Acting Citizen: Once in a Decade

By James Knudsen

This has never happened. Well, it’s never happened to me. Is this a case of white male privilege? Is that supposed to be hyphenated? Have I lost my train of thought? Again? Where was I?
    Christmas 2021 is on a Saturday. Since joining Moristotle, the fourth Saturday has never fallen on December 25^th, and the pressure to bring a spirit of “glad tidings, joy, noel (where’s the umlaut?), mistletoe & holly, cup o’ cheer, let’s be jolly” is once-in-a-decade intense.
    Intense seems disturbingly accurate. As a culture, the United States of America strain of “American” is ever more tightly wound, manic, pushing every corner of every envelope, and we are unaware as to why, and never asking.
    At this moment, I have yet to venture out into the madness of the Christmas season: retail maelstrom. I know I must. The Christmas comet – hurtling towards us now – is too close for my holiday season to be saved by Amazon and FedEx. I have no choice but to stride out to the DUST (Domestic Urban Shopping Transporter – it’s actually a mini-van), seek out merchandise, and terminate its existence as inventory with extreme prejudice. 

    And I am clearly part of the problem. I’ve just described my current Christmas situation and in the process referenced the films Armageddon and Apocalypse Now, neither of which evokes images of a traditional, yuletide evening by the fire. Colonel Kurtz reading ’Twas the Night Before Christmas to the children? The horror, horror. Looking in the opposite cinematic direction puts us at the table of My Dinner with Andre. Inconceivable!
    A time of extremes is the moment we are living. Wishing for a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with a dad smoking a pipe, a mom in an A-line dress, and kids blissfully unaware of anything more risqué than a PG rating, isn’t making them magically reappear this year. And as I look at the archival images on the internet, it is becoming clear that we should let the past remain passed. Especially the food.

My late mother was a home economics major trained in the cooking “techniques” of mid-century America. I recognize the tamale pie on our family dinner table as one of those entrees that required little more than opening half a dozen cans, mixing them together, and throwing the pan in the oven. That and Hamburger Helper are pretty much the extent of what I experienced of that period of culinary experimentation. And I am grateful!
    Jell-O is one of those food items that seems adaptable to every element of the meal; appetizer, entrée, and dessert, where it should remain. In 1950s America it does not. It invades every course of the meal. Have you heard of “Shrimp, Apple Aspic?” 

How do we lose this...

...but keep this?

    I had not heard of “Shrimp, Apple Aspic” either, but I will never get the image out of my head, and I refuse to be the only one haunted by it. Merry Christmas.

Copyright © 2021 by James Knudsen