While I can usually ignore commercials on TV, there is one that is getting under my skin. The way it preaches consumerism--this store can solve any problem--annoys me. But it is the phrase they invented that disturbs me, because it makes real issues sound trite.
At the beginning of the commercial, a man is flicking a porch light, and the narrator says, "Not holi-ready." The next scene has a woman struggling to carve a turkey with a small, dull knife. Again, "Not holi-ready." The third scene has a tree with no presents under it, and this time the narrator says, "That's just holi-sad." And of course, the store that paid for this commercial can fix it all.
It isn't the conversation about the secular celebration of Christmas that I object to. For many, the cultural traditions of gift giving and getting together will dominate the season. That is just fine. It is a layer of activity for those who will mark a religious celebration like Chanukah or the birth of Jesus.
My problem with the commercial is the insistence on a specific kind of readiness for the season.
As I drive around, some people indulge in lots of lights and big displays of Santas or stars. There are some beautiful houses with the newest kind of light on the roof line, around the doors and windows. There are trees wound with lights, and I can only imagine the ladder work required to get them up.
I remember as a child watching my dad get out the ladder and put up lights. He liked to do this job in late November before it got cold. And I remember once he did it without a shirt on, during a weird warm spell. I don't remember how he got them down though. The challenge of putting lights away means that I don't climb. I stick with something I can reach from the ground.
But I also know people who are struggling to pay their hydro bill. For them, the extra electricity for even LED lights is a stretch. And paying for the newest kind of light is just not possible.
The second scene in the commercial implies that if you have the right knife you'll get the holiday meal on the table properly. In my experience, carving a turkey is challenging no matter what. I want to do it in private with nobody watching. And there will be some perfect slices and lots of chunks. The chunks taste just as good, if not better.
People have family traditions for meals together. There is a turnip casserole or special bread. There is a secret cranberry recipe. These traditions develop over the years to become part of what draws people together and makes the gathering special.
But again, there are people who feel excluded when it is implied that certain traditions are essential. If people are alone, they may not be included in any Christmas dinner. If there is just a couple marking Christmas day, a turkey is just too much food. If there is barely enough money for rent, there isn't enough for special food. Getting the right knife does not make the season bright.
Then there is the tree without presents that is "holi-sad." This scene bothers me the most, because it is deeply painful to be in such financial straits that you can't afford to pay hydro and certainly can't give the kids what is on their list. It is heart breaking when a family member is lost at this time of year: a gift may have already been purchased when the loved one dies, and it cannot be given. These are deeply painful, not "holi-sad." No store can fix grief.
Holiday traditions can draw people together. But they can also highlight the difficulties in our lives. They can strain our situation to the breaking point.
As a society, we do try to respond with donated gifts and food, with free communal meals. We notice those who are alone and reach out to them. This is a season when gifts of charity abound--acts of love that we do freely, not expecting anything in return. For me, it is these acts of generosity that show we are truly marking a holiday celebration.
Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister, and writer living near Walters Falls.
