Part 8 (1/2)

I'm going to tell you the secret behind successful holiday shopping. And it's contrary to everything you have learned.

They tell you that when you're giving a gift, you should give the other person what they like, not what you like. Well, that credo is exactly, one hundred percent, wrong.

I used to do my holiday shopping just that way. I'd pa.s.s up beautiful stuff that any sane person would love and I'd waste good money on stupid junk. The rationale was that if they were happy, I was happy.

But I wasn't.

I recognized this credo as codependency in disguise. I was enabling bad taste and bad judgment. Now, I am codependent no more. If they want Big Mouth Billy Ba.s.s, they have to buy it themselves.

And worse, I used to ask people what they wanted, which was the biggest no-no ever. Every Christmas, I would ask my mother, and she would tell me. Problem was, everything my mother wanted was impossible to find.

One year, she wanted a knit poncho. Another year, a nightgown with no elastic at the wrists. A third, a perfume she remembered from World War II, called Pois De Senteur, which I think translates to Peas of Health. I gave up after six stores and bought her a bottle of Joy. Her Christmas was joyless. I think translates to Peas of Health. I gave up after six stores and bought her a bottle of Joy. Her Christmas was joyless.

Then I wised up.

I stopped asking her what she wanted and started getting her what I wanted. And the ironic part is, I learned this from my mother herself.

My mother never gave me what I wanted for Christmas, but gave me only what she wanted. For example, when I was in middle and high school, she fell in love with what she called ”estate jewelry.” To this day, I have no idea what ”estate jewelry” really means. I don't think she did, either. I bet she liked the ”estate” part, which sounds cla.s.sy. If you put ”estate” together with ”jewelry,” you get a mental image of glittery people in tuxes, swanning around mansions. But in truth, I suspect that the term refers to jewelry left by someone who has died, which n.o.body in her family wanted, even though it was free.

Do you understand the significance of this?

In other words, even if her family loved this woman, they didn't want that jewelry, which should give you an excellent idea of what estate jewelry looks like, or, at least, the estate jewelry that my mother picked out for me. She gave me a bronze brooch shaped like a spiked sun. A snake bracelet, complete with scales and a forked tongue, that curled around my upper arm. A pendant with a blue ceramic eye in the center.

The kind of junk that turned my jewelry chest into Pandora's box.

Back then, my mother gave me estate jewelry like it was going out of style, which it was, by definition. Undoubtedly, it cost way too much of her secretary's salary, so I opened my presents from her with a guilty and sinking heart. On the bright side, I had the best brooch collection of any thirteen-year-old, ever.

I know I sound like a terrible person, whining about this, but here's the point, about why you should buy people what you want: Because now, over time, my thinking has changed, and so has my taste in many things. Today I look at the jewelry she gave me through the lens of perspective and maturity. Do I still find it unbelievably ugly?

Of course.

I would sooner go braless in the emergency room than wear one of those brooches, and we both know how I feel about emergency-room bralessness.

But nevertheless, now I treasure each one of these pieces of jewelry. Each one of them has enormous sentimental value to me. Each one reminds me that my mother spent money on me that she didn't have. Each one tells me how much she loves me. Each is the best present I could have gotten, for that holiday or any holiday.

And why?

Because my mother gave me things that she loved. So when I look at all that awful stuff, I see what I love the most.

Her.

Holiday Guilt

We all have so much to do around the holidays, and it can be hard to prioritize. But I have a secret weapon that you might like, too, so I'll fill you in: My secret weapon is guilt.

I no longer try to free myself from guilt. Instead, I welcome guilt and put it to work for me. I built myself a Guilt-O-Meter with a 110 scale, which I consult whenever a task presents itself. If it's a task I'd feel too guilty to ignore, the needle on the Guilt-O-Meter goes to 10, and I do it right away. For example, work scores a 10 on the Guilt-O-Meter, so I work a lot. This is good for my mortgage payments, if not my social life, but whatever. Life is too short to live with guilt. I say, do what your guilt tells you.

