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December 6, 2004
The Anchoress Gives Maureen Dowd More Than She Deserves

Maureen Down inveighed against the upcoming holiday season in a poisoned-pen missive that tripped the bitterometer to new records, even for MoDo. In fact, she expressed a desire to "rip [Frosty the Snowman's] frozen face off." Apparently, Dowd has all the Christmas spirit of Ebenezer Scrooge on a bad night (pre-Ghosts, natch):

I've never said this out loud before, but I can't stand Christmas.

Everyone in my family loves it except me, and they can't fathom why I get the mullygrubs, as a Southern friend of mine used to call a low-level depression, from Thanksgiving straight through New Year. ...

I've given a lot of thought to why others' season of joy is my season of doom - besides the obvious fact that yuppies have drenched the holidays in ever more absurd levels of consumerism.

I think it has to do with how stressed out my mom and sister would get on Christmas Day when I was little. I remember them snapping at me; they seemed tense because of all the aprons to be sashed and potatoes to be mashed. (In our traditional Irish household, women slaved and men were waited on.)

It might be exacerbated by the stress I feel when I think of all the money I've spent on lavishing boyfriends with presents over the years, guys who are now living with other women who are enjoying my lovingly picked out presents which I'm no doubt still paying for in credit card interest charges.

Perhaps I'm the wrong person to write about Dowd's vendatta against the HanuChristmaKwanzuka season, as the Comedy Channel put it recently; I've been playing Christmas carols in my office all day, and when I get home, I plan to add more to the rotation. Someone should address Dowd's rather self-centered reasons for dissing the holiday spirit, so I nominate The Anchoress, who writes a moving and sobering account of what the holidays mean to her brother -- who lays dying in a hospice, "enjoying" what surely is his last Christmas season:

You are fearless in your fuming distaste for the season. Scrooge was fearless, too. He scathingly remarked that there was "more gravy than grave" about his first spectral visitor, Mr. Marley, but finally acquiesced to his partners truth. You dare to mock the sweet sentimentality of Its a Wonderful Life, but surrender nothing to the truths contained therein. And this is where I believe you part ways from Mr. Scrooge, and where I begin to fear that while the curmudgeonly old miser was capable of conversion, redemption may be beyond your ken. ...

I understand you may have already stopped reading this; after all, I am a nobody, a silly woman sitting at her computer, posting to you from her largely unread blog albeit not wearing pajamas why should you listen to a word I say? Why should you care about my quaint little red-tinged, sappy, all-too-American concern for your well being? I understand. But if you are still reading, may I presume to give you a little advice, not from me, but from my brother, S?

You see, S is not supposed to be alive at this hour. Every doctor, every nurse has been telling us for five weeks that his death was imminent. It would be days. It would be hours. His end would come this weekend. And yet he is still with us. He is weary and wrecked, and some would say the merciful thing would be to simply give him a shot and let him go to sleep from which he would not wake. But, no, that would be so wrong, and our loss, because as long as S is here, we all learn together.

It's impossible for me to excerpt any further. Read the whole thing, and then go hug your family.

Sphere It Digg! View blog reactions
Posted by Ed Morrissey at December 6, 2004 5:13 PM

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» Ebenezer Dowd from Twisted Spinster
I'm surprised at Maureen Dowd. No, not for writing something bitter and snippy about an event beloved to the masses of non-A-list people; I'm surprised a know-it-all like her has apparently never realized a basic lesson most women learn very early: ... [Read More]

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