Merry Christmas, readers! I will spare you all the "politically correct holiday season" rant, as I know we've all heard it before (at least 4,000 times this year alone), and as it says in the Bible, "Do not be [offended], for I bring you glad tidings and great cheer" and so on.
Anyway, what does it matter, because I have missed not only the actual Christmas, but Boxing Day as well. So I am not only politically incorrect, but increasingly tardy as well. We're coming up on New Years now.
My Boxing Day did, in fact, involve some boxing. Of fruitcakes. Tomorrow I intend to do the actual posting of those boxed fruitcakes, and any recipients should know that my fruitcake-boxing battle was not a particularly neat or quiet one. Please appreciate my countless trips to the recycling bin in the freezing cold garage for packing materials.
Something about the convergence of events (and the escalation of my coffee shop book exchange) lately has me thinking about storylines. I first saw Google's Zeitgeist 2011 video framed as a bit of brilliant digital storytelling, intentionally and evocatively constructed. If you haven't seen it already, please take a moment. Or, if you have, take a moment to watch it again.
More generally, social media news has been lately dominated by headlines about Storify and the new Facebook Timeline and the new Twitter app, all created to somehow "organize stories" that build our lives online and, increasingly, offline. That's the idea, anyway. It's making me think about what a story actually is, and how we tell them, and what role they play in our lives. It's making me wonder whether the meaning of the word "story" is taking on new digital meaning, similar to the way "viral" has. (In case you missed it, you can read more about my thoughts on going viral here.)
Also in that post you will find what anchors my storyline fixation in the physical world: fruitcake.
Aside from the fact that I legitimately love fruitcake, especially fruitcake from this recipe, I have been most excited about carrying on the family legacy of making and sending fruitcakes. This is a personal storyline that crosses, now, four generations, in a very simple frame: a recipe. (Remember Thunder Cake by Patricia Polacco? Brilliant.) I already told you about getting fruitcakes in the mail every Christmas, wrapped in Sunday comics. Actually I think I left out the comics before, and the fact that we always had to wait until Christmas morning to open and cut into the fruitcake. And as we all know, waiting for something makes it taste that much sweeter. This storyline includes not only my childhood, but the unknown plot deviations of Aunt Judy struggling to locate candied orange peel in modern supermarkets, trying different substitutes, maybe once pickling watermelon rind in the summer to use come Christmas in the cakes. And the beginning of this story is completely blank; I can only tell you bits of the middle and the ellipsis of an end.
Consider also the cultural storyline of fruitcake. As I churned the exotic dried fruits into the batter, it suddenly occurred to me to ask where fruitcake came from. What genealogy does fruitcake follow in our family? Is it British? German? Under what rule did it gain the honors of tradition? In which empire? Which traders brought the fruits to fill it? And how did it get such a bad rap today?
Not that you will probably be called on to share any fruitcake trivia, but if you think there is a chance of this happening I recommend this article from TLC. I can't say for certain that it is the most accurate or comprehensive, I just like it best of all the ones I've seen.
Now, for the sake of time and attention, let's make an undeveloped allegorical leap to the Christmas storyline. In fact, we can take it full-circle to the whole politically-correct thing and ask which storyline each of us prefers to follow at this time of year. Is it Santa Claus? St. Nicholas? Festivus? Solstice? Kwanzaa? Hanukkah? The birth of Jesus?
Grampi has been featuring heavily of late, and while I fear some of you might be cringing at the apparent disregard in which I hold my elders, please take heart in knowing that any confrontation is both the result and the catalyst of important learning experiences, I dare hope, for both of us. As Maria has reminded me over and over again these past few weeks, coming to face opposition forces us to grow in ways we might otherwise atrophy.
Anyway, Grampi and the birth of Jesus. On Sunday morning in church he went out of his way to point out to Mutti and I that the baby in the manger had been set up directly beneath the cross hanging over the altar. The significance of this symbolic placement brought him to tears. I admit I rolled my eyes the way I do when he skillfully relates any topic to missionary work, but even I can't deny the brilliance of this nativity setup. I do revere the Biblical storyline, the way it unfolds over thousands of years, the careful genealogies, the outstanding characters, the fulfillment of prophecies. (This year I found myself wishing the Gospel writers paid more attention to Jesus' childhood, because the Terrible Twos are notably absent, and for some reason I have developed a sudden urgent curiosity about Jesus as a 6-year-old.)
I'm focusing on the Christian storyline of Christmas because it's the one I'm most familiar with, and the one that is most significant in my family tradition; but I am well aware, and fascinated by, the pagan influences on this endless tale. I appreciate the fact that I can't escape the materialistic aspects of this holiday, and that the giving and receiving of gifts is not something I could easily extract from my own experience of Christmas.
These complicated details only make the storyline more intricate, more unique, more fascinating. I always have to remind myself that each storyteller constructs the story differently and each listener understands it differently. No frame is quite the same, no language holds the same weight or connotation, no scene is so well-constructed that it excludes the possibility of misunderstanding, of a wrong color in a corner or a detail slightly misaligned.
And yet I consider my storylines carefully. I see a story in everything. I see a story arc everywhere, a conflict, a happy ending. I have endless prepackaged choices: fairytale, Judeo-Christian, origin myth, comedy, tragedy, series of snapshots. But I delight most in the deviations from the predictable introduction, escalation, resolution, the allegedness of everything, the details and the soundtracks and illustrations and, most of all, the fact that in real life, the story doesn't end with a slammed-shut cover, but with a ...