Right now.

On my Guilt-O-Meter, all housework scores between 1 and 3, except for ironing or cleaning my closet, which are both 0. Recycling is a 10, but rinsing the bottles first is a 2. Working out is supposed to be a 9, but it's secretly a 5. Acc.u.mulating late fees at the library is a 7, but at the Blockbuster, it's a 2. Why? The former is guilt-inducing, and the latter merely annoying. This isn't about the Merely Annoying-O-Meter.

Of course, you don't have to agree with my scores. Use them as guilt guidelines. Feel free to customize your Guilt-O-Meter. them as guilt guidelines. Feel free to customize your Guilt-O-Meter.

Pimp your guilt!

My Guilt-O-Meter malfunctions during the holidays because there are too many tasks for its sensitive needle. There's no guilt like Christmas Guilt. Just ask Ebenezer Scrooge. And it's not only Christmas Guilt. I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood, and when my friends told me they got Hanukkah gelt, I thought they said Hanukkah guilt. Now I have Hanukkah Guilt, too.

During the holidays, my Work Guilt conflicts with so many other guilt options. Not-Sending-Out-Greeting-Cards Guilt is a 6. Cat-Hair-in-Scotch-Tape Guilt is a 5. However, Gift-Wrap-Without-Ribbon Guilt is a 0.

Let go of the ribbon thing, people. We can only do so much.

My Guilt-O-Meter failed me recently, and it was all because of the holidays. One morning, I woke up in a paroxysm of Gift Guilt because I hadn't bought a single present yet. A paroxysm is off the Guilt-O-Meter, scoring a 283,949. Paroxysms are usually reserved for Forgetting-Your-Mother's-Birthday Guilt, which I don't have, or Accidentally-Cutting-Your-Dog's-Ear-When-You-Clipped-Her-Fur Guilt, which I do.

Anyway, when I woke up in the paroxysm, I knew I had to get to the mall immediately. I hurried to the bathroom, where I noticed that the toilet flushed too slowly. I needed to get it checked, but calling a plumber scored only a 1 on the Guilt-O-Meter. I made a mental note to call him later, then clean my closet and iron something.

I dressed, hurried downstairs, and got a drink of water. Oddly, the garbage disposal was backing up, so I took another Guilt-O-Meter reading. A broken garbage disposal rated only another 1. I figured I'd call the disposal guy after I called the plumber after I cleaned my closet and ironed something.

So I went to the mall, shopped all day, and bought so many presents that my Gift Guilt fell to 0. My Credit Card Guilt upticked to 3, but that's comfortable for me. I left the mall happy, or in any event, much less guilty.

But when I got home, there was bad news. I'll try not to be disgusting, so I'll just say that the toilet had exploded and my first floor hallway was awash in human waste. I called the plumber and told him what happened, and he asked: ”Is it an emergency?”

Hmmm. I knew why he asked that. Because he was taking a Guilt-O-Meter reading of his own, and Exploding-Toilet-on-a-Friday-Night Guilt was only a 2. Especially when it was Somebody-Else's-Toilet-Around-the-Holidays Guilt.

I bet I reached him at the mall.

For a crazy minute I was stricken with Asking-For-Help Guilt. My Guilt-O-Meter needle shot up to 8, and the wimp inside me said, ”Lisa, you meanie, you're asking him to work on the weekend.”

Then I flipped it.

I work on the weekend, so why shouldn't the plumber? Work = 10. His Guilt-O-Meter was clearly on the fritz. Anyway, I was pretty sure that if you looked up emergency in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of my first floor hallway.

I told the plumber, ”You're darn tootin' it's an emergency, buddy.” Then I put on my galoshes, grabbed the Clorox and a mop, and started cleaning.

So take a lesson from me. This holiday season, let your guilt be your guide.

Except when it comes to plumbing.