Carpenter puts it in “Cindy Lou Who,” “There's red and green everywhere, but [you're] so blue.”
Anyways, what I'm trying to get at is that I've been feeling Christmas Melancholy in July. You might ask, “Isn't that just summertime sadness, like that Lana Del Rey song?” Maybe. But not really. How silly it is to think that we should be constrained by calendars and seasons. I think summertime sadness is a sort of delirious sadness, like the emptiness after a dance or a party where you've embarrassed yourself having the best time of your life. It has been a little blurry recently, but in a way that reminds me of Christmas. I mean, by all accounts, this should be a great summer for me. It's the summer after high school, I don't even have to worry about school starting in the fall for the first time in my memory, I went on a great road trip, my cousin got married, I finally got to see the Redwoods, I got a car, and I have a job that pays pretty well. Like the cheer of Christmas, it's pretty great all around, and the whole hot girl summer vibe everyone seems to have going really contributes to the atmosphere. But like Christmas melancholy, it's just wrapped around a little kernel of sadness that I can't seem to shake.
But it's okay, because Christmas is atemporal. It is December 25th and it is July. It's the Christmas lights up all year long in my friend's neighborhood. It's the small town in Oregon called Christmas Valley with a mailbox to Santa. It's the desolation of summer playing the perfect mirror to the dearth of winter. It's me watching my favorite, extremely Christmas-y romcom, Let It Snow, in every season. Somewhere, everywhere, Jesus is always being born and people are always celebrating.
Maybe I'm reaching. Maybe I'm stretching some random details into some completely disjointed, unimportant narrative, or just justifying listening to sad Christmas music and watching Christmas movies. But hopefully it's some good food for thought. It certainly was for me, and it got me thinking about maybe doing a Christmas in July feast where I try to do a summer-y spin on classic Christmas foods. Pork cutlets with a peach sauce instead of roast ham, roast chicken with blackberry sauce and mint instead of the normal, earthy Christmas roast chicken, a sweet onion tarte tatin instead of Yorkshire pudding, and sparkling cider and champagne instead of mulled wines. Or something like that. Maybe next year. Or maybe whenever. It's always Christmas, and I've always got Christmas melancholy.
I wrote most of this story in the car or plane during my trip to the Redwoods and Crater Lake while I was getting my car. Little life update: I now have a car! Just a cute little white 2015 Honda Civic, now named El Coco. Other than that, I have just been working so much. Between tomorrow, today, and the day before, I was scheduled for about 36 hours in 3 days, and I am so incredibly tired and in pain right now. Definitely not ready to do this again tomorrow. But tomorrow might be my last day at this store, although I’m still not sure if I want to transfer or stay. Am I the type of person who quits when things get rough? Maybe. Kind of. I sometimes fear that’s why I broke up with my ex. I quit violin last year, and I quit a lot of things. But I try not to quit things. However, I also want to be respected and not be stressed out of my mind all the time; I literally cannot sleep at night because I have waking dreams about taking orders and being behind because our store has been so chronically understaffed and being in the drive-thru for 12 hours is so mentally draining. On the other hand, I could stay to help out because otherwise I would feel bad? Who knows. Anyways, going to Boston at the end of this week, which makes me feel incredibly spoiled, and I might write about it.
P.S.: If You-Know-Who-You-Are is reading this, I know it's August. But it's basically still July. It's Christmas in July in August. It's been on my mind for a while, anyways.