Anyway, what does it matter, because I have missed not only the actual Christmas, but Boxing Day as well. So I am not only politically incorrect, but increasingly tardy as well. We're coming up on New Years now.
My Boxing Day did, in fact, involve some boxing. Of fruitcakes. Tomorrow I intend to do the actual posting of those boxed fruitcakes, and any recipients should know that my fruitcake-boxing battle was not a particularly neat or quiet one. Please appreciate my countless trips to the recycling bin in the freezing cold garage for packing materials.
Something about the convergence of events (and the escalation of my coffee shop book exchange) lately has me thinking about storylines. I first saw Google's Zeitgeist 2011 video framed as a bit of brilliant digital storytelling, intentionally and evocatively constructed. If you haven't seen it already, please take a moment. Or, if you have, take a moment to watch it again.
More generally, social media news has been lately dominated by headlines about Storify and the new Facebook Timeline and the new Twitter app, all created to somehow "organize stories" that build our lives online and, increasingly, offline. That's the idea, anyway. It's making me think about what a story actually is, and how we tell them, and what role they play in our lives. It's making me wonder whether the meaning of the word "story" is taking on new digital meaning, similar to the way "viral" has. (In case you missed it, you can read more about my thoughts on going viral here.)
Also in that post you will find what anchors my storyline fixation in the physical world: fruitcake.
Aside from the fact that I legitimately love fruitcake, especially fruitcake from this recipe, I have been most excited about carrying on the family legacy of making and sending fruitcakes. This is a personal storyline that crosses, now, four generations, in a very simple frame: a recipe. (Remember Thunder Cake by Patricia Polacco? Brilliant.) I already told you about getting fruitcakes in the mail every Christmas, wrapped in Sunday comics. Actually I think I left out the comics before, and the fact that we always had to wait until Christmas morning to open and cut into the fruitcake. And as we all know, waiting for something makes it taste that much sweeter. This storyline includes not only my childhood, but the unknown plot deviations of Aunt Judy struggling to locate candied orange peel in modern supermarkets, trying different substitutes, maybe once pickling watermelon rind in the summer to use come Christmas in the cakes. And the beginning of this story is completely blank; I can only tell you bits of the middle and the ellipsis of an end.
Consider also the cultural storyline of fruitcake. As I churned the exotic dried fruits into the batter, it suddenly occurred to me to ask where fruitcake came from. What genealogy does fruitcake follow in our family? Is it British? German? Under what rule did it gain the honors of tradition? In which empire? Which traders brought the fruits to fill it? And how did it get such a bad rap today?
Not that you will probably be called on to share any fruitcake trivia, but if you think there is a chance of this happening I recommend this article from TLC. I can't say for certain that it is the most accurate or comprehensive, I just like it best of all the ones I've seen.
Now, for the sake of time and attention, let's make an undeveloped allegorical leap to the Christmas storyline. In fact, we can take it full-circle to the whole politically-correct thing and ask which storyline each of us prefers to follow at this time of year. Is it Santa Claus? St. Nicholas? Festivus? Solstice? Kwanzaa? Hanukkah? The birth of Jesus?
Grampi has been featuring heavily of late, and while I fear some of you might be cringing at the apparent disregard in which I hold my elders, please take heart in knowing that any confrontation is both the result and the catalyst of important learning experiences, I dare hope, for both of us. As Maria has reminded me over and over again these past few weeks, coming to face opposition forces us to grow in ways we might otherwise atrophy.
Anyway, Grampi and the birth of Jesus. On Sunday morning in church he went out of his way to point out to Mutti and I that the baby in the manger had been set up directly beneath the cross hanging over the altar. The significance of this symbolic placement brought him to tears. I admit I rolled my eyes the way I do when he skillfully relates any topic to missionary work, but even I can't deny the brilliance of this nativity setup. I do revere the Biblical storyline, the way it unfolds over thousands of years, the careful genealogies, the outstanding characters, the fulfillment of prophecies. (This year I found myself wishing the Gospel writers paid more attention to Jesus' childhood, because the Terrible Twos are notably absent, and for some reason I have developed a sudden urgent curiosity about Jesus as a 6-year-old.)
I'm focusing on the Christian storyline of Christmas because it's the one I'm most familiar with, and the one that is most significant in my family tradition; but I am well aware, and fascinated by, the pagan influences on this endless tale. I appreciate the fact that I can't escape the materialistic aspects of this holiday, and that the giving and receiving of gifts is not something I could easily extract from my own experience of Christmas.
These complicated details only make the storyline more intricate, more unique, more fascinating. I always have to remind myself that each storyteller constructs the story differently and each listener understands it differently. No frame is quite the same, no language holds the same weight or connotation, no scene is so well-constructed that it excludes the possibility of misunderstanding, of a wrong color in a corner or a detail slightly misaligned.
And yet I consider my storylines carefully. I see a story in everything. I see a story arc everywhere, a conflict, a happy ending. I have endless prepackaged choices: fairytale, Judeo-Christian, origin myth, comedy, tragedy, series of snapshots. But I delight most in the deviations from the predictable introduction, escalation, resolution, the allegedness of everything, the details and the soundtracks and illustrations and, most of all, the fact that in real life, the story doesn't end with a slammed-shut cover, but with a ...
So as it turns out, I'm hella behind on reading your blog thanks to my Austrian adventures, but I am SO glad I decided to go back and catch up because I love this post! You + writing/storytelling = Winning combination.
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